COMMAND AND COMMANDERS , \ .“‘,“3,w) 

.br “Z ,+( ’> , . I .. M IN 

MODERN WARFARE 

The Proceedings of the Second 

Military History Symposium 

U.S. Air Force Academy 

23 May 1968 

Edited by 

William Geffen, Lt. Colonel, USAF, Air Force Academy 

O5ce of Air Force History, Headquarters USAF 

and 

United States Air Force Academy 

1971 
2nd edilion, enlarged 

let edition, United States Air Force Academy, 1969 

Views or opinions expressed or implied in this publication are 

those of the authors and are not to be construed as carrying official 

sanction of the Department of the Air Force or of the United States 

Air Force Academy. 

For sale by the Superintendent of Documents, US. Government Printing Office 

Washington, D.C. 20402 - Price $2.65 

Stock Number 0874-0003 

ii 
PREFACE 

The essays and commentaries which comprise this book resulted from the Second Annual Military History Symposium, held 

at the Air Force Academy on 2-3 May 1968. The Military History 

Symposium is an annual event sponsored jointly by the Department 

of History and the Association of Graduates, United States Air 

Force Academy. The theme of the first symposium, held on 4-5 May 

1967 at the Air Force Academy, was “Current Concepts in Military 

History.” 

Several factors inspired the inauguration of the symposium 

series, the foremost being the expanding interest in the field of 

military history demonstrated at recent meetings of the American 

Historical Association and similar professional organizations. A 

professional meeting devoted solely to the subject of military history seemed appropriate. The Air Force Academy’s Department 

of History has been particularly concerned with the history of 

military affairs and warfare since the founding of the institution. 

In fact, for a few years after the beginning of classes in 1954, the 

Academy could boast of perhaps the only separate Department of 

Military History in the United States. In 1959 the Department of 

History (now including the military historians) inaugurated the 

annual Harmon Memorial Lectures to foster interest and research 

in military history. The lectures are listed at the end of this 

Preface. 

The general purpose of the symposium series is to provide a 

forum in which recognized scholars may present the results of their 

research in the history of military affairs. This will, hopefully, 

enhance interest in the subject among both civilian and military 

historians, while encouraging a continuing interest among members 

of the armed forces of the United States and the cadets of the 

United States Air Force Academy in the study of the history of 

their chosen profession. A basic objective of the annual symposium 

series is to create a closer link between the academic historian and 

the military professional designed to achieve a fuller appreciation 

and better evaluation of past military events. By including the 

iii 
views of the men who participated in past events, the historical 

record should be enriched. This book, therefore, contains not only 

the papers and commentaries read at the Second Annual Military 

Symposium, but additional comments which the editor later solicited from military participants in the events described. 

Not included is the Tenth Annual Harmon Memorial Lecture 

in Military History, which formed the closing session of the Second 

Military History Symposium. The lecture, delivered by Dr. Forrest 

C. Pogue, Director, Research Library, George C. Marshall Research 

Foundation, entitled “George C. Marshall : Global Commander,” 

has been published separately. 

The Department of History wishes to thank the four eminent 

historians who served as chairmen for the various symposium 

sessions and whose labors contributed greatly to the success of the 

symposium: 

Professor Richard A. Preston, Duke University, chairman of 

the session, “The United States Army’s Experience in the Early 

Twentieth Century.” 

Professor Gordon A. Craig, Stanford University, chairman of 

the session, “The End of the Prussian Military Tradition in Germany.” 

Captain Harry A. Cummings, bSN, United States Naval Academy, chairman of the sessions, “British Naval Leaders in World 

War I” and “American Naval Leaders in World War 11.” 

Professor James Lea Cate, University of Chicago, chairman of 

the session, “New Perspectives in Warfare.” 

We also wish to acknowledge the warm encouragement and 

active support that the former Superintendent of the United States 

Air Force Academy, Lieutenant General Thomas S. Moorman, and 

the first Dean, Brigadier General Robert F. McDermott, gave in 

launching the symposium series. The financial support received 

from the Association of Graduates is gratefully acknowledged. The 

forty members of the Department of History took an active interest 

in the project and provided many helpful suggestions and editorial 

assistance. Mrs. Virginia Hill and Mrs. Grace Scott provided 

essential secretarial support. 

iv 
To the numerous military contributors who so generously 

responded to the editor’s request to share their experiences and 

reflections with respect to the events and personalities discussed in 

the symposium papers and commentaries, we wish to extend our 

deep appreciation. Their comments provide a most significant 

contribution to this book of essays. 

The paper by Professor Potter, “The Command Personality : 

Some American Naval Leaders in World War 11,” has since appeared in the United States Naval Institute Proceedings (January 

1969) and is reprinted by permission of the United States Naval 

Institute. The commentary by Professor O’Connor has since appeared under the title “Reflection on the Characteristics of a Commander” in the Naval War College Review (October 1968) and 

is reprinted here by permission of the United States Naval War 

College. 

This edition contains two comments that were received too 

late for inclusion in the first edition, and minor errors have been 

corrected. 

Lieutenant Colonel William Geten, USAF 

V 
The United States 

Air Force Academy 

Military History Symposium 

is sponsored by 

The Department of History 

and 

The Association of Graduates 

U. S. Air Force Academy 

1968 Military History Symposium Committee 

Colonel Alfred F. Hurley, Chairman 

Lt. Colonel Thomas A. Julian, Executive Director 

Lt. Colonel Victor D. Sutch 

Captain Frederick L. Metcalf 

vi 
CONTENTS 

Preface 

Introduction 

I. THE UNITED STATES ARMY’S EXPERIENCE 

IN THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY 

The Elihu Root Reforms and the Progressive Era 

Russell F. Weigley 

Commentary 

Louis Morton 

The American Military Generation Gap in World War I: 

The Leavenworth Clique in the AEF 

Edward M. Coffman 

Commentary 

Daniel R. Beaver 

The Leavenworth Clique in World War.1: A Military View 

Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen, USAF 

Comments by Members of the AEF 

Major General Howard C. Davidson, USAF (Ret.) 

Major William A. Rafferty, USA (Ret.) 

Major General Charles P. Gross, USA (Ret.) 

General of the Army Omar N. Bradley 

Major General Leroy H. Watson, USA (Ret.) 

Major General W. E. R. Covell, USA (Ret.) 

Colonel Howard Donelly, USA (Ret.) 

page 

iii 

3 

11 

28 

35 

44 

62 

62 

68 

70 

72 

73 

76 

77 

vii 
page 

11. BRITISH NAVAL LEADERS IN WORLD WAR I 

Jellicoe and Beatty as Commanders in Chief, Grand Fleet 81 

Arthur J. Marder 

Commentary 

Donald M. Schurman 

91 

The Military View: 97 

Comments by Members of the Royal Navy 

Admiral Sir William James, G. C. B. 

Rear Admiral S. A. Pears, C. B. E. 

Rear Admiral C. M. Blackman, D. S. 0. 

Captain G. E. Bannister, C. B. E., and 

97 

101 

108 

110 

Admiral Sir Angus Cunninghame-Graham, K. B. E., C. B. E. 

Captain R. H. F. DeSalis, 0. B. E., D. S. C. 113 

111. THE END OF THE PRUSSIAN MILITARY 

TRADITION IN GERMANY 

The Rise of the Military Opposition in the Nazi Reich 119 

Harold C. Deutsch 

Commentary 

Charles V. P. von Luttichau 

Commentary 

Peter Paret 

147 

153 

The Military View : Comments by Six German Generals 161 

General Walter Warlimont 

General Leo Freiherr Geyr von Schweppenburg 

161 

168 

viii 
General Hasso von Manteuffel 

General Franz Halder 

Field Marshal Erich von Manstein 

General Adolf Heusinger 

Page 

175 

183 

189 

199 

IV. AMERICAN NAVAL LEADERS IN WORLD WAR I1 

The Command Personality : 207 

Some American Naval Officers of World War I1 

E. B. Potter 

Commentary 

Raymond G. O'Connor 

220 

The Military View : Comments by Three Admirals 230 

Admiral Arleigh Burke 

Admiral Harry W. Hill 

Admiral Robert B. Carney 

Reply to Admiral Carney 

E. B. Potter 

V. NEW PERSPECTIVES IN WARFARE 

The Combined Bomber Offensive: 

Classical and Revolutionary, Combined 

and Divided, Planned and Fortuitous 

Noble Frankland 

Commentary 

Robin Higham 

Commentary 

Robert F. Futrell 

230 

233 

239 

244 

253 

268 

277 

ix 
Some Military Views: 

The Combined Bomber Offensive: A British Comment 

Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir John Slessor 

The Allied Combined Bomber Offensive: 

Two German Views 

Field Marshal Erhard Milch, 

Lieutenant General Adolf Galland, 

German Air Force, WW I1 (Ret.) 

German Air Force, WW I1 (Ret.) 

Page 

288 

292 

292 

298 

Comments on Higham’s Commentary 

Air Vice-Markha1 E. J. Kingston-McCloughry, RAF (Ret.) 

Lieutenant General Ira C. Eaker, USAF (Ret.) 

Reply to General Eaker 

Robin Higham 

The German Fighter Battle against 

the American Bombers 

Lieutenant General Johannes Steinhoff, 

Inspector-General, German Air Force 

Contributors 

307 

307 

312 

315 

317 

325 

Index 330 

X 
Harmon Memorial Lectures in Military Hietory 

published by the US. Air Force Academy, Colorado 

1. W. Frank Craven, Why Military History? (1959) 

2. T. Harry Williams, The Military Leadership of the North and the 

3. Louis Morton, Pacific Command. (1961) 

4. William R. Emerson, Operation Pointbhnk. (1962) 

5. Frank E. Vandiver, John J. Pershing and the Anatomy of LeaderSouth. (1960) 

ship. (1963) 

(19644 

Alliance against Napoleon, 1813-1814. (1965) 

6. Maurice Matloff, Mr. Roosevelt’s Three Wars: FDR as War Leader. 

7. Gordon A. Craig, Problems of Coalition Warfare: The Military 

8. Peter Paret, Innovation and Reform in Warfare. (1966) 

9. Michael Howard, Strategy and Policy in Twentieth-Century War10. Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marsh& Global Commander. (1968) 

11. Elting E. Morison, The War of Ideas: The United States Navy, 

fare. (1967) 

1870-1890. (1969) 

12. Theodore Ropp, The Historical Development of Contemporary 

13. General Sir John Winthrop Hackett, The Military in the Service 

Strategy. (1970 j 

of the State. (1970) 

xi 

COMMAND AND COMMANDERS 

IN 

MODERN WARFARE 

INTRODUCTION 

Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen, USAF 

The advent of nuclear weapons has drastically altered the 

nature of modern warfare. For this reason the military profession 

finds itself today in the throes of a “second” military revolution. 

Both the military professional and the civilian policymaker seek 

to find familiar landmarks to guide them through the new environment of the nuclear age which, because of the vastly changed 

military technology and its political consequences, remains largely 

a “terra icognita.” On the other hand, the character and the internal 

structure of today’s military institutions have remained relatively 

unaffected by the impact and the changes brought about by the 

nuclear revolution, for present-day military institutions are the 

result of another “military” revolution, one which occurred at the 

beginning of the century and continued on ‘into World War 11. 

Primarily organizational in character, this revolution transformed 

the then existing military institutions into modern and professional 

organizations. Its focus was the infusion of the stuf concept into 

the military organization under the aegis of the dual tenets of 

efficiency and expertise. The purpose of this revolution, which 

Walter Millis so appropriately named the managerial revolution, 

was the creation of a specially trained, elite nucleus, a collective 

brain, within the military hierarchy, capable of planning and 

executing large scale, total war.’ 

The impact of this organizational revolution on the military 

profession was as great as, if not greater than, that of the nuclear 

revolution on the nature of warfare. For in order to produce a more 

3 
effective organizational structure, the managerial revolution had to 

create a new type of professional officer, the military manager, to 

replace the then dominant type of military professional, the 

hero-warrior type, the “great captain.”2 The military manager 

became the image of the new, transformed military institution. A 

specialist in the management of violence, he was a professional 

military man not just by definition or ascription but by (and because of) his special education and training. Expertise, corporateness, and professional responsibility became the hallmarks of the 

new military professionalism; individual glory was replaced by 

anonymity, individual brilliance by the collective brain, individual 

authority by the corporate structure of command responsibility. 

No longer did the individual leader shape the organization, the 

military command, by his individual personality, will, and ingenuity. On the contrary, the organization, the command, now put 

its imprint, its raison $&re, on the commander. Though the nuclear 

revolution has revolutionized the technological and political aspects 

of modern war, it has left the internal character and institutional 

structure of the military organization basically unchanged. 

The papers and commentaries in this volume address various 

aspects of the military organizational revolution during the first 

half of the twentieth century and examine its effects within the 

context of the symposium theme, “Command and Commanders in 

Modern Warfare.” Specifically four aspects of the general theme 

are looked at in greater detail: 1) the origin, purpose, and effect 

of the managerial revolution on a specific military establishment 

(the United States Army in the period 1900-1918) ; 2) the effects 

of the managerial revolution on military command and commanders within a specific command (British naval leaders in World 

War I and American naval leaders in World War 11); 3) the 

problems of the military professional and the military organization 

in a society undergoing political change (the German Army High 

Command in the period 1933 to 1939); and 4) the impact of a 

new weapon system on command and commanders (the strategic 

bombing offensive against Germany in World War 11). 

In Part I Weigley discusses the introduction of the General 

Staff organization in the United States Army during the early 1900s 

within the broader context of the Root reforms and contends that 

these reforms were actually non-military oriented, receiving their 

impetus from the larger political-administrative reform movement 

4 
of the Progressive era. Viewing the military reforms as part of the 

general trend of the times in the United States, the “search for 

order,” he equates the purpose, function, and organization of the 

General Staff to that of the other non-military, regulatory agencies 

arising during this period. Morton’s commentary points out the 

rather hypothetical nature of Weigley’s thesis as well as the complex and heterogeneous nature of the Progressive movement in 

general. 

Coffman’s paper deals with the results of the Root reforms by 

analyzing the role of the so-called “Leavenworth Clique” in the 

American Expeditionary Force (AEF) in World War I. He traces 

the history of this small and select group of “new breed” military 

professionals, the military managers, and their impact on the 

professionalization of the United States Army before, during, and 

after World War I, focusing on their role in the AEF organization. 

Beaver’s commentary takes issue with Coffman’s thesis that only 

the Leavenworth group was representative of the new military 

professionalism in the United States Amy and points out that other, 

non-Leavenworth-trained officers were equally representative of this 

new breed of officer. He questions whether the tenets of the new 

professionalism as practiced by the Leavenworth group were indeed 

as beneficial to the American military institution as is often believed. In order to further illuminate the role of the Leavenworth 

group in the AEF, the opinions and recollections of more than fifty 

graduates of the United States Military Academy (Classes 1912 

through 1917), who had served in the AEF, were solicited. Their 

responses form the basis of the essay by Geffen and provide “a 

military view”; seven of the replies received are printed in full. 

What is the relationship between the commander and his command? Marder’s essay in Part I1 masterfully sketches the personalities of the two admirals who were in command of the Grand 

Fleet during World War I. Though they were almost opposite in 

character and personality, the mission and function of the Grand 

Fleet controlled and shaped their actions and behavior as commanders. Thus when Beatty took over from Jellicoe, Beatty followed closely in the footsteps of his predecessor, for it was the 

command, the Fleet, which governed his actions and determined 

his decisions. Schurman, in his commentary, emphasizes this point, 

namely that the command mission, the Grand Fleet and its deterrent 

function, as interpreted by Jellicoe (and accepted by Beatty) , 

5 
formed the basis for the “command personalities” and command 

decisions of the two admirals. However, he also points out that in 

war, military actions should only be the means towards the end 

and that the end, the political guidance to the military commander, 

was sadly lacking during World War I with respect to the British 

Navy. The comments by six retired members of the Royal Navy, all 

of whom served either in the Grand Fleet or under the two admirals, 

provide a military opinion, an “inside view,” of the personalities of 

the two commanders and the command itself, the Grand Fleet. 

The dilemma of the military professional and the military 

organization in a society alien to their professional values is the 

topic of Part 111. Deutsch traces the history of the relationship 

between the German Army High Command and Hitler and the 

Nazi state from 1933 to 1939, focusing on the rise of the military 

opposition to Hitler. He shows how it developed through its various 

stages to the climactic days of November 1939 when the Army 

High Command was willing to stage a coup d’6tut to overthrow the 

Nazi regime. In broader terms Deutsch addresses the question of 

the dilemma of the professional military leader, caught between 

the obligations of his professional responsibility and the demands 

of his conscience. Luttichau’s commentary discusses this conflict of 

individual versus professional conscience which engulfed not only 

the military but also other traditional leadership groups in Nazi 

Germany. He emphasizes that for those who lived through these 

fateful years in Germany, the decision to oppose the regime was 

not one which could be easily taken nor one which was easily 

discernible. Paret, in his commentary, addresses himself to a larger 

moral issue, one which had dominated German history since the 

rise of the Prussian state and one which confronted the military 

leadership during the Hitler period, namely the issue of aggressive 

(preventive) war, as advocated and later implemented by Hitler. 

Morally opposed to such a course of action, the generals found 

themselves torn between the requirements of their professional 

responsibility on the one hand and those of their moral standards 

on the other hand-a dilemma which they failed to face or solve. 

The comments by the six former German generals describe their 

attitudes and views concerning the military opposition to Hitler and 

their personal positions vis-i-vis the Nazi regime. All were members 

of the German military leadership corps during the fateful years 

from 1933 to 1945; therefore, their opinions provide a “view from 

the inside” into the events described by Deutsch’s paper. 

6 
The command personality, as exemplified by American admirals in World War 11, forms the subject of the papers in Part 

IV. Potter examines the different personalities of the leading naval 

commanders and their individual approaches to the problems and 

responsibilities of command. While Potter emphasizes the human, 

personal side of the naval commander, O’Connor’s commentary 

attempts to delineate some common characteristics for the command personality, those strengths and attributes which are a requisite for the exercise of the function. In doing so, he points out 

that the predominant image of the American naval leaders in World 

War I1 was that of the military manager rather than that of the 

naval hero; Admiral Halsey was an exception rather than the rule. 

The comments by the three admirals, all of whom were commanders themselves and served under the naval leaders discussed by 

Potter and O’Connor, express the military view of the command 

personality by providing an insight into how the military profession 

looks upon the problem of command and commanders. 

The last section covers the problems associated with the introduction of a new weapon system (the bomber) and its effect on 

both command and commanders and the military organization at 

large, namely the story of the Allied strategic bombing offensive 

against Germany in World War 11. Frankland discusses the development of the strategy and the various aspects of its implementation and attempts to assess the lessons learned from it. Futrell, 

in his commentary, traces the historical development of American 

air power doctrine and strategy with particular reference to their 

employment in World War I1 and in the combined bomber offensive. Higham discusses British “Grand Strategy” during World 

War I1 and proposes that greater stress on political rather than 

military ends, on strategy rather than tactics, might have resulted 

in a different and much more effective employment of air power 

and strategic bombing during the earlier years of the war. The 

military assessment consists of the views and opinions of military 

leaders from Great Britain (Air Marshal Slessor and Air ViceMarshal Kingston-McCloughry) , the United States (General 

Eaker), and Germany (Field Marshal Milch and Generals Galland 

and Steinhoff), all of whom were associated with the Allied 

strategic bombing offensive during World War 11. Their comments 

highlight the different and nationally divergent appreciations of 

the new element of air power and its strategic employment in war. 

7 
They also provide a valuable insight into the complex problems of 

weapons and strategy and their effect on both command and commanders, problems of utmost importance to both the military professional and the civilian policy-maker today. 

NOTES 

1. Walter Millis, Arms and Men: A Study of American il/lilitary History 

(New York: Mentor Books, 1958), Chapter I11 and especially pp. 182-188. 

2. Morris Janowitz, The Professional Soldier (Glencoe, Ill., 1960), p. 21. 

8 
Part 1 

THE UNITED STATES ARMY’S EXPERIENCE 

IN THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY 

THE ELIHU ROOT REFORMS 

AND THE PROGRESSIVE ERA 

Russell F. Weigley 

For the ideas involved in the theme of our symposium, “Command and Commanders in Modern Military History,” the years 

around the turn of the nineteenth into the twentieth century were a 

time of more than ordinary uncertainty and change. Mass armies 

and the complex logistics of the industrial and railroad age were 

rendering traditional notions of the nature of the highest military 

command more and more patently outmoded. So sharp a thinker as 

Elihu Root exhibited uncertainty, as he planned the United States 

Army’s General Staff, whether he wanted the General Staff to 

“command” at all. In retrospect we see the difficulties of the period 

more clearly than even an Elihu Root did, as those of transition 

from “heroic leadership” to the “managerial” concept of military 

command. But there was also more to the trouble than that; the 

problems of military command at the turn of the century were part 

of a larger problem of rethinking the concepts of leadership, 

management, and control in every area of society, to fit the urban, 

industrial age, especially in the United States. 

The problems of military command have not often been considered against that larger background, the turn of the century’s 

general re-evaluation of what is involved in management and control. More specifically, Elihu Root’s army reforms have rarely been 

approached in terms of the contemporary thinking of the Progressive era about governmental administration and management in 

general. Paul Y. Hammond has discussed the Root reforms in the 

light of Leonard D. White’s idea that the Progressives were applying a “new Hamiltonianism,” a new emphasis on executive leadership; but as Hammond’s excellent exposition of the Root reforms 

makes apparent the formula of neo-Hamiltonianism barely begins 

11 
to encompass the complexities of the General Staff. Although Elihu 

Root was only in a very limited degree a Progressive, the climate 

in which the Root reforms were attempted was nevertheless that 

of the Progressive era, and Root’s presidential sponsor during the 

completion of his reforms was the first Progressive president. To 

place the Root reforms into the general context of the Progressive 

era’s ideas about government might well add something to our 

understanding of the beginnings of the modem army command 

system, especially the General Staff .l 

In his multivolume history of The Ordeal of the Union, Allan 

Nevins has aptly described the pre-Civil War, pre-industrial United 

States as the “invertebrate society.”’ The United States of that era 

was an amorphous, unstructured conglomeration of local marketing 

areas and political districts centering on various small cities and 

towns, without effective national direction or leadership in the 

economic or political or any other area-without a national skeletal 

structure to give the nation shape and form, as Nevins’s metaphor 

suggests. 

Following the clue offered by such a phrase as the “invertebrate society,” recent studies of the American nation in a later era, 

the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, have begun to 

suggest that a principal theme of the later period of transition from 

a rural, agrarian society to an urban, industrial one was the effort 

to transform the invertebrate into a vertebrate society. In the urban, 

industrial age, the argument runs, large economic and social forces 

demanded a more centralized organization and direction of national 

life. The new age brought huge, national industrial corporations, 

whose own organizational structures so much overshadowed those 

of the old small-town-centered America that they were bound to 

control the nation in their private interests, unless the nation rallied 

itself organizationally in order to control or at least to regulate 

them in the public interest. The giant corporations in combination 

with a national railroad network were already creating a national 

economy; but the national economy would hardly operate to national public advantage unless the nation acquired a political and 

social backbone to shape the economy in accordance with national 

public needs. Meanwhile the great cities of the new urban age were 

also outrunning the types of political and social control developed 

in an era of small cities and towns. The national crises of the late 

12 
nineteenth century-and labor and agrarian revolts made the time 

truly one of crisis-were fundamentally crises of economic and 

social forces running headlong out of control. The central national 

problem of the period was, as it is summed up in the title of Robert 

H. Wiebe's recent book about it, The Search for Order.' 

Thus an increasing tendency in recent histories of the Progressive movement of national reform in the first decade and a half 

of the twentieth century has been to interpret the Progressives as 

reformers whose central purpose was less the pursuit of some 

transcendental moral ideal than the down-to-earth business of applying to public organization principles of leadership and direction 

developed in the giant new corporations, in order to bring the new 

social and economic forces and the corporations themselves under 

public control. This approach begins to return us to the military 

interests of this symposium. Significantly, Secretary of War Elihu 

Root described the application of business principles to military 

management and command as one of the principal purposes of his 

reforms. Of the traditional War Department bureaus concerned 

with supply, for example, he said: 

Economical and business principles seem to justify the brin@;ing 

together of these bureaus under a single chief, who will have 

general direction of all and who will be able to decide promptly 

and on business principles what shall be done by each particular 

bureau in the mobilization and concentration of troops.' 

If the true central theme of the Progressive movement was the 

search for order, the effort to transform an invertebrate into a 

vertebrate society-and it is my conviction that this indeed was the 

central theme-then the turn-of-the-century reform of the army and 

especially the creation of the General Staff come to appear as 

efforts thoroughly appropriate to the Progressive era. It may seem 

at first incongruous to regard an army as a sub-species of an 

invertebrate society; but on closer examination the United States 

Army of the nineteenth century turns out to have been, to a degree 

remarkable in view of the contrary pull of military traditions and 

hierarchy, just that: an invertebrate sub-species of the larger 

American invertebrate society. As American society at large in 

the pre-industrial age was an amorphous bundle of markets and 

polities centering on a hundred small cities and towns, so the army 

of the nineteenth century was an amorphous bundle of scattered 

13 
garrisons, its supposed command system actually divided against 

itself and therefore effectively commanding very little. Just as the 

new urban, industrial age demanded that American society at large 

rally to organize itself, to subject economic and social forces 

to public control, so new national defense problems brought 

by the urban, industrial age-brought by increasingly efficient 

worldwide transport, increasingly businesslike military organization in other nations, and the imperial mission apparently awaiting 

an industrialized United States-demanded that the United States 

.Army rally to organize itself so that it might function as a coordinated mechanism. The Progressive era was the time when 

nation and army alike took up in earnest the search for order. 

Again, despite the special disciplines of military institutions, 

it is hardly overdrawing the picture to describe the United States 

Army of the nineteenth century as a miniature of the invertebrate 

society. Except in war, the fighting branches of the army were 

scattered in hundreds of one-company, three-company, or battalionsized posts all over the Indian frontier, the seacoast, and, during 

Reconstruction, the South. The army of 1869, for example, with an 

authorized strength of 37,313, occupied 255 military 

1896, with both Reconstruction and Indian fighting past, the number of posts had declined to 77; but the total was still excessive for 

an army of 28,000, and the number remained large, despite the 

close of the Indian wars, under the workings of local political 

pressures.’ 

Rarely in the nineteenth-century peacetime army 

regiment assemble, so that the colonel’s command of 

was rarely an operational command and only tenu 

ministrative one. Above the scattered companies a 

stood the territorial department and district commands-eight of 

the latter and eleven of the former in 1879-and above them in the 

post-Civil War era the three great military divisions of the Atlantic, 

the Pacific, and the Missouri. The army’s equivalent of the various 

small-city and town centers of civilian society lay perhaps in the 

department and district commands; if there were effective control 

centers at all, tactical as well as administrative, they were here. But 

in a western department such as the Department of the Platte, 

whose boundaries at a given time might include all or parts of Iowa, 

Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho, and South Dakota, distances were so 

14 
great and communications so undependable that even the department commander,^ control over his troops and posts tended toward 

the nominal.’ 

Above the departments, districts, and military divisions stood 

the Commanding General of the Army. His impotence, however, is 

a familiar story. Plagued by the legal and constitutional ambiguities of the Commanding General’s relationship with the Secretary 

of War and the President, two occupants of the post, Winfield 

Scott and William Tecumseh Sherman, fled the capital city for 

virtual retirement in New York and St. Louis respectively. Those 

Commanding Generals who remained in Washington to contend for 

the real command of the army accomplished little more. The 

Secretary of War, not the commanding General, tended to provide 

such central direction as the army enjoyed. But the Secretary’s 

power was undermined both by his usual lack of military knowledge 

and by his dependence on the War Department bureau chiefs. 

Those functionaries, the Adjutant General, the Quartermaster General, the Chief of Engineers, and the rest, presided over autonomous 

suzerainties which both fragmented the War Department itself and, 

through the control which each of them exerted over his own 

specialty throughout the army, undercut the powers of the department and district commanders as well.’ 

In civilian America it was crises such as the furor over the 

trusts, the great strikes at Homestead and Chicago in 1892 and 

1894, and the Populist revolt that dramatized the need for better 

direction and control over the new urban, industrialized society. 

In the army it was the Spanish American War that accomplished 

the equivalent result, dramatizing the inadequacy of the invertebrate army for mobilization for war, especially for the type of 

overseas war that seemed implicit in industrialized America’s 

world power. 

It should be noted that in one important respect the parallel 

between invertebrate civilian America and the invertebrate army of 

the nineteenth century was not complete. The nineteenth-century 

army did possess at least one important approach towards a national skeletal structure of a type that civilian society lacked: the 

cohesion of the army’s officer corps. The organizational weaknesses 

just outlined prevented that cohesion from being all that discipline 

and hierarchy might imply. But the officer corps nevertheless was 

15 
bound together, by mutual acquaintanceships created by frequent 

transfers of post within the army, and also by a shared sense of 

participation in a common profession. 

One of the most conspicuous factors contributing to the 

amorphous, invertebrate quality of civilian American society in the 

pre-industrial era was its lack of communication and of a shared 

sense of professionalism even among equivalent occupational and 

seemingly professional groups from one small-city or town center 

to another. That is, physicians communicated remarkably little with 

other physicians from town to town, and lawyers surprisingly little 

with other lawyers. Whatever tendencies toward the creation of 

national professions had existed in the United States at the time of 

the founding of the Republic had been destroyed in the early 

nineteenth century by the sheer physical expansion of the country, 

with all the impediments to communication that it entailed, and 

by the Jacksonian era's suspicion of all professional standards. 

Jacksonian America believed that any intelligent American cuuld 

perform any task without special education or training. Thus not 

only did the spoils system make party loyalty the principal criterion 

for government office, but also the states practically did away with 

special licensing qualifications and permitted almost anybody to 

practice medicine or law-which anybody so inclined then proceeded to do. Professor Wiebe has shown that one of the first steps 

in the search for order in urban, industrial America was to reestablish national professions. Restoring professional standards of 

practice in medicine, law, and teaching, a task assisted by improved 

communications, forged links that bound physicians, lawyers, educators, and college professors together from one city or town to 

another throughout the country and thus began creating a national 

organization of society.' 

In the officer corps of the army, however, in contrast to civilian 

society, a national profession had existed long since. The army had 

resisted the exaggerated egalitarianism of the Jacksonian era to 

make its officers not mere craftsmen or technicians but members of 

a profession, at the very time when Jacksonian egalitarianism was 

destroying the beginnings of professionalism elsewhere in America. 

The work of creating an American military profession was largely 

the accomplishment of the United States Military Academy under 

Sylvanus Thayer and Dennis Hart Mahan. It included at least the 

16 
rudiments of all that modern professionalism implies in the cultivation of a body of theoretical and scientific knowledge and of a 

sense of corporate responsibility within the professional group. 

Running against the grain of Jacksonian America, the growth of 

military professionalism provoked a spate of congressional attacks 

upon the Military Academy and periodic threats to dismantle it, 

along with still more public suspicion of the standing army than 

had existed before. The officer corps resisted continuing, adverse 

pressures and went on to develop its professional qualities still 

further in the years immediately following the Civil War, with the 

establishment of the army's postgraduate school system and of 

professional societies for the advancement of professional knowledge, such as the Military Service Institution of the United States.' 

Thus a shared sense of professionalism within the officer corps 

put the army in advance of civilian America in one of the elements 

out of which a more coherently organized society was to be built. 

Nevertheless, this deviation from the general American pattern was 

not decisive in overcoming the larger situation of an invertebrate 

army within an invertebrate society. Despite the cohesion of the 

officer corps, when the effort toward better army organization at 

last took place, the impetus for it came only secondarily from the 

officer corps, and primarily from civilians. The sense of professional unity within the officer corps was never enough to overcome 

the nineteenth-century army's larger incohesiveness. It was the 

civilian reformers, their interest precipitated by the Spanish War 

but sustained by the same search for order that generally characterized the Progressive era, who mainly supplied the initiative for 

army reform." 

Secretary of War Elihu Root, a inaii without military associations until he entered the War Department in 1899, was of 

course the most important of those civilian reformers; more accurately, he was the pre-eminent reformer, and his innovations are 

fairly called the Root reforms. He was aided at critical moments 

by President Theodore Roosevelt, whose military experience was 

limited to his exuberant participation in the brief Santiago campaign, but whose political role by now was that of the country's 

first Progressive president. Root early decided that the army and 

especially its command system must be reorganized drastically to 

reform it into a cohesive machine. Toward that goal he received 

17 
and accepted various suggestions from certain members of the 

officer corps, among whom professionalism had been generating an 

undercurrent-but never a decisive thrust-of sentiment for organizational reform for decades. The eventual shape of Root’s organizational reforms, however, owed at least as much to the prevalent 

thinking of the American Progressive era as to the suggestions that 

Root’s officer-advisers drew from their military thought and experience. 

Root’s professional advisers, the most influential of whom was 

probably Major William Harding Carter, responded to his desire to 

reform the army command system by calling to his attention the 

German system. They introduced him to the English military writer 

Spenser Wilkinson’s Brain of an Army, which is an admiring 

description of the German General Staff. They introduced him to 

the writings of Emory Upton, who was the principal late-nineteenthcentury exponent and exemplar of American military professionalism, and whose organizational ideas were influenced heavily by 

Germany. They introduced him to Brigadier General Theodore 

Schwan’s Report on the Organization of the German Army. So much 

were Root’s military advisers impressed by the German command 

system and so much did they persuade Root of their convictions 

that, as J. D. Hittle points out, the list of general staff duties incorporated .into the act of Congress which created the American 

General Staff, and which Carter drafted, is drawn almost verbatim 

from Paul Bronsart von Schellendorff’s Duties of the [German] 

General Staff.” 

Yet it is no novelty to observe that Root and his advisers did 

not altogether comprehend the German military system and on 

essential points drew only loosely from those parts which they did 

comprehend.12 Among the problems of the American command 

system, the easiest to define, or at least to articulate, and one which 

especiaIly captured Root’s attention because he was a lawyer, was 

that of the constitutional relationship among the President, the 

Secretary of War, and the ranking professional soldier. The German staff system seemed to point a path out of this problem by way 

of the German relationship between a chief of staff and a formal 

commanding officer of troops, who was often an imperial or royal 

personage of uncertain military attainments. 

18 
In the German system, the chief of staff and the formal 

commanding officer joined in a partnership so close that it was 

almost a kind of intellectual marriage, which permitted formal 

authority to retain its proper place but which also permitted the 

brain of the staff officer to dominate the partnership's intellect. Just 

so, Root and his advisers decided, an American Chief of Staff of 

the Army might enter into partnership with the Secretary of War 

and, perhaps through the Secretary, with the President, and the old 

contest for authority between constitutional civilian power and the 

ranking professional soldier might be eliminated. With the coming 

of the Chief of Staff of the Army, the old office of Commanding 

General would disappear. Command would proceed constitutionally 

from the President through his deputy, the Secretary of War, to the 

army. But the partnership of Secretary of War and Chief of Staff 

would permit the Secretary to draw on the country's best military 

brains. 

In fact, the analogy between the proposed Partnership of 

Secretary of War and Chief of Staff of the Army and the partnership of German commander of troops with his chief of staff was 

imperfect, and the constitutional relationship of the Chief of the 

German General Staff with the German Emperor was too different 

to be relevant. Still, an analogy loosely drawn nevertheless seemed 

to offer too convenient a way out of the old constitutional problem 

of army command to be neglected." 

The effort to solve a constitutional dilemma by substituting an 

Army Chief of Staff for the old Commanding General, however, 

was only the most formal part of the Root reforms, and only the 

beginning of a solution to the search for order. The major issue was 

how to mallage the army in such a way that the bureaus and the 

scattered detachments would function harmoniously. Notwithstanding Major Carter's borrowings from the German staff manual. 

German practice was neither well enough understood nor sufficiently 

relevant to be of much use in deciding how to co-ordinate the parts 

of the army. For this purpose, Root of course planned that the Chief 

of Staff should head a General Staff roughly modeled on the German prototype, and that the General Staff should serve as a collective brain and central nervous system for the army. But Root never 

made clear either by his pronouncements or by his procedure how 

such functions were to be pursued. 

19 
In part Root conceived of the General Staff as mainly an 

organization whose role was to think. Drawing on studies to be 

undertaken by the new Army War College, the General Staff was to 

plan and propose American military policy, so that the United 

States would never again find itself, as it had when the war with 

Spain began, without a military policy appropriate to the execution 

of its foreign policy. The General Staff would accomplish “the 

study of great questions, the consideration and formation of plans, 

comprehensive forethought against future contingencies. . . .” It 

would keep “all the separate agents advised of the part they are to 

play in the general scherne.”14 

Yet the General Staff would not be only a thinking organization. Root also described it as “a directing and explaining body.”” 

The War Department draft of a General Staff bill stated that the 

General Staff should “supervise” the military services, staff, and 

line. When an effort developed in Congress to substitute the word 

command” or “control” for “supervise,” the War Department 

rejected the idea. “Supervision,” the department explained, “in the 

military sense . . . indicated the overseeing of affairs in the interest 

of superior authority.”” Yet Root nevertheless described the General Staff as “the new system of control.”l’ He also spoke of the 

General Staff as leading to a “well-managed and well-directed 

army.”” On the other hand, Root said that the General Staff 

was to be neither an executive body nor an administrative body, 

and he insisted that for it to involve itself in the details of military 

administration would vitiate his whole conception of a thinking 

organization. To use a word that later became fashionable in dic 

cussions of General Staff functions, Root insisted that the General 

Staff must not “operate.” It must instead “supervise.”1B 

Gb 

It is little wonder that when John McAuley Palmer presently 

found himself assigned to the General Staff, he discovered that 

None of us had any conception as to its true functions.”” Historians have been at a loss to make out just what Root thought the 

General Staff should be ever since. 

(6 

Root’s apparently confused and certainly imprecise approach 

to the functions of the General Staff may have owed something tq 

the German model, but the Germans had worked out the activities 

of their General Staff well enough that they cannot have provided 

ihe main source of perplexity. Rather, the imprecision of the early 

20 
designs for the General Staff suggests once more the larger context 

of the Progressive era’s search for order. 

In their effort to win direction and control over the hitherto 

invertebrate society, the Progressives were moving towards a new 

theory of public management and administration. Through the 

nineteenth century, most Americans had relied upon legislation to 

provide sovereign remedies for their public problems; when a 

problem arose, the usual nineteenth-century response was to have 

Congress or another appropriate legislature pass a law to remedy 

it. The Progressives were coming to realize, however, that most 

problems of the industrial, urban age were scarcely simple enough 

to be remedied in one stroke, by one piece of legislation. Rather, 

the problems of the new age, such as those of guarding the public 

interest against the trusts or keeping order in the great cities, were 

apt to be continuing problems, not susceptible to abrupt remedies, 

but requiring constant watchfulness and attention by alert public 

officials to guard the public interest. The model of the private 

corporation was of some relevance here. No one would have 

imagined that all its problems could be foreseen by some initial 

legislative type of fiat such as its corporate charter; obviously the 

corporation required constant day-to-day management and flexible 

managerial attitudes. So the Progressive era moved toward what 

has been called a bureaucratic approach to the handling of public 

problems. The suitable response to the difficulties of the urban, 

industrial age seemed to lie less in law-making than in constant, 

watchful attention and continuing remedial adjustments by public 

officials. 

The evolution of the bureaucratic approach to public problems 

during the Progressive era was gradual and not without hesitation 

and confusion. Anything resembling a Progressive consensus on the 

matter developed only near the close of the period, on the eve of 

American entry into the First World War. The principal instrument 

developed by the Progressives to accomplish continuous watchfulness over public problems was a newly invented type of governmental commission. The first of these commissions on the federal 

level, the Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC) , had appeared 

as early as 1887, but its functions began to be clarified only during 

the Progressive era. In 1914 the Progressives created the similar 

Federal Trade Commission (FTC) . When the United States entered 

the First World War, a federal administration still characterized 

21 
by Progressive thinking entrusted the management of much of the 

war effort to a covey of similar agencies, such as the War Industries 

Board, the Food Administration, and the Fuel Administration. 

Interestingly, a good deal of perplexity attended the Progressives’ 

efforts to define the nature of these agencies. They were neither 

executive agencies, nor quite judicial bodies, nor quite administrative boards. They were intended to give supervision and oversight 

from outside to the activities within their jurisdiction, in defense of 

the public interest. When necessary they might not simply supervise 

or regulate but control; but direct control was a harsher expedient 

than they were expected to employ from day to day?’ 

In short, there is a noteworthy similarity between the imprecision of Elihu Root’s efforts to define the functions of the 

General Staff and the Progressives’ notions of how the new governmental commissions would proceed. The similarity obviously cannot 

be pushed too far, since the General Staff manifestly was not an 

agency to supervise the army from outside in the way in which the 

ICC and the FTC were to supervise railroads and industry from 

outside. Yet even in this regard a similarity can be found. Root 

stressed that the General Staff should be “a body of officers working 

together under the direction of a chief and entirely separate from 

and independent of the administrative staff of an army.”22 Though 

part of the army, the General Staff was yet to be distinct from and 

somewhat outside it. 

Not only were there similar difficulties in defining what the 

General Staff on the one hand and the IC6 and FTC on the other 

were supposed to do, and a similar choice of terms when definitions 

were attempted. The similarities extend further into the experiences 

of the General Staff and the commissions. The notion that traditional administrative structures could be supervised or regulated 

from outside raised similar problems. Commissions such as the ICC 

and FTC early decided that to regulate railroads and industry they 

required expertise, and so they more and more called for guidance 

from inside the businesses they were presumed to be regulating. In 

the process of receiving guidance, however, they found themselves 

more and more deferring to the interests of those inside the supposedly regulated businesses. Many of the Progressive sponsors of 

the commissions were soon disappointed to find the commissions 

serving less to supervise industries in the public interest than to 

22 
manage and, through central planning, to rationalize those industries in behalf of the private interests of their corporate owners. 

So too a process of deferring to the expertise of the old War Department bureaus carried the General Staff to a position where, 

under the pressures of Adjutant General Fred C. Ainsworth, the 

General Staff seemed in a fair way to be becoming merely an 

instrument for the fuller rationalization and ordering of the old-line 

War Department bureaus’ continued real control over the army.23 

The General Staff and the civilian commissions both found, on 

the other hand, that to try to maintain their independence through a 

dignified aloofness from the organizations they were presumed to 

be supervising tended to keep them so far away that they lost 

control. With the General Staff, “supervising” without getting involved in the day-to-day “operating” of the various segments of the 

army meant that the segments tended to operate for themselves. 

Both the General Staff and the civilian commissions found themselves with difficulties in “following through”-seeing to it that 

their instructions once issued were actually executed. For the 

General Staff, this problem of following through was to persist at 

least into the Second World War. as is emphasized in the army’s 

official history of the fate of General Staff directives sent to Hawaii 

before December 7, 1941. But still again, for both the General 

Staff and the civilian commissions the sort of close involvement in 

the regulated organizations which might help ensure compliance 

with instructions would also tend toward the kind of involvement 

in detail which might jeopardize the independence of the supervising body.24 

Historians of the Progressive era have come to focus upon the 

administrative history of the era only relatively recently; and 

while there exists a considerable literature on the administrative 

commissions, it is only beginning to come within the ken of general 

historians to be assimilated into the history of the Progressive era. 

Military historians have long showed a special interest in the General Staff, but much of what has been written about it has not 

been strongly informed of related developments in civilian administrative history. As the new interest in the administrative history of the Progressive era develops, military historians will do 

well to follow it for its possible illumination of their own field. A 

lawyer such as Elihu Root did not approach army administration 

as though it were altogether different from other kinds of public 

23 
administration. My suggestion is that his army reforms were part 

of his era’s general groping towards a satisfactory expression of 

the bureaucratic method of administration and control. And as 

Root made only a beginning towards a new order in military 

administration, I hope military historians will increasingly study 

the work of his successors as well within the larger context of the 

Progressive era. 

NOTES 

1. For “heroic leadership” versus the “managerial” concept of command, 

see Morris Janowitz, The Professional Soldier (Glencoe, Ill., 1960), especially pp. 21-22. For Paul Y. Hammond on “neo-Hamiltonianism,” see 

his Organizing for Defense: The American Military Establishment in the 

Twentieth Century (Princeton, 1961), p. 23. 

2. Allan Nevins, The War for the Union (2 vols. to date; New York, 

1959-), I, 241. Vol. I of this set is Vol. V of the larger Ordeal of the 

Union, 6 vols. to date. Robert H. Wiebe, The Search for Order, 1877-1920 

(New York, 1967) uses the phrase “the distended society” to express much 

the same idea as Nevins’s “the invertebrate society”; it is the title of 

Wiebe’s second chapter. 

3. Wiebe, Search for Order. On the problem of control in the large cities, 

see especially Seymour Mandlebaum, Boss Tweed’s New York (New York, 

1965). The search for order also forms part of the theme of Samuel P. 

Hays, The Response to Industriulism, 1885-1914 (Chicago, 1957). 

4. Letter from Root to the Chairman of the Senate Military Affairs Committee, March 3, 1902, quoted in Otto L. Nelson, Jr., National Security 

and the General Stujf (Washington: Infantry Journal Press, 1946), p. 52. 

On the Progressives’ interest in efficiency and the application of business 

principles to government, see Samuel P. Hays, Conservation and the Gospel 

of Eficiency : The Progressive Conservation Movement (Cambridge, Mass., 

1959) ; James Weinstein, “Organized Business and the City Commission 

and Manager Movements,” Journal of Southern History, XXVIII (1962), 

166-182; Robert H. Wiebe, Businessmen and Reform: A Study of the 

Progressive Movement (Cambridge, Mass., 1962) . 

5. William A. Ganoe, History of the United States Army (New York, 

1936), pp. 331, 350; Nelson, National Security, p. 13; Report of the 

Secretary of War, 54th Congress, 1st session, House Documents, 11, No. 2 

(serial 3478), 1896, I, 5. 

6. Ganoe, History of the United States Army, pp. 331, 350, 365, 370; 

Nelson, National Security, pp. 13-14. 

24 
7. Russell F. Weigley, History of the United States Army (New York, 

1967), pp. 170, 192-194, 284-290. 

8. For a general discussion, see Wiebe, Search for Order, pp. 111-121. 

More specialized works on various professions include James G. Barrow, 

AMA: Voice of American Medicine (Baltimore, 1963) ; Donald Fleming, 

William H. Welch and the Rise of Modern Medicine (Boston, 1954) ; Roscoe 

Pound, The Lawyer from Antiquity to Modern Times (St. Paul, 1953) ; 

Alfred Z. Reed, Training for the. Public Profession of the Law (New York: 

Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching, Bulletin NO. 15, 

1921; also New York, 1921); Richard H. Shryock, The Development of 

Modern Medicine: An Interpretation of the Social and Scientific Factors 

Involved (New York, 1947) , and Medical Licensing in America, 1650-1965 

(Baltimore, 1967). 

9. As Samuel P. Huntington emphasizes, the rise of military professiondism 

in the United States was impeded by a strong element of mere technicism; 

The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of Civil-Military Relations (Vintage Books edition; New York, 1964), pp. 195-203. Huntington 

offers the best discussion of military professionalism both in the United 

States and elsewhere. On modern professions in general, see A. M. Cam 

Saunders and P. A. Wilson, The Professions (Oxford, 1933). 

10. Hammond emphasizes the secondary importance of the officer corps in 

effecting the Root reforms, Organizing for Defense, pp. 12-13. My hypothesis 

connecting the Root reforms with the Progressive era will be seen to hinge 

largely upon this assertion of the primacy of the civilian reformers. While 

more investigation of the topic needs to be done, it is my belief that the 

most influential of Root’s military advisers, Major William H. Carter, was 

less important than his own account, cited in the following note, suggests; 

and that Adjutant General Henry C. Corbin played a smaller role in shaping 

the reforms than has sometimes been thought. 

11. William H. Carter, “Creation of the American General Staff: Personal 

Narrative of the General Staff System of the American Army . . . ,” 68:l 

Senate Miscellaneous Documents, I1 (serial 8254), No. 119; Hammond, 

Organizing for Defense, pp. 10-12; J. D. Hittle, The Military Stufl, Its 

History and Development (Harrisburg, 1949), p. 182; Philip C. Jessup, 

Elihu Root (2 vols.; New York, 1938), I, 240-262; Spenser Wilkinson, The 

Brain of an Army (London, 1913) ; Emory Upton, The, Military Policy of 

the United States from 1775 (Washington: G.P.O., 1904), especially p. 

258; Theodore Schwan, Report on the Organization of the Cermun Army 

(Washington : War Department, Adjutant General’s Office, Military Infor. 

mation Division, No. 2, 1894). 

12. Hammond, Organizing for Vefense, pp. 12-17, 21-22. 

25 
13. Ibid., pp. 21-22; Herbert Rosinski, The German Army (rev. ed.; 

Washington, 1944), pp. 118-120. 

14. Reports of the Secretary of War, 57-1, House Docs., 11, No. 2 (serial 

4269), 1901, p. 25; 57:2 House Docs., IV, No. 2 (serial 4443), 1902, p. 46. 

15. Report of the Secretary of War, 57:2, House DOCS., IV, No. 2 (se-ial 

4443), 1902, p. 44, quoting Theodore Schwan. 

16. Carter, “Creation of the American General Staff,” pp. 43-45; Nelson, 

National Security, p. 59. 

17. Report of the Secretary of War, 58:2, House Docs., 11, No. 2 (serial 

4628), 1903, p. 7. 

18. Report of the Secretary of War, 57:2, House Docs., IV, No. 2 (serial 

4443), 1902, p. 44. 

19. Ibid., p. 4,6. For a discussion of the historic controversy over whether 

the General Staff should “operate” or “supervise,” see Roy S. Cline, 

Washington Command Post: The Operations Division. United States Army 

in World War II: The War Department, (Washington: Department of the 

Army, 1950), p. 358. 

20. John McAuley Palmer, America in Arms: The Experience of the United 

States with Military Organization (New Haven, Conn., 1941), p. 126. 

21. For the development of the bureaucratic approach to government in 

the Progressive era, see Samuel Haber, Eficiency and Uplift: Scientific 

Management in the Progressive Era, 1890-1920 (Chicago, 1964) ; Barry 

Dean Karl, Executive Reorganization and Reform in the New Deal (Cambridge, Mass., 1963), which reaches back to the Progressive era; Dwight 

Waldo, The Administrative State: A Study of the Political Theory of 

American Public Administration (New York, 1948) ; Wiebe, Search for 

Order, pp. 145-163, 169-172, 182-185, 193-195, 221-223, 293-300. 

22. Report of the Secretary of War, 57:2, House Docs., IV, No. 2 (serial 

4*443), 1902, p. 43. 

23. Gabriel Kolko argues that the governmental commissions became so 

much the instruments of the industries they presumably regulated that the 

Progressive era proved to be not an era of reform but of the victory of 

corporate capitalism; see his Railroads and Regulation, 1877-1916 (P rince- ‘ 

ton, 1965) and The Triumph of Conservatism: A Reinterpretation of 

American History (New York, 1963). The literature on the new commissions 

includes Robert E. Cushman, The Independent Regulatory Commissions 

(New York, 1941) ; Pendleton Herring, Federal Commissioners: A Study 

of Their Careers and Qualifications (Cambridge, Mass., 1936) ; George 

Rublee, “The Original Plan and Early History of the Federal Trade Commission,” Proceedings of the Academy of Political Science, XI (1926), 

26 
114-120; I. L. Sharfman, The Interstate Commerce Commission (5 vols.; 

New York, 1931-1937) and Railway Regulations: An Analysis of the Underlying Problems in Railway Economics from the Standpoint of Government Regulation (Chicago, 1915). The most recent account of the struggle 

between Adjutant General Ainsworth and the General Staff is Mabel E. 

Deutrich, Struggle for Supremacy: The Care,er of Fred C. Ainsworth (Washington: Public Affairs Press, 1962). On the early development of General 

Staff activities, see Allan R. Millett, “The General Staff and the Cuban 

Intervention of 1906,” Military Atfairs, XXXI (1967), 113-119. 

24. For the General Staff‘s monitoring problem-the problem of “following 

through”-see especially Cline, Washington Command Post, pp. 77-79. 

27 
COMMENTARY 

Louis Morton 

I will limit my remarks to Dr. Weigley’s provocative and 

original analysis of the origins of the general staff in the United 

States. The thesis of this paper can be simply stated. It is that the 

military reforms of Elihu Root at the beginning of the twentieth 

century were part of a general trend in American society to bring 

order into the chaos that resulted from the urbanization and industrialization of the nation between 1870 and 1900. This movement, known as the Progressive movement, so dominated American 

society during the first two decades of the century that the period 

has come to be known as the Progressive era. 

Let me say at the outset that this is the kind of history that 

more of us really should be concerned with. What Mr. Weigley has 

attempted to do in viewing the Root reforms in the context of the 

Progressive era’s ideas about government is to relate an important 

change in the army’s structure and command to developments in the 

civilian side of American society. Though I may not accept his 

thesis in its entirety-and I won’t-I would support and applaud 

his work wholeheartedly and enthusiastically. The hypothesis is 

reasonable and provocative and certainly merits serious attention. 

Only by doing so can we arrive at a better understanding of military institutions and their relationships to other changes in our 

government. 

Military institutions in the armed forces do not exist in a 

vacuum. They reflect the society they are designed to protect and 

defend, and they can be understood only in relation to that society. 

What Mr. Weigley has done in relating military to civilian reforms, 

it seems to me, is done all too rarely. And this failure is one of the 

reasons, perhaps the chief reason, why military history is in such 

28 
poor repute among academicians. Battles and campaigns in military 

exploits are surely a necessary part of military history, but they 

are not the whole nor even the most important part of military 

affairs that the historian should be concerned with. What military 

historians should be doing more of is seeking the relationship 

between military institutions and activities and the broadest streams 

of history in an effort to enlarge our understanding of both. This, 

it seems to me, is the great merit of Mr. Weigley’s study, and I 

hope that any reservations I might express about his thesis will not 

be construed as diminishing in any way my admiration for his work 

or discourage him from continuing along this very profitable line 

of inquiry. 

The positive features of his paper far outweigh the specific 

criticisms I might make. But after all, the role of a critic is to 

criticize as well as praise; so let me raise several questions about 

this paper for the purpose of discussion and clarification. They 

are not the only questions I have but they will suffice, I think, to 

open up the subject. The first question I would raise, and it is 

central to Mr. Weigley’s thesis, has to do with his conception of 

the term “progressive” and the men whom he identifies as Progressives. Traditionally, as he says, the term has been used to describe 

the political and social reforms of the period. But Mr. Weigley, 

drawing on recent writings on the subject, especially Robert Wiebe’s 

Search fur Order, finds the most salient characteristics of the 

movement not in the drive for reform but in the application of the 

organizational principles of leadership and direction “to bring the 

new social and economic forces under public control.” The central 

problem of the period 1900 to 1920 he finds in Wiebe’s title, The 

Search for Order, subordinating the reforms of this period, the 

efforts to better the lot of the working classes, to minor importance 

as “the pursuit of some transcendental moral idea.” In Weigley’s 

view, Root, one of the most conservative men of the period, becomes progressive together with such conservatives as Lodge, General Wood, and Captain Mahan. 

Having defined progressivism in this manner Mr. Weigley 

then moves, much too easily, I think, to the assertion that if the true 

central theme was the search for order, then the Root reforms 

appear “thoroughly appropriate to the Progressive era.” There are 

two very large conditions here represented by the “if” and the 

29 
appear,” and the word “appropriate” is ambiguous at best. But 

Mr. Weigley proceeds thereafter as though he has demonstrated 

the validity of his supposition, when as a matter of fact-in my 

judgement-he has not. Somehow or other the “if” gets lost sight of. 

66 

Thus the central argument for me at least remains to be 

proved. It consists of two points: first, the nature of Progressivism 

and the identity of the Progressives; and second, the causal relationship between that movement and the Root reforms. The fact 

that they occur at the same time or are “thoroughly appropriate” 

does not ips0 facto establish this relationship. 

The symposium is probably not the most “appropriate,” if I 

may use that word, arena to discuss the meaning of Progressivism. 

It is a subject to which some of the leading American historians 

have devoted considerable attention with no general agreement on 

its meaning or its causes, or on the identity of the Progressives. 

What makes it difficult to define the Progressive movement is that 

it consisted of a number of different movements, some of them 

contradictory, and that the Progressives constituted a widely varying group whose conception of social justice and regulation differed 

greatly. Theodore Roosevelt, for example, whom Mr. Weigley 

described as the first Progressive president, thought big business 

inevitable and beneficial but was prepared to regulate monopolies 

and to expand the welfare function of the state. Wilson, who most 

certainly must be identified as a Progressive president, thought 

large corporations inefficient and a threat to society, and wished to 

break them up to return the economy to smaller competitive enterprises; yet both are Progressives. It doesn’t help our understanding 

of this complex and contradictory movement, I think, to define it as 

narrowly as Mr. Weigley does and limit it to one aspect, that is to 

the rationalization of management. To do so, to lump Mahan, Root, 

Wilson, Smith, Robert Wagner, and Robert LaFollette together as 

Progressives, it seems to me, is to deprive the word of all meaning 

whatsoever. What the Progressives were trying to do was to work 

out a program of social change in a peaceful and orderly way. The 

search for order, in my own view, was only one part of the program. 

My second difference with Mr. Weigley has to do with the way 

he has made the army of the nineteenth century fit the model he has 

created. This model is of an amorphous, unstructured, agrarian 

society, becoming transformed between 1865 and 1900 into an 

30 
industrial, urban society with an antiquated political and economic 

system, completely inadequate to deal with the problems of the new 

industrial society. The model is largely correct in describing what 

happened in the United States in the nineteenth century, but to 

apply it to the army is quite another thing. To do so requires 

comparing, as Mr. Weigley does, the nineteenth century army and 

its frontier garrisons to an amorphous bundle of markets and 

polities centering on one hundred small cities and towns. This army 

with its hundreds of military posts, he says, was a miniature of the 

invertebrate society. The department and district commands Weigley likened to the smaller centers of civilian population, while at 

the same time pointing out that a department might cover an area 

as large as several states. 

I would submit that this picture is an exaggeration distorted 

to fit the model-army into Weigley’s model of the United States in 

the nineteenth century. The army was a national institution and 

not a local institution-exactly what was lacking on the civilian 

side-and though operating in small units at widely separated 

posts, it was under centralized, federal control. Moreover, it seems 

to me, he exaggerates the scattered and isolated nature of the 

garrisons. Of the seventy-seven military posts in the United States 

in 1898, only six had a garrison of one company, twenty had eight 

or more companies, and about half were garrisoned by four or 

more companies. For an army of about twenty-five thousand men, 

that doesn’t seem to me quite so great a “scatteration” as he suggests. Further, half of the infantry regiments and more than twothirds of the cavalry of the entire army at that time were located in 

the plains and mountain states, and as he says, the reforms under 

Root did not materially affect this deployment of the forces of the 

Uhited States Army. 

Pursuing the analogy of the army and the amorphous society, 

Mr. Weigley asserts that just as the new industrial age demanded 

that American society organize itself to bring economic and social 

forces under public control, so did new national defense problems 

demand that the United States Army organize itself to function as a 

coordinated mechanism. Both parts of the statement are correct, but 

that does not necessarily establish a connection between the two 

parts, and I don’t think Mr. Weigley establishes one. Moreover, he 

doesn’t tell us what these new national defense problems were. It is 

31 
true that weapons development since 1865 called for changes in 

organization and tactics, and that the war with Spain had revealed 

weaknesses in command and planning; but these can hardly be 

attributed to urban and industrial development. 

When Mr. Weigley compares the crisis at Homestead with the 

Spanish American War as events that crystalized opinion and led 

to change, he is on firmer ground. He is aware also that the parallel 

between invertebrate civilian America and the invertebrate army 

is not altogether accurate, that the army did possess at least one 

national skeletal feature, a professional officer corps. I would 

suggest that it contained other features that belie its seemingly 

amorphous character: a similarity in structure, in organization, 

and in method. Though its elements were deployed between some 

seventy or eighty posts for most of the period, they all followed 

the same rules and regulations, used the same weapons, had a 

common system of discipline and training, were subject to the same 

chain of command from the top, held to the same loyalties, customs, 

and traditions, and wore the same uniforms. To describe such a 

system as amorphous, lacking a skeleton, does seem to me to be 

stretching the point somewhat. 

A third point I would like to comment on is Mr. Weigley’s 

characterization and motivation of the army reformers. He notes 

correctly, though with somewhat more emphasis than I think is 

justified, that the impetus for reform came not from the officer 

corps but from civilians. These civilians, he says, were motivated 

largely by the same search for order that characterized civilian 

reform. Leonard White referred to these civilian leaders in his 

administrative history as “the new Hamiltonians,” a term that Paul 

Hammond adopts in his own study of defense organization. But 

both, it should be noted, link the civilian interest in military reform 

not so much to the search for order as to civilian control of the 

military, which is to be achieved thcough the methods used in large 

scale business organizations. “The major premise of Root’s reforms,” says Hammond, “was the efficiency of clear lines of accountability and authority.” 

Moreover, it does not seem to me significant that civilians 

provided the impetus, if they did, to army reform. What is more 

significant are the ideas and outlook of the reformers, whether in 

uniform or not. The Neo-Hamiltonians-Roosevelt, Lodge, Root, 

32 
Mahan, Crowly-combined elements of military and civilian 

thought, and their political philosophy emphasized power and the 

primacy of the national interest. They supported and favored the 

emergence of the United States as a world power and thought the 

country should play a positive and strong role in international 

affairs. Like the military they viewed international politics as a 

struggle between independent nations with conflicting interests. 

Force, they believed, was the ultimate arbiter, and they supported 

the military in their effort to build larger forces and secure larger 

appropriations so that the United States could assert its power more 

effectively. Viewed in this way, the civilian reformers were scarcely 

distinct from the men in uniform and were motivated less by desire 

for reform than to project American power overseas. 

And finally Secretary Root’s reforms, Mr. Weigley tells us, 

owed at least as much to the prevalent thinking of the Progressives 

as to military thought and experience. “What Root wanted,” he 

says, “was a body that would not only plan for the future, a 

‘think‘ organization, but would also control and supervise the 

bureaus.’’ He found the answer, we are told, in the Progressives’ 

discovery of a new theory of public management, the government: 

commission, developed to keep a watchful eye and, if necessary, to 

supervise and regulate the trusts. 

The evidence offered for this analysis, it seems to me, is pretty 

skimpy. Though Mr. Weigley keeps referring to the Federal Trade 

Commission, which was established in 1914, the only such commission or board that I know of created before 1903 was the 

Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC), which dated from 1887 

and certainly was not noted for being an effective instrument at 

least up to that time. Surely this one example hardly offers convincing proof of the development of a new type of government 

control. Secondly, the connection between the General Staff and 

the civilian commission is tenuous and arguable at least. And third, 

there is no evidence of a causal relationship, at least not in this 

paper. Noting the resemblance between the Progressives’ efforts to 

regulate the large trusts and the General Staff’s attempts to supervise 

the bureaus of the War epartment, Weigley asserts that both were 

the product of the same forces. He recognizes a weakness in the 

analogy, namely that the General Staff was not an outside regulating agency like the ICC, but he gets around this difficulty by the 

33 
fiction that the General Staff was somehow distinct and outside the 

army. The further argument that the efforts of the General Staff 

to supervise the bureaus were similar to the efforts of the ICC is 

not persuasive. Because both had difficulty in following through 

and both tended to draw on the expertise of the groups they were 

supposed to be supervising, points to some similarity of the two. 

But the differences between the two bodies seem to be much more 

significant than their superficial resemblances. 

Having made these reservations about Mr. Weigley’s paper, 

one must iai justice note the solid virtues of his work. It is based on 

a thorough knowledge of the period and the historical literature 

dealing with it. It puts forth a provocative hypothesis which, if not 

conclusively demonstrated, does break new ground and point the 

way for further research. It argues the case persuasively and 

cogently and despite my differences with Mr. Weigley, I find his 

approach fresh and promising of rich rewards. Military historians 

have for too long neglected the relationship between their own area 

of interest and the broader aspects of society. Too often they have 

concerned themselves with wars, campaigns, battles, and the memoirs of niilitary leaders, while other historians for a variety of 

reasons have tended to neglect military affairs. Neither is healthy, 

it seems to me. Military institutions, armed forces, and methods of 

warfare are important parts of any society and reflect its cultural 

values, economic system, and political organization. As Alfred 

Vagts wrote in his History of Militarism, “the task of the military 

historian is to show how the army of a state fits into the system of 

natiorial or international division of labor, how armies are interrelated, by what means and interests they are kept up and how the 

manning and paying of armies affects society, finances and the 

national economy.” How the thought of military man stands in 

relation to the thought of his own time: this is the kind of military 

history we need. This is what Mr. Weigley has tried to do and we 

should be grateful to him for pointing the way in this study of the 

origins of the American General Staff. 

34 
THE AMERICAN MILITARY GENERATION GAP 

IN WORLD WAR I: THE LEAVENWORTH CLIQUE 

IN THE AEF 

Edward M. Coffman 

Today, the generation gap excites sociologists, frightens most 

of the elders (anyone over thirty or twenty-five or wherever the 

current cut-off of youthful credibility is), and generally stimulates 

comment. 

A generation gap within the army fifty years ago, of course, 

was not as widespread nor did it attract as much attention in the 

news media. Yet the veteran war correspondent, Frederick Palmer, 

who wrote so much about World War I, devoted a chapter in one 

of his books to it’ and knowledgeable officers in the American 

Expeditionary Forces (AEF) were well aware of this new breed of 

professional officers who wielded such great power-the Leavenworth clique. Resented, if not hated, by some, respected by many, 

the relatively small group of graduates of the School of the Line 

and the Staff College of Fort Leavenworth held most of the key 

staff positions in the AEF. And they represented a break with the 

past. 

Although there were schools in the army before those at 

Leavenworth began to flourish in the decade prior to World War I, 

they did not inspire the same 6Zm, provide the training, or certainly 

did not graduate a group so specifically “calibrated”’ for staff 

work as did Leavenworth. Founded in the days of what Douglas 

MacArthur called the “one-shot carbine, revolver, and saber 

Army”3 in 1881, the School of Application for Infantry and 

Cavalry provided a rather elementary course which included instruction in penmanship, arithmetic, grammar, and little more until 

an imaginative teacher, Arthur L. Wagner, began to stir up professional interest in tactics. Shortly before the school closed because 

35 
of the Spanish American War, another teacher, Eben Swift, introduced the valuable technique of order forms so that graduates, 

hopefully, would be able to decrease misunderstanding by using a 

standard order form in a given situation. As John McAuley Palmer 

(School of the Line, 1909, Staff College, 1910) wrote: “A form 

for an attack is quite as convenient to a soldier as a form for a 

lease to a lawyer. It saves time. It prevents the forgetting of any 

small but important detail. It enables subordinates to relieve their 

principals of a mass of routine work.”’ 

With the advent of the Root reforms and the reopening of the 

schools at Leavenworth in 1902, the level of professional training 

was also advanced. J. Franklin Bell, as commandant and later 

Chief of Staff, nourished this development; and John F. Morrison, 

another inspiring teacher, used map problems and indelibly impressed students with tactical principles.6 

While most of their fellow officers wrestled with the routine of 

company administration, worried about the upcoming polo match, 

or studied a hand of cards during long afternoons at officers’ clubs, 

the students at Leavenworth pored over translations of Griepenkerl’s 

Letters on Applied Tactics and Albert Buddecke’s Tactical Decisions and Orders, learned to use maps, and disciplined themselves 

in the study of their profession. The competition was fierce as they 

fought for class rank which would give some the opportunity for a 

second year of study in the Staff College. 

At the War Department, officers pondered the adoption of a 

new saber or the color of the stripe on the uniform trousers’ while 

the Leavenworth students deployed imaginary armies and learned 

to handle the details of large scale war on maps. Others might be 

suspicious of this study and continue their daily round in what had 

become a “drill regulation Army,’” but for Leavenworth men 

horizons broadened. George C. Marshall (School of the Line, 1907, 

Staff College, 1908) put it succinctly: “I learned how to learn.”’ 

When the United States intervened in World War I, the Allies 

did not believe their new associate capable of providing commanders and staff for units in a large, separate army. There were 

logistical and diplomatic reasons as well for the British and French 

arguments against an independent American force, but their estimate of the professional capability of the American officer corps 

36 
was as clear as it was irritating to the Americans. To a great extent 

it would be up to the Leavenworth men to disprove this view as 

far as staff officers were concerned. 

The commander of the AEF, John J. Pershing, was not a 

Leavenworth graduate, but he recognized the value of this professional training. Of the 12 officers who served on his staff as chief 

of staff, deputy chief of staff, and El through G5 during the 

course of the war, eight were graduates of both the School of the 

Line and the Staff College and another (James G. Harbord) was a 

graduate of the pre-Spanish War period. The time in which an 

officer attended the school made a difference, as Hugh A. Drum 

(School of the Line, 1911, Staff College, 1912), a member of the 

G-3 section, noted in his diary: “Harbord as chief of staff is an 

excellent man but lacks the training of Leavenworth.”’ Harbord 

was also aware of this difference as he commented in The American 

Army in 191 7-1919: “Our service schools at Fort Leavenworth, 

originally organized as schools of rather elementary application, 

had been reformed at the beginning of the century. . . .’,lo All of 

the six officers who held the posts of G-3 (Operations), G4 (Coordination), and G-5 (Training) during the war were Leavenworth 

men of post-Spanish War vintage, as was the deputy chief of staff, 

LeRoy Eltinge (School of the Line, 1908, Staff College, 1909), 

and the chief of staff, James W. McAndrew (School of the Line, 

1911, Staff College, 1912), from May 6, 1918 throughout the 

remainder of the war:’ 

Drum, who participated with his section chiefs, John M. Palmer and Fox Conner (Staff College, 1906), in much of the basic 

planning during the first months in France, commented on the 

Leavenworth background in a letter to his wife. On September 24, 

1917, he wrote: “My Leavenworth training is standing me in good 

stead these days.” And he added: “I am in the operations section. 

There are seven of us, all Leavenworth men who were at the school 

as instructors or students with me.” l2 

In one respect these officers, while at Leavenworth, had prepared better for their specific task than anyone could have foreseen. 

When Conner, Palmer, and Drum visited the Western Front near 

Nancy, they looked over terrain which they virtually knew by heart 

from their map studies at Leavenworth. Since German topographi37 
cal maps were better than American maps, they had worked out 

problems in Kansas on maps of the Moselle and Metz area.” 

Since there were not enough Leavenworth graduates to staff the 

armies, corps, and divisions which Pershing envisioned, he decided 

to create his own version of Leavenworth in the General Staff College at Langres. Drum worked on a study for this school and 

McAndrew became its first director. For three months, regulars and 

citizen soldiers went through an abbreviated staff course. Would 

this indoctrination and training serve the purpose? After Belleau 

Wood and before Soissons, Drum wrote, on 7 July 1918: “Our 

school system is a big concern. Leavenworth is a drop in the bucket. 

Of course the Leavenworth teaching is the foundation of the whole 

system.” l4 

Although Langres graduates would have to carry some of the 

staff burden, the Leavenworth men provided the leaven. Before the 

Armistice, Pershing had two field armies and seven corps in the 

AEF. The chiefs of staff of the two armies and nine of the ten 

officers who held the similar positions in the corps were Leavenworth graduates. Within the 26 divisions that saw combat in France, 

only three (30th, 89th, and 90th) did not have at one time or other 

a Leavenworth man as chief of staff. 

The difference between the education of the commanders and 

their chiefs of staff marked the generation gap. Neither Pershing, 

the other two Army commanders (Hunter Liggett and Robert L. 

Bullard), nor any of the corps commanders had attended the postSpanish War Leavenworth; and only seven of the 57 generals who 

commanded the divisions that actually fought had done so. Of 

those seven, two, Preston Brown (School of the Line, 1913, Staff 

College, 1914) and Hanson E. Ely (Infantry and Cavalry School, 

1905, Staff College, 1906), had earlier served as division chiefs 

of staff .16 

Some of the commanders, such as Pershing and Liggett, had 

studied Leavenworth course materials on their own. Others had 

attended a brief course at Leavenworth and many had been graduated from the Army War College, but they were not considered 

“Leavenworth men” by those who had spent the year or two years in 

intensive study at the Kansas post. 

38 
When it came to battle, what did the Leavenworth background 

mean? It meant that Leavenworth graduates shared a common 

outlook. in tactics, standard forms for orders, and the same military 

vocabulary. Charles D. Herron (School of the Line, 1907, Staff 

College, 1908), who served as chief of staff of the 78th Division 

during the bitter fighting about Grandpri? and in the pursuit phase 

of the Meuse-Argonne offensive, commented that if you talked with 

another Leavenworth man, “he understood what you said and you 

understood what he said.” l6 He added that he was not sure of this 

when he conferred with someone who did not have the Leavenworth 

training. 

The relationship between commander and chief of staff required 

confidence in his chief of staff on the part of the commander and, in 

the case of the chief of staff, a sense of proportion and understanding of his proper role. Mutual loyalty was also essential. When 

Pershing described the course at Langres, he emphasized that officers 

were taught not only “a common doctrine” but also “a loyal sense 

of cooperation well accentuated.” l7 The chief of staff had to know 

that the commander would support him when he issued orders in 

the general’s name. In turn, the general had to trust the judgment 

of the younger officer. 

During a period in which there was a difference in training 

between the older and younger men, the personal element was even 

more important than it would be later in the twentieth century, 

when one could assume a general similarity in the professional 

education of commanders and staff officers. In the pre-World War 

era, the officer corps was small enough (ranging from 3500 to 

5000 in round numbers between 1900 and 1916)” so that an officer 

of long and varied service would know personally a fairly large 

percentage of all the regular officers. John J. Pershing remembered 

Malin Craig (Infantry and Cavalry School, 1904, Staff College, 

1905, and Chief of Staff, I Corps) as a schoolboy on an army post, 

recognized Herron, whom he had not seen since he was his tactical 

officer at West Point in the 1890s, at Chaumont, and knew Drum 

from his staff work in the Southern Department in 1916 and early 

1917. From his own class at West Point, there came eleven division 

commanders. As a tactical officer, he had occasion to know cadets 

who would be at the staff age of late thirties and early forties in 

World War I. Herron’s Military Academy class of 1899 alone included 12 key staff officers.19 And there were many other oppor39 
tunities for Penhing, who had a strong memory, to evaluate the 

personalities and performances of other officers. A similar observation could be made about Liggett, who had known personally his 

chief of staff, G-3, and G-4 in the “Old Army,” and had learned 

about his G-1 through a mutual acquaintance when he formed the 

staff of the I Corps?’ 

This acquaintance paid off for the older officers when they had 

to depend initially on their knowledge and judgment of men, trusting in their juniors rather than their own technical training. Later, 

of course, they could judge on the basis of results. 

There were problems. Staff officers are never overly popular 

with line officers, and the difference in training perhaps exacerbated 

this hostility. Then, some of the Leavenworth men-Preston Brown 

and Alfred W. Bjornstad (School of the Line, 1909, Staff College, 

1910) to name a couple-were too brusque or too domineering or 

even tried to take over the role of the commander. Nor was the 

Leavenworth training a prerequisite for success. Douglas MacArthur, a successful chief of staff, brigade and division commander 

of the 42th Division, was not a graduate; and the three divisions 

(30th, 89th, and 90th) which never did have Leavenworth-trained 

chiefs of staff made good records in battle. Nevertheless, the 

importance within the AEF of what Frederick Palmer called the 

magic inner circle” 21 was apparent to anyone acquainted with 

staff work in the expeditionary force. 

46 

One of the Leavenworth men, who had left GHQ in the summer 

of 1917 because of illness, was made particularly aware of this 

when he rejoined the AEF in the fall of 1918. Pershing’s former 

G-3, John M. Palmer, reported to First Army headquarters at 

Souilly early in October. His subordinate of fifteen months before, 

Hugh Drum, was now Chief of Staff of First Army. When he 

accompanied Drum to a conference of chiefs of staff of the I, 111, 

and V Corps, he found all three Leavenworth men. “Except for an 

ominous rumble to the north of us, I might have thought that we 

were back at Leavenworth,” he recalled. “It seemed just like a 

Staff College conference between the phases of one of the old map 

maneuvers. The technique and the talk were just the same-except 

that Drum now spoke for General Pershing and not for General 

‘A’-and that the umpire this time was to be the God of Battles.” “ 

%O 
In a few weeks the war would be over. Even on Armistice Day, 

Drum thought of his school. He wrote his wife on 11 November: 

“All the hard hours of study at Leavenworth and those spent here 

have borne fruit and my reward is now at hand.”” And the first 

chance he had to take some time off a few days later, he and another 

Leavenworth graduate toured “all the ground where Griepenkerl 

problems were laid.”24 A few months later, he returned to the 

United States to become the Director of the School of the Line. 

Among the most impressive lessons of the war was the value of 

the schools. As General of the Army Omar N. Bradley said: “The 

greatest difference in the army before and after the war was the 

school system.” 25 Officers worked harder and studied more in the 

army of the twenties and the thirties than most of their seniors had 

in the prewar army. When World War I1 came, there was a greater 

consistency in the training of command and staff officers than there 

had been in 1917.’‘ The School of the Line had become the Command and General Staff School and the “magic inner circle” had 

expanded. The generation gap was bridged. 

NOTES 

1. Frederick Palmer, Our Greatest Battle (The Meuse-Argonne) (New 

York, 1919), Chapter XXV. 

2. John McAuley Palmer used this term in Washington-Lincoln- Wilson: 

Three ,War Statesmen (Garden City, N.Y., 1930), p. 298. 

3. MacArthur interview, 12 December 1960. 

4. John Palmer, p. 295. 

5. Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall: Education of a General (New 

York, 1963), pp. 9496, 98-99. 

6. Gearge Van Horn Moseley, “One Soldier’s Journey,” two volume typescript memoir in the Moseley Papers, Library of Congress, I, 113-114. 

7. Charles D. Herron interview, 7 November 1964. 

8. As quoted in Pogue, p. 101. 

9. Diary, combined entry for 9-31 August 1917, Hugh A. Drum Papers. 

in possession of the family. 

10. James G. Harbord, The American Army in France: 1917-1919 (Boston, 

1936), p. 29. 

41 
11. For the names and dates of service of the staff officers, I depended 

upon Order of Battle of the United States Land Forces in the World War, 

American Expeditionary Forces: General Headquarters, Armies, Army 

Corps, Services of Supply, and Separate Forces (Washington, D.C., 1937). 

I did not include acting or ad interim officers nor those who joined the 

staff after the Armistice. I used the Oficial Army Registers for 1918 and 

1924 to determine the officers’ educational background. 

12. Drum to wife, 24 September 1917, Drum Papers. 

13. John Palmer, p. 299. 

14. Drum to wife, 7 July 1918, Drurr. Papers. 

15. Again, I used the Oficid Army Registers for 1918 and 1924. I found 

the names of the commanders and the chiefs of staff in Order of Battle of 

the United States Land Forces in the World War, American Expeditionary 

Forces: Divisions (Washington, D.C., 1931). As above, I did not include 

acting or ad interim officers nor those who assumed the position after the 

Armistice. 

16. Herron interview, 7 November 1964. 

17. John J. Pershing, My Experiences in the World War (2 vols.; New 

York, 1931), I, 156. 

18. Russell F. Weigley, History of the United States Army (New York, 

1967), p. 568. 

19. I relied upon class rolls of 1886 and 1899 in the Register of Graduates 

and Former Cadets: United States Military Academy (New York, 1953). 

I also depended upon the Herron interview and interviews with Pershing’s 

secretary, Ralph A. Curtin, 14 November 1958 and 10 November 1960. 

20. Hunter Liggett, A.E.F.: Ten Years Ago in France (New York, 1928). 

pp. 306-311. Liggett commented on Leavenworth earlier on pages 286 and 

288. 

21. Frederick Palmer, p. 453. 

22. John Palmer, p. 340. 

23. Drum to wife, 11 November 1918, Drum Papers. 

24. Drum to wife, 22 November 1918, Drum Papers. Laurence Halstead of 

the G-3 Section, First Army, accompanied Drum on this trip. 

25. Bradley interview, 10 July 1961. 

26. The consistency of the doctrine of command and staff methods is 

commented upon by Ray S. Cline in Washington Command Post: The 

Operations Division (Washington, D.C., 1951) in the multivolume series 

United States Army in World War II. Cline’s comments are on pages 3 
and 6. John W. Masland and Laurence I. Radway in Soldiers and Scholars: 

Military Education and National Policy (Princeton, 1957) discuss the 

importance of the Command and General Staff School in this period on 

pages 88-89. 

43 
COMMENTARY 

Daniel K. Beaver 

Professor Coffman’s paper poses all sorts of questions and 

then, if I may say so, fails to answer most of them. Just what is a 

generation gap? It can be a simple matter of years and experience 

or it can be, as Professor Coffman suggests, a question of differing 

outlooks on issues that contain significant areas of conflict and 

antagonism. Was there in the American army that kind of a gap 

between the officers trained at Leavenworth and their seniors not 

trained at the staff school? Were those army officers not trained at 

the staff school and vegetating out in the Line as outmoded in their 

views as Professor Coffman has suggested? Were those army officers 

stationed in the Philippines between 1900 and 1914, who tended 

to make their way back to the United States from their Philippine 

posts through Russia, through Germany, through France, through 

England, and who compiled and filed at the War College voluminous intelligence reports of what they saw and of what they thought 

of various situations-were all these throwbacks of an earlier era? 

Did those American army officers who supervised the building of 

the Panama Canal have any less expertise than the War College 

and Leavenworth people who went to France in 1917? And what 

about those army officers who administered American affairs in 

Puerto Rico, in Cuba, and in certain areas of the Philippines? 

Were they really so out of touch with the realities of twentieth 

century military affairs? Was not connection still, as Professor 

Coffman has suggested, the most important thing in the American 

army in 1917? I remember going through the papers of Hugh 

Scott and coming upon a magnificent letter, I thought, from old 

Mrs. MacArthur, who reminded Hugh Scott of what her husband 

Arthur had done for him, and to see to it “that Douglas is not Ieft 

behind when the first ships leave for France.” 
Frederick Palmer, whom Professor Coffman has cited as his 

authority, can be read in any number of ways on the so-called 

“Leavenworth clique.” It may be that that terrible term was simply 

the frustrated line officers’ name for anything that smacked of 

“Chaumont” or “staff .” Most certainly Palmer can be interpreted 

that way. The higher command ranks in the AEF showed no indication that they considered these Leavenworth types to be “young 

Turks,” or to be dangerous, or to be differently trained. Rather, 

what Pershing and his colleagues did was to absorb those men into 

the AEF. Pershing knew quite well how to handle them and take 

care of them and use the best capabilities of the “Leavenworth 

clique” to the advantage of the AEF. Rather than fighting or 

restricting them in any way, the AEF simply made them a part of 

the establishment, where they performed the missions laid out for 

them with very little protest or complaint. Certainly, if there was a 

generation gap it was not anywhere near so strong as that between 

the stockbroker supporting Hoover and his son supporting Franklin 

Roosevelt, or the Eisenhower Republican and his flower-child offspring. 

Now I don’t think the idea of a generation gap can be simply 

dismissed. Professor Coffman has shown there was a self-conscious 

group that conceived of themselves as Leavenworth men in the AEF. 

He is quite right to point this out and he does it very well. But how 

did the relationship between Leavenworth theory and AEF practice 

create a generation gap? What was taught at Leavenworth in the 

form of strategy and tactics that separated these “young Turks” 

from their older colleagues in the American army or from their 

British or French opposite numbers? Was it the spirit of the rifle? 

Was it the doctrine of open warfare preached by Pershing? Was 

it the artillery doctrine espoused by General Charles Summerall? 

Or possibly, was it the detachment of mind that caused General 

James Harbord to change his mind a little bit about Leavenworth 

and virtually to have apoplexy when Fox Conner, in far away 

Chaumont, denied Harbord’s request for reinforcements at Belleau 

Wood on the ground that he (Conner) knew the conditions there 

were not very bad? Was it the courses taught at Leavenworth that 

led AEF planners to launch the Argonne offensive with daily objectives that were out of touch with reality? Was it the intensive 

map work at Leavenworth that explains why the 35th Division was 

ordered up the valley of the Aisne into a cul-de-sac where they were 

45 
decimated by German artillery and machine guns? Maybe Hugh 

Drum should have reconnoitered the Argonne area before the 

armistice rather than after the armistice. Finally, was it Leavenworth thinking that subjected the drafted armies to such rigorous 

Regular Army discipline after the armistice that troop morale was 

almost destroyed before it was stopped? Is it not possible that 

Professor Coffman’s generation gap in the AEF did not concern 

the Leavenworth people at all, but developed between officers who 

still held to the gothic or romantic “hell-for-leather” style of military leadership, and those who conceived of war as more a grim 

business venture and who addressed themselves to organizational 

problems with the efficiency necessary to achieve success? How 

much did it really matter if such officers went to Leavenworth? I 

would not want to detract from the very real achievement of Pershing and his staff; but some, if not all, of the questions I have raised 

should be dealt with, before the impact of a possible generation 

gap can be properly assessed. 

In addition to differences in styles of leadership that I have 

already suggested, there are two other areas in this early period 

where a generation gap, if there was one, might be found equal to, 

if not greater than, the one between the old army and the Leavenworth clique. The first gap might be the one so ably espoused by 

Russell Weigley in his paper on the Elihu Root reforms, the gap 

between the regular tradition of the Upton school and the citizensoldier approach of officers like John McAuley Palmer. Certainly 

younger officers in the army, like George Marshall, seem to have 

learned much about the effectiveness and potential of amateur 

soldiers during the war, and their attitudes seem to have been much 

different from their elders’ toward the troops and officers of the 

National Army and the National Guard. This area, I think, could 

be explored much more fully to locate possible generation gaps. 

A second possible gap lies between an older generation of 

army leadership unable to understand the relationship between 

industrial or economic power, and a rising generation of exponents 

of total war. The French historian Raymond Aron has shown 

strikingly in his book, The Century of Total War, how the First 

World War fused military requirements and industrial production , until military demands received absolute priority. As Aron put it, 

the army industrialized itself, industry militarized itself, the army 

absorbed the nation and the nation modeled itself from the army.” 

(6 

46 
It has been shown rather forcefully in the last decade that John 

Pershing had little appreciation of the effect of model and specification changes on production. Indeed, the evidence indicates that 

Pershing largely ignored production issues inherent in supplying 

his army from its power base in the United States. A comparison 

of the attitudes of old school officers like Pershing or Hugh Scott, 

or even George W. Goethals, and new school officers like Hugh 

Johnson toward industrial-military relations might reveal an important. generation gap more significant than the one between the 

old army and the Leavenworth clique. I have enjoyed reading 

Professor Coffman’s paper and again I want to thank him for leading us down a line of scholarly investigation that is rich indeed in 

possibilities for future work. 

47 
THE LEAVENWORTH CLIQUE IN WORLD WAR I: 

A MILITARY VIEW 

Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen, USAF 

In 1903 at the dinner marking the inauguration of the General 

This is a time for organization. Great results are produced only by that. Individual effort, individual brilliancy, individual heroism, accomplish little, except as it 

has an effect on masses of men. Effective and harmonious 

organization is the moving power of the world today. We 

have lagged behind in our army until now; and now, I 

believe and trust, we take our place in the front rank of 

the organizations which are to control the effective action 

of the future.. . .’ 

Staff, Elihu Root delivered a speech in which he said: 

The creation of the General Staff (and the Army War College) 

as well as the earlier rejuvenation of the army’s educational system 

(the School of the Line and the General Command and Staff 

College in 1901) were both integral parts of Root’s design to bring 

efficiency and expertise, administration and management, into the 

United States Army. This was the focus that provided the impetus 

for the changes which took place in the army prior to our entry into 

World War I, changes which made it possible to discard the Old 

Army and create the New Army in 1917. 

The young officers attending the Leavenworth schools after 

1902 became the disciples of Root’s military philosophy. They 

worked hard to perfect themselves in these new professional skills, 

designed, in Root’s words, to train them “in the movement of large 

bodies of troops.” Handpicked for attendance at Leavenworth 

because they had shown administrative ability, promise of growth 

potential, and natural leadership, they were, as a group, alert and 

vital, hard driving, ambitious and in touch with the world and the 

48 
changes which were taking place in military organization and 

management. This small group of Leavenworth graduates (by 1917 

only 334 officers had gone through either school) were to be the 

apostles of Upton’s visions and Root’s design for the New Army 

of the future. They worked endless hours and months to familiarize 

themselves with large-scale military organizations, with divisions, 

corps and armies-albeit on paper, while their contemporaries out 

in the line were content to continue to exist on the lessons and 

experiences from the Spanish American War and the Philippine 

Insurrection, possessing a military horizon that did not try to 

venture beyond the small unit structure of the traditional regiment. 

The Leavenworth group did indeed represent a “new breed” 

of officer, but they were not the only ones. As Professor Beaver has 

pointed out, there were other officers in the army who, although 

they had not gone to Leavenworth, also belonged, though perhaps 

in a different sense, to this group of “new breed” officers. To many 

John J. Pershing reflects the prototype of this “new breed,” an 

officer type developed by the army in response to the demands of 

imperialism and world power status, a rationale certainly inherent 

in Root’s phil~sophy.~ Asthe Leavenworth students prepared themselves in scholarly detachment for the day when the United States 

would have to enlarge its military establishment, Pershing was an 

active participant in the events of the day and played a role in the 

new tasks thrust upon the army by the increased power status and 

expanding responsibilities of the United States in the aftermath of 

the Spanish American War. His career certainly can serve as an 

example and a case history of the “new breed” officer group. 

Only by stressing administrative efficiency was Pershing able 

to create a million-man military organization in such incredibly 

short time in 1917. His talents as a “military businessman,” that 

of the “manager” rather than the “heroic warrior” type, were the 

key to his success with the AEF in Fran~e.~ 

It is, therefore, not surprising at all that Pershing turned (in 

fact, had to turn) to the Leavenworth group to assist him in the 

organization and administration of the AEF. They were the only 

available manpower resource in the army which, at least in theory, 

had acquired some expertise in the management of large scale 

military organizations and the required staff functions. As Fred- 
erick Palmer put it, “a scholastic preparation . . . became the 

criterion for practice in organization. . . .”5 Pershing considered 

the creation of “a well constituted general staff” as the first and 

most necessary step in organizing the AEF, a task which required 

highly trained officers who, in his opinion, “as a rule came from 

the Staff College at Fort Leavenworth and the Army War College. . . .’’6 While among the group which accompanied him to 

France in May 1917 there were only six Leavenworth graduates, he 

soon began to recruit others actively.? Some had arrived in France 

in late June with the 1st Division and found themselves quickly 

reassigned for duty at GHQ, AEF; others were requested by name 

from the United States.* In early July 1917 Pershing sent a cable to 

the War Department requesting that at least ten of twenty-seven 

individually named officers, whom he “considered especially fit for 

staff duties,” be immediately sent to France; all twenty-seven were 

Leavenworth graduates.’ 

As the AEF grew, the General Staff at GHQ expanded from 

the original group of three officers to over 200, and the Leavenworth 

group tended to dominate it, as Professor Coffman so vividly points 

out. When some Leavenworth men left to take over much coveted 

combat commands (for example, Paul B. Malone, Frank McCoy, 

William Connor), their places were invariably taken by other 

Leavenworth men.l0 Command of the AEF combat units, nevertheless, remained by and large in the hands of non-Leavenworth 

men; the regulars who, as Frederick Palmer put it, “stood together 

as regulars in the ‘magic outer circle’ against the ‘magic inner 

circle’” of the Leavenworth group.” To the regulars, set in the 

traditions of the Old Army, the Leavenworth men may well have 

seemed to be “ruthlessly progressive and ambitious . . . so sure of 

themselves and their capabilities . . . ,” but to others they represented the very soul and sinews of General Pershing’s organization.“ 

Was the Leavenworth dominance within the staff structure of 

the AEF one of design and prescription, one of chance, or simply 

one of necessity? Professor Coffman, Professor Beaver, and even 

Frederick Palmer tend to agree that it was a combination of all 

three factors. Pershing, by making the General Staff concept the 

cornerstone of his organization, certainly was responsible for establishing the preponderant role of the Leavenworth group within the 

50 
AEF. Chance likewise played a part for no one, including Pershing 

himself, had foreseen that the AEF would become as large a military organization as it did. Lastly, with respect to necessity, Frederick Palmer’s comment is perhaps the best answer: “What should 

we have done without them in France?” l3 

In order to more fully illuminate the role of the Leavenworth 

group in the AEF, Professor Coffman’s paper together with a 

questionnaire (see appendix below) was sent to approximately 100 

graduates of the U. S. Military Academy (Classes 1911 thru 1917), 

who had served in the AEF.* None of the group had attended 

Leavenworth prior to 1917 and the majority served in lower unit 

combat echelons, i.e., company, battalion, regiment, in the AEF. 

How did these junior regular officers, an important and integral part of the “magic outer circle,” see and react to the Leavenworth group and the myth of the “black stripe”? Few, if any, of 

these officers had heard of Leavenworth during their West Point 

days, where their education and training was still being conducted 

on the basis of the Old Army concepts, i.e., “Indian fighting” and 

the “hell for leather” approach.14 Those graduating between 191 1 

and 1916 found themselves usually assigned to the traditional 

line regiments stationed in the western part of the United States 

and along the southwest border, where their commanders were 

veterans of the Spanish American War and the Philippine Insurrection and the tactical training they received reflected these experiences. On the other hand, it was here that the young lieutenants 

learned for the first time about the Leavenworth schools, as other 

officers of the regiment were sent away to attend it. Upon their 

return these officers participated in the instructions offered by the 

regimental (and garrison) schools and the young officers learned 

a great deal from them.15 At the same time, booklets and pamphlets 

prepared by Leavenworth found their way to the field and were 

subscribed to by many of the line officers. Leavenworth also 

furnished the map problems used for instructions in the garrison 

schools and graded these problems.” In this fashion a fair share 

of Leavenworth teaching and training found its way into the army 

officer corps before World War I. Another related aspect was such 

*Approximately fifty replies were received, seven of which are printed in 

full in the section entitled “Comments by Members of the AEF” (see 

below). The information contained in the others forms the basis for the 

following parts of this essay. 

51 
War Department publications as, for example, the Field Service 

Regulations, published by the General Staff of the Army, a Leavenworth-dominated agency. Every regular officer of the pre-1917 

army (and presumably every National Guard Officer as well) was 

required to have studied this publication.” 

By and large, the Leavenworth graduates were looked upon 

with envy and respect for their accomplishment in the Old Army, 

since not many of the 5,700 officers had an opportunity to go to 

Leavenworth. The dedication of those who did go served as an 

inspiration to others when they returned to their regiments.” Thus, 

men like John Palmer and Harold B. Fiske were accorded prestige 

beyond their rank and age within their regiments.” However, 

others, like Alfred Bjornstad and Allen J. Greer, detracted from 

this picture because of personal (and perhaps adverse) character 

traits.20 Conversely, the Old Army attitudes toward the Leavenworth 

school and its concepts did not disappear and as one officer recalls 

(in his only positive memory of Leavenworth before World War 

I), when his unit, the 6th Infantry, in late 1915 was given a quota 

(of one) for Leavenworth, not one of the three eligibles cared to 

go.21 Yet it seems fair to say that the Leavenworth school and its 

graduates had already achieved a position of respect and “separateness” in the Regular Army before 1917. 

The young West Point officers were quite unaware of any 

“Leavenworth Clique” in the AEF, but then most of them served at 

lower unit echelons. However, those who became aware of the 

Leavenworth group commented that Leavenworth graduates did not 

serve long at regimental levels in the AEF (an occurrence already 

manifest in the pre-1917 army), since they were apparently needed 

at higher echelons, and that other officers appeared to look up to the 

Leavenworth graduates.” As one officer who went overseas with the 

1st Division in June 1917 points outs, almost immediately after 

arrival in France officers were ordered by name from the division to 

General Pershing’s staff and the few Leavenworth graduates who 

had come over with the division were soon lost. These in turn 

requisitioned many of the better experienced junior officers as their 

assistants, who in turn again requisitioned others?8 

This concentration of Leavenworth men 011 the staff level was 

not considered unusual, since Leavenworth graduates seemed (to 

some) to have a better grasp of command and operations. It seemed 

52 
only natural that they would be glad to work together and prefer 

other Leavenworth graduates for command and staff work, because 

they (probably) felt that these were the best qualified people to 

accomplish the tremendous task of staffing the rapidly expanding 

AEF and would get the best results. They spoke the same language 

and, in most instances, knew each other well. But above all, they 

shared a feeling of belonging as graduates of these highly competitive schools. As a group they did exhibit a sense of cohesiveness 

and corporateness which set them apart from the rest of their contemporaries, but this was only noticeable at the higher staff level 

echelons, certainly not below corps or army levels.24 

Generally speaking, the young West Point officers did not 

concern themselves too much at any time during the war with the 

question of who was or was not a Leavenworth graduate.“ They 

seemed to have felt that the Leavenworth group represented a group 

of high class officers who had been selected for their positions 

regardless of whether or not they had gone to Leavenworth. As some 

pointed out, had it not been for the training that this small selected 

group of officers received at Leavenworth during the decade or so 

preceding World War I (and the later effective employment of most 

of these officers in the AEF), the United States contribution to the 

defeat of Germany in 1918 would have fallen far short of what it 

actually was.26 To them, the Leavenworth men did indeed represent 

a break with the past, but they felt that this was to the benefit of the 

army and that the influence of Leavenworth on the conduct of the 

war was a vital factor in its successful conclusion. The desire of 

commanders, chiefs of staff and other commanding officers, saddled 

with the job of forming troop staffs, to acquire graduates of the 

staff college seemed only a natural one, since the Leavenworth men 

represented a select group of better educated officers?’ 

At the lower staff echelons, usually at division levels, where 

many of the West Pointers served, they did not see evidence of a 

Leavenworth group or “clique.” In many cases the chief of staff 

was the only Leavenworth man in the division and as one of them 

put it, “one man does not make a ‘clique’.”’’ Another, who had 

served as a battalion commander in the 90th Division, recalled that 

none of the staff there had been to Leavenworth, yet the staff work 

was outstanding; in fact, he did not see any better during World 

War 11.’’ The same picture seems to have applied to the 7th Division, where again only the chief of staff was a Leavenworth man 

53 
(William W. Taylor, Jr.: School of the Line, 1914; Staff College, 

1915), although the temporary division commander, Brigadier 

General Charles E. Barth, had been an instructor at the Leavenworth schools from 1903 to 1905.30 

It may be of passing interest to note some of the personal 

recollections the West Point group had of the Leavenworth men 

with whom they came into contact during World War I. 

There seemed to be general agreement that Hanson E. Ely was 

a natural soldier who would have been good in the field as a 

commander even without Leavenworth training. In the opinion of 

many he excelled both at staff and line work. When he took 

command of the 5th Division in October 1918, he is said to have 

“electrified” the division by his leader~hip.~~ Preston Brown, on the 

other hand, seems to have left an impression of being a better staff 

than combat officer. His work as chief of staff of the 2d Division 

received high praise from those who served under him. Brown 

himself seems to have been quite outspoken in his belief that it was 

the knowledge acquired at Leavenworth that made it possible for 

him to do his job as well as he did.32 Hugh Drum impressed those 

who knew him with his capabilities as a staff officer, by his energy 

and tireless work. He also seems to have been quite outspoken 

about the value of the Leavenworth training and attributed his 

success to it.33 Alfred Bjornstad, as a combat commander, fared 

less kindly. As commander of the 13th Infantry, he seems to have 

been commonly regarded as a poor example of a troop leader, 

generally disliked by both his officers and me~i?~ 

In retrospect most of the correspondents seemed to agree with 

the comment expressed by General James A. Van Fleet, USA 

(Ret.), Class of 1914: “Thank God for Leavenworth.”a5 As one 

officer put it, “I came out of World War I realizing what Leavenworth could have meant to me and as a result I tried to go there 

later on. There I was greatly benefited by the Leavenworth Clique 

of World War I, for they were the instructors.”” The role played 

by the Leavenworth group during World War I seems to have 

inspired these young regular officers, all West Point graduates, to 

later on go to the school, feeling that before they went there they 

merely had had a job, but after going through the course they had 

become military professional^.^' 
APPENDIX 

The “Leavenworth clique” 

1. Can you recollect any instance during service with the AEF in 1917-1918 

which would support Professor Coff man’s contention that there existed in 

fact a ‘‘Leavenworth Clique”; that is, did the graduates of the Leavenworth 

School feel or manifest a group cohesiveness or corporateness which set them 

apart from the other officers? 

2. If this was so, where did it manifest itself mostly, on the staff, the 

command level, or perhaps the social level? Were there any specific forms 

by which this Leavenworth “spirit” became apparent? 

3. Did the Leavenworth training show? For example, was it evident to 

junior oificers in combat that the Leavenworth-trained officers had a better 

or perhaps deeper grasp of military command or tactical operations? 

4. Can you recollect any instance which supports Charles Herron’s statement “that only Leavenworth graduates understood each other because of 

their common training, same military vocabulary, and similar outlook in 

tactics” ? 

5. Did you have any connection with or intimate knowledge of the school 

at Langres, its training course, and the effect of this training on the conduct 

of operations? 

6. Did you personally know any of the personalities mentioned by Professor 

Coffman in his paper (Hugh A. Drum, James Harbord, LeRoy Eltinge, 

James McAndrew, John Palmer, Fox Conner, Preston Brown, Hanson E. 

Ely, Charles D. Herron, Malin Craig)? Can you make an assessment of 

their personalities and capabilities, particularly with respect to their Leavenworth training? 

7. Can you recall any specific mention of the Leavenworth School during 

your West Point days and what was the tenor of these remarks? 

8. Did a “Leavenworth Clique” exist within the unit (staff) you served 

with in France and could you describe it in terms of the Coffman thesis? 

For example, who were these people, how did they differ from the rest of 

the officers (either staff or command), and what was their relationship 

with the non-Leavenworth officers? 

9. What unit did you serve with in the AEF, during what period, and in 

what localities? 

10. Were any of your commanding or superior officers Leavenworth 

graduateis and what were their names and positions? 

55 
NOTES 

1. Quoted in William Harding Carter, “Elihu Root-His Services as Secretary of War,” North American Review, CLXXVII (1904), pp. 120-121. 

2. Quoted in Walter Millis, Arms and Men: A Study of American Military 

History (New York, 1958), p. 158. 

3. Frank E. Vandiver, John J. Pershing and the Anatomy of Leade,rship 

(Harmon Memorial Lectures in Military History No. 5, U.S. Air Force 

Academy, Colorado, 1963), p. 3. 

4. Ibid., pp. 18-20; see also Morris H. Janowitz, The Professional Soldier 

(Glencoe, Ill., 1960), pp. 152-153. 

5. Frederick Palmer, Our Greatest Battle (The Meuse-Argonne) (New 

York, 1924), p. 436. 

6. John J. Pershing, bfy Experiences in the World War (2 vols.; New York, 

1931), I, p. 103. 

7. James Harbord, The American Army in France: 191 7-1919 (Boston. 

1936), pp. 68-70. 

8. Ibid., pp. 97-98. 

9. Ibid., p. 97. Pershing lists the names of all twenty-seven officers in his 

memoirs, see I, p. 103 (footnote 1). Among those requested were: Frank 

McCoy, Van Horn Moseley, Malin Craig, Alfred Bjornstad, Harold Fiske, 

Allen Greer, Paul Malone, Edgar T. Collins, Preston Brown, LeRoy 

Etlinge, J. P. McAdams, Stuart Heintzelmann, Edward L. King. McAdams, 

Moseley, King, McCoy had served with (or under) Harbord before the 

war. Others were known to Drum from previous service (for example, he 

had served with Fiske in Mindanao and, of course, knew Bjornstad and 

Moseley from his service on the border in 1915-1916). Two who did not 

appear on the list, Lt. Col. Hanson E. Ely and Major George S. Simonds, 

were members of the so-called Baker Mission (as was Kirby Walker who 

stayed on in France) ; see Harbord, pp. 100-101, 171. 

10. Harbord, pp. 97-98. 

11. Palmer, p. 453. 

12. Ibid., p. 436. 

13. Ibid., p. 440. 

14. Comment by Brigadier General Calvin Dewitt, Jr., USA (Ret.), Class 

of 1916: “I only knew about Leavenworth because my brother had attended 

it.” Comments by Major General Louis E. Hibbs, USA (Ret.), Class of 

1916: “I, as a new graduate of West Point, had never even heard of 

56 
Leavenworth-a vital error on the part of my military educators. I could 

recite the names of the commanders on the battlefield of Gettysburg without 

an error (but that was only for a good grade for the day) ; nobody taught 

me tactics! I could have profited during those many hours at West Point, 

if Leavenworth would have had any effect on the army before World War 

I. . . . Leavenworth could have taught West Point to look ahead to the 

next war and not the lust one and teach me the principles of operations of 

large units, not the study of what happened in the small units of previous 

wars.” 

15. Comment by Colonel Willis J. Tack, USA (Ret.), Class of 1914: 

“When I joined the 28th Infantry upon graduation from West Point, 

Harold B. Fiske, then a captain, was a company commander in the regiment. 

In those days he was regarded by most of his fellow officers as a member 

of the ‘‘br,ain trust” [of the regiment]. He was also, so I understood, the 

“leading light” of the regiment’s Garrison School Advanced Course. I did 

not have ]him as an instructor, since I took the basic course. Another 

Leavenworth graduate in the regiment was my first company commander, 

F. E. Bamford, who later went to France as battalion commander (major) 

in June 1917 and wound up as a major general and division commander in 

the AEF.” Colonel Thomas H. Monroe, USA (Ret.), Class of 1914, recalls 

that his regimental commander (6th Infantry Regiment) in 1915 was 

Colonel John F. Morrison (Class of 1881), who conducted a regimental 

school which he (Monroe) was priviliged to attend. The writing of orders 

was one of the primary subjects taught. 

16. Comment by Major General Franklin C. Sibert, USA (Ret.), Class 

of 1912, who served with Headquarters, 1st Division, in the AEF. 

17. Commients by Lieutenant General William H. H. Morris, USA (Ret.), 

Class of 1911 : “The Field Service Regulations was an excellent publication 

and our World War I methods did not depart too much from it. The Staff 

ManuaZ covering staff procedures was also very good. It must also be 

remembered that we did learn a lot from the French about staff procedures. 

Finally, both minor tactics and grand strategy in World War I did represent 

quite a departure from those taught at Leavenworth prior to the war.” 

Similar comments were made by Colonel Tack. 

18. Comment by Colonel Monroe: “The graduates of the Leavenworth 

schools were certainly looked upon with envy by some, disdain by others, 

but also with respect for their accomplishments.” 

19. Commlent by Lieutenant General Morris: “John Palmer, whom I knew 

well, was only a captain in my regiment in 1915 but he had a great deal of 

prestige, far above that associated with his rank and seniority.’’ See also 

comment by Colonel Tack, footnote 15 above. 

20. Comment by Major Sidney C. Graves, USA (Ret.), Class of 1915, 

57 
whose father was General Graves, the Commander of the AEFS (American 

Expeditionary Force in Siberia) in 1918: “When I went into Mexico in 

1916 with the 16th Infantry, we had two Leavenworth Honor Graduates in 

the regiment, Alfred Bjornstad and Thomas Greer. The jealousy between 

these two was rampant.” A similar comment was made by Colonel Monroe: 

“Their personalities [speaking of Leavenworth graduates] often led to 

considerable acrimony.” 

21. Comment by Lieutenant General John W. Leonard, USA (Ret.), Class 

of 1915; also comment by Major Graves: “Personally I believe that General 

Graves was secretly relieved that he did not attend Leavenworth. He was in 

spirit a product of the Old Army: long service in a single regiment.” 

22. Comment by Colonel Tack: “Harold Fiske went to France as a major 

with the 28th Infantry, but left the regiment almost immediately after our 

arrival to become Executive Officer of the 2nd Brigade, commanded by 

Brigadier General Robert L. Bullard. A short time later he was ordered to 

Chaumont where he served for the rest of the war.” 

23. Comment by Major General Sibert. 

24. Comments by Major General Charles H. Corlett, USA (Ret.), Class 

of 1913; Major General Thomas D. Finley, USA (Ret.), Class of 1916; 

Major General William F. Tompkins, USA (Ret.), Class of 1915; Colonel 

A. M. Weyand, USA (Ret.) , Class of 1916; and Colonel Robert K. Whitson, 

USA (Ret.), Class of 1916. Colonel Whitson was a member of Headquarters, 1st Division, after the Armistice (from January 1919 on) and 

states that he never heard any mention of either Leavenworth or Langres 

among the staff personnel. Major General S. E. Reinhart, USA (Ret.), Class 

of 1916, who served as aide to General Peyton C. March, comments: “I 

accompanied General March to France and served with him while he was 

Commanding General, 1st Division Artillery, and then Chief of Artillery, 

AEF. I never heard him express an opinion of any officer as being Leavenworth graduates. However, he had quite a low opinion of the famous first 

staff which General Pershing took with him to France. I recall that when 

General Pershing asked him to come to Chaumont to advise him concerning 

the operation of that staff his comments upon his return were to the effect 

that he had found everyone on the staff busy trying to boost his own stock 

and, if possible, at the expense of any of the others. General March was 

particularly irked by the activities of Paul B. Malone who wanted artillery 

aerial observers trained by sending them to Langres to do blackboard firing 

under P. D. Glassford, instead of allowing them to be trained in the artillery 

training camps under actual firing conditions with a French observation 

unit and instructors to train them. General March, with the aid of General 

Foulois, finally blocked Malone on that proposition.” 

25. Comment by Major General Albert E. Brown, USA (Ret.), Class of 

1912: “As a young captain (and major) in the Infantry and a recent 

58 
graduate of West Point, my knowledge and interest in the Leavenworth 

group was practically non-existent during my service in the AEF. I had 

heard of the “Leavenworth Clique” (by hearsay) and believed that such 

a group existed.” Lt. General Leonard commented that he did not recall at 

any timle that any of his age and rank group ever gave the question any 

thought of who was or was not a graduate of Leavenworth. Lieutenant 

General Morris commented that during his service in the AEF “nobody paid 

much attention to where you had gone to school. If you did not make good 

on your job you were reclassified [that is sent to Blois] .” 

26. Comments by Lieutenant Generals Leonard and Morris and Major 

General Sibert. 

27. Comments by General William H. Hoge, USA (Ret.), Class of 1916. 

Brigadier General Raymond G. Moses, USA (Ret.), Class of 1916 and 

Colonel Monroe. General Joseph T. McNarney, USA (Ret.) , Class of 1915. 

comments: “I feel sure that Leavenworth trained officers had a better grasp 

of military command and staff work than other untrained officers. It only 

stands to reason that commanders would always be on the look-out for such 

officers.” Major General Brown commented that in his opinion, based on 

his service as a brigade adjutant in the 4th Division, some of the nonLeavenworth trained officers were ignorant of the technique of preparing 

orders, of logistics, and of the tactical employment of large units. Brigadier 

General William H. Holcombe. USA (Ret.), Class of 1914, points out “that 

Leavenworth trained officers were generally respected as well as envied 

by junior officers during World War I.” Major General Hibbs, who served 

as a company (battalion) commander in the 1st Division during most of 

his AEF tour, comments: “As a battalion commander, 1st Division, I was 

always conscious of the fact that our higher command did not know about 

things, lbut as the war progressed, and possibly (I would say probably) as 

Langres turned out a staff on the Leavenworth scale of knowledge, even I, 

then a thorough ‘mud trained’ and combat experienced ‘do it yourselfer,’ 

became aware of the increased efficiency in our high command. When later 

on I went to I1 Corps as chief of staff of artillery, I found a Leavenworth 

product in command (General George Simonds). Simonds had a plan of 

battle and I became, for the first time, cognizant of the fact that someone 

knew what had to be done. Someone was learning all about supply, 

organization, and what it takes to mount large operations.” 

28. Comment by Major General Jens A. Doe, USA (Ret.), Class of 1914, 

who served as a battalion commander in the 5th Division under Hanson 

E. Ely, Paul B. Malone, Walter A. Gordon (War College graduate) and 

Joseph IE. Castner (War College graduate) . 

29. Coimment by Lieutenant General Morris, who served as a battalion 

commander in the 90th Division. 

30. Coimment by Brigadier General Arthur H. Lane, USA (Ret.), Class 

59 
of 1905, who, though not a Leavenworth graduate, was a regular detailed 

member of the War Department General Staff (August 1917-June 1918). 

Later he served on the 7th Division staff. A similar comment was made by 

Colonel Weyand, who served as a battalion commander in the 34th Infantry, 

7th Division, in the AEF. 

31. Comment by Lieutenant General Leonard. Major General Hibbs commented that in his opinion Hanson Ely was “a splendid fighting man.” 

32. Comment by Major General Hibbs: “He was not a combat man.” 

Colonel Whitson, who served under Brown when the latter became brigade 

commander in the 2d Division (after the Armistice), commented that 

Brown was a great believer in schools and that an officer school of some 

kind was usually in operation in his brigade. 

33. Comment by Lieutenant General Brown; Colonel Weyand pictures 

Drum as “capable, energetic, hard-working but also vain.” 

34. Comment by Colonel Weyand: “The only Leavenworth trained officer 

with whom I came into contact during the period of hostilities was Brigadier 

General Alfred W. Bjornstad, commanding the 13th Infantry Brigade. He 

was a very poor example of a troop leader. I never heard any of his officers 

or enlisted men speak well of him. When he was nominated for permanent 

promotion his colonels, brigade adjutant, and others testified against him 

before the Senate committee. He got the promotion. Could this have been 

an example of the Leavenworth Clique working behind the scenes?” 

35. General Van Fleet served as a battalion commander (major) in the 

6th Division. 

36. Comment by Major General Hibbs. 

37. Major General William Ord Ryan, USAF (Ret.) , Class of 1914, comments: “Due to my service assignment in the AEF (I was in charge of 

the AEF aerial gunnery schools in France from July 1918 on) I had no 

opportunity to compare the activities of graduates [of the Staff Schools] 

with that of non-graduates. However, reading the daily and weekly reports 

of the American ground actions I was impressed with the outstanding 

efficiency of the staff work, particularly logistics and supply, as well as the 

tactical successes of the combat troops. Such efficiency could not have been 

learned during a few short weeks of schooling. It was clear that those senior 

officers concerned were well schooled somewhere prior to the war and for 

me the answer was naturally the Leavenworth School. (During my cadet 

days at West Point most of us considered Leavenworth as the top service 

school we all hoped to attend at a later date.) In retrospect, I feel that 

much of my early military education was greatly influenced by Leavenworth 

graduates. The doctrines, forms, and language smoothed our work and made 

further learning and understanding easy. After graduation from the Com60 
mand arid General Staff School in 1927, I realized how very much my 

military training and knowledge had been directed by Leavenworth long 

before I had the opportunity to become one of its students.” Brigadier 

General William Carraway, USA (Ret.), Class of 1923, who attended the 

Second Military History Symposium at the Air Force Academy, remarked 

after hea!ring Professor Coffman’s paper that based on his experiences in 

the military, Leavenworth was the finest military educational school that he 

ever attended. He also recalled that the Assistant Commandant of Leavenworth (1930-1935) had perhaps phrased it best when he told him in the 

late 1930s that the course made “a professional man out of a military 

officer; hefore Leavenworth he merely had a job.” However, Leavenworth 

could not do it all. This same Assistant Commandant told General Carraway 

that in the early 1930s, when students were assigned to the school based on 

their efficiency ratings, the first class to arrive after this momentous decision 

was composed of “aides, asses, and adjutants.” 

61 
COMMENTS BY MEMBERS OF THE AEF 

MAJOR GENERAL HOWARD C. DAVIDSON, WAF (Ret.) 

West Point, Class of 1913 

Professor Edward M. Coffman in his paper entitled “The 

American Military Generation Gap in World War I,” speaks of a 

“Leavenworth Clique,” but I do not feel competent to comment on 

that observation. I attended Leavenworth 1933-35 and considered 

the time well spent, for it gave me the opportunity to “learn to 

know” four or five hundred officers that were deemed worthy of 

higher education by their branch chiefs. The officers so selected 

were those with the best efficiency reports and therefore were 

probably better qualified for command and staff duty than those 

not so selected. I do not believe it would take the operation of a 

“Leavenworth Clique” for a high commander to choose those 

Leavenworth graduates for his staff officers or unit commanders. 

I entered West Point with the Class of 1913 on 1 March 1909. 

The military instruction was about the same as that given prior to 

the Spanish American War: mostly close order drill, parades, 

reviews, etc. While a cadet at West Point, I never heard anyone 

mention Leavenworth. However, this is not surprising since Leavenworth was not reopened until 1902 and most of the instructors at 

West Point during my third class year (1910) were too recently 

graduated to be selected for Leavenworth. If we assume the Tactical 

Department would be the logical one to mention Leavenworth, the 

average years of service for the thirteen instructors in that Department was nine years, and ten of the thirteen had an average of six 

years service. If we assume that the Department of English and 

History should tell about Leavenworth, the nine instructors of that 

Department had an average of five years of service by 1910. One 

of our history instructors, Captain Ora E. Hunt of the Class of 

1894, made a conscientious effort to teach his class more than 

62 
was provided in the textbook. He would often tell us about information sent back from Tokyo by Joseph E. Kuhn, Class of 1885, who 

was an observer with the Japanese Army (1904-1905). On the 

other hand, I never heard Captain Hunt mention John F. Morrison, 

Class of 1881, who was also an observer with the Japanese during 

the Russo-Japanese War. 

After my graduation in 1913 I was assigned to the 22d Infantry stationed at Texas City, Texas. The United States was having 

a controversy with President Huerta of Mexico, and had concentrated the 2d Division at Texas City with instructions to be prepared 

to move into Mexico on short notice. The 22d Infantry was poorly 

trained for field service and the regimental and battalion commanders were either too old or too poorly trained for active duty 

to be of much use. I was assigned to “M” Company and had the 

good fortune to be under Captain Lorrain T. Richardson, Class of 

1895. He had recently finished the School at Leavenworth and was 

full of praise for John F. Morrison. On Captain Richardson’s 

recommendation I procured problems of either Griepenkerl or the 

Leavenworth School, with the German maps, and tried a “do it 

yourself” educational program in solving map problems. 

After General Funston sailed for Vera Cruz, Mexico, with the 

4th Brigade of the 2d Division, General J. Franklin Bell, Class of 

1878, became the division commander. He had been Commandant 

of the General Staff School (1903-1906) and Chief of Staff, US. 

Army (1906-1910) and took an interest in training the 2d Division. 

The Director of Training was a brilliant officer, Captain Hugh A. 

Drum. He had recently graduated from Leavenworth and planned 

some extensive field maneuvers for the division. Texas City is on 

Galveston Bay and Captain Drum prepared targets of infantry 

silhouettes that would pop up at odd intervals and the designated 

units would have to fire on them for about five minutes. The country 

around Texas City is prairie, as flat as a man’s hand, and with 

Galveston Bay as a background it was almost impossible to estimate 

the range of the targets. A company would deploy in extended order 

and march toward the area where the targets were located. When 

the targets popped up the company commander would announce 

the range and give the command to open fire. Almost all the company commanders were veterans of the Philippine Insurrection. 

Some of them had the idea that our present target practice routine 

was a waste of time since the army had no range finder the company 

63 
commanders could use. Many other company commanders were 

convinced that good marksmanship was an advantage, and took 

great pride in the fact that a large percentage of their company 

were expert riflemen. Captain Drum was of this leaning, while 

Captain Julian Dodge of “I” Company, 22d Infantry, was an 

advocate of the “Bolo” Man Company. Captain Dodge’s company 

went through its firing exercise and Captain Drum asked Captain 

Dodge, “What order did you issue after your company began 

firing?” Dodge replied, “The only order I gave was to ‘Fire 

Faster’.” Captain Drum said, “The next company to fire has sixty 

percent expert riflemen and we shall soon be able to compare their 

results with Captain Dodge’s company.” Well, the commander of 

the expert riflemen must have estimated the range incorrectly and 

Captain Dodge’s company of “Bolo” men obtained much better 

results than the company of experts. 

In 1914 World War I had begun, and the Germans were 

getting wonderful results with their machine guns. The U.S. Army 

was armed with the Benet Mercie machine gun, an American copy 

of a French machine gun. At the regimental exercise Captain Drum 

would ask, “Colonel Fulano, what did you do with your machine 

guns?” Each regiment had a machine gun company carried on pack 

mules. The colonel, not knowing what to do with machine guns, 

would generally answer that he had put the machine guns in the 

reserve. This, according to Leavenworth, was the wrong thing to do 

and Captain Drum would so inform the regimental commander. I 

cite all this to illustrate how much a captain, with good Leavenworth 

training, could influence the field training of a division. If later on 

someone like General Pershing selected Hugh A. Drum to be his 

G-3, I think it would indicate good judgment on Pershing’s part 

rather than an operation of a “Leavenworth Clique.” 

In January of 1916, I was assigned to the Aviation Section of 

the Signal Corps and sent to San Diego, California, for flying 

training. Upon completion of flying training I, with about twelve 

other recent graduates of the school, was sent to Columbus, New 

Mexico, to join the 1st Aero Squadron which was assigned to the 

Pershing Punitive Expedition. The main part of the 1st Aero 

Squadron was stationed at Colonia Dublan, which was General 

Pershing’s Headquarters, and 1 was with a detachment of four 

airplanes stationed at El Valle about fifty miles south of Dublan. 
Every time any of us landed at Dublan we had orders to report to 

General Pershing in person, to see if there were any dispatches he 

wanted us to carry. In that way the aviators got to know General 

Pershing and his staff fairly well. I saw many of those officers 

serving the General in France, and I imagine the Punitive Expedition gave Pershing information on the ability of officers that was 

useful to him a year later when he was sent to France with the AEF. 

I was sent to France in October, 1917, and after spending a 

year running pilot schools, I was assigned as Corps Air Officer for 

the 7th Corps, which was commanded by General William G. Haan, 

Class of 1889. The 7th Corps consisted of the 89th Division (from 

Wisconsin) and the 90th Division (from Texas and Oklahoma). 

General Haan and his staff joined the divisions at Dun-Sur-Meuse 

and marched with them into Germany as a part of the Third Army. 

Our headquarters was at Witlich and the Corps Aviation spent its 

time in photographic work. I cannot recall ever noticing any 

Leavenworth Clique at Corps Headquarters; however, that is not 

surprising because, Professor Coffman points out that the 89th and 

90th Division staffs did not have any Leavenworth graduates. 

My experience in two world wars should lead me to believe 

that officers are not selected for high command or staff posts because 

of their West Point class standing or their record in the Command 

and General Staff School. I believe they are selected largely on 

character and the reputation they have in the service. 

As a general rule the classes with about twenty-six to thirty 

years of service are in an advantageous age group for promotion. 

In 1917 Pershing was fifty-seven years old; Joseph T. Dickman, 

Class of 1881, was sixty years old; and Robert Lee Bullard, Class 

of 1885, was fifty-six years old. 

In World War 11, the classes in the advantageous age group 

were 1911 through 1915. The ages of some of the high commanders 

were as follows: Douglas MacArthur, Class of 1903, was sixty-one; 

George S. Patton, Jr., Class of 1909, fifty-six; Jacob L. Devers, 

Class of 1909, fifty-four; William H. Simpson, Class of 1910 (he 

stood 101 in a class of 103), was fifty-three; Geoffrey Keys, Class 

of 1913, was fifty-three; Willis D. Crittenberger of 1913, was 

fifty-one; Carl Spaatz of 1914 was fifty; Dwight D. Eisenhower of 

65 
1915 was fifty-one, and his classmates, Omar N. Bradley and 

Joseph T. McNarney, were forty-eight. 

The following is data from the two world wars: 

WORLD WAR I 

class Generals from Class Number Eligible Percentage 

1885 . 12 17 70 

1886 27 40 67 

1887 29 # 72 

1888 23 31 74 

1889 18 34 53 

1911 

1912 

1913 

1914 

1915 

25 

32 

35 

27 

53 

WORLD WAR I1 

47 

61 

63 

68 

107 

53 

51 

55 

44 

50 

Of the World War I group there were fifty-eight generals from 

the first half of the classes and fifty-one from the second half. For 

the World War I1 group the figures were eighty-seven and eightyfour. This might indicate that in time of war the class standing of 

an individual plays a very small part in his being promoted to 

the rank of general. 

Before World War I1 there was considerable competition 

among ground troop officers for assignment to Leavenworth. However, this was not generally true among Air Corps officers. After I 

finished Leavenworth in 1935, I was assigned as Executive Officer 

to the Chief of the Air Corps, General Oscar Westover, Class of 

1906. His classmate, General Frank M. Andrews, was Commanding 

General of the GHQ Air Force and in 1936 sent a letter to the 

Chief of Air Corps recommending that no more Air Corps officers 

be sent to the Command and General Staff School at Leavenworth. 

I sent the letter to the various sections in the Office of the Chief of 

Air Corps asking for their recommendations. The staff was unanimous in recommending that we send no more officers to Leavenworth. However, General Westover had a soft spot in his heart for 

Leavenworth and he would not approve General Andrews’ recommendation. General Andrews’ reason for recommending that the 

66 
Air Corps send no more men to Leavenworth was that we could 

not afford to spare the officers. 

I regret that my service did not put me in a position to observe 

a “clique,” even if there was one in the army during World War I, 

since graduating in 1913 put the class in a disadvantageous age 

group-too young to command a regiment and too old to command 

a battalion. So far as I know only two of my Class were in actual 

combat: Francis K. Newcomer of the Engineers, who won a D.S.C., 

and Alexander M. Patch, who commanded a machine gun battalion. 

At a recent class luncheon I asked classmates Lieutenant General Willis D. Crittenberger, Brigadier General William C. Crane, 

and Colonel A. B. Johnson if they had been aware of a “Leavenworth Clique” during their service in World War I. They were 

unanimous in saying that they knew of no “clique” but thought the 

Leavenworth graduates had an advantage in communicating with 

one another since they spoke the same language. During the war, 

Oliver J. Spaulding had a similar conclusion and recommended to 

Pershing that the AEF give abbreviated staff instructions to selected 

officers at Langres. Apparently, Charles D. Herron phrased the idea 

better when he said, “. . . that only Leavenworth graduate understood each other because of their common training, same military 

vocabulary, and a similar outlook in tactics.’’ 

In closing I might cite an instance which is a reversal of the 

above. In my class at Leavenworth was an Air Corps officer, Harvey 

S. Burwell, who bordered on genius. When I arrived he put his arm 

around my shoulder and said, “Dave, don’t let them suppress your 

individuality.” A few months later Burwell received a notice to 

see the Deputy Director of the Class. This officer, in his lectures to 

the class, was prone to use ponderous phrases such as “the movement of the protected mass on the objective’’ and other Leavenworth 

canned language.” When Burwell entered the Deputy Director’s 

office the latter said, “Harvey, we want to tell you we are not 

satisfied with your work and we want you to buck up.” Harvey 

put his arm around his shoulder and said, “Those are the first 

words I have heard you speak that I could understand.” 

66 

67 
MAJOR WILLIAM A. RAFFLRTY, USA (Ret.) 

West Point, Class of 1913 

I have read with great interest Professor Coffman’s paper in 

reference to the Leavenworth Clique. While the events about which 

he writes are now fifty years old, and I did not keep any notes or 

diary, I did have an opportunity to observe the so-called clique at 

work at that time. I was personally acquainted with most of the 

Leavenworth men Professor Coffman mentioned and served with 

some of them. It has been interesting trying to recall the events of 

that time and the personalities involved, particularly since I have 

been totally disassociated from the service since my retirement in 

the early 1920s. 

I was on duty at GHQ AEF in the summer and fall of 1917 

when GHQ and the Lines of Communication (later called Services 

of Supply) were being organized. I was an aide to General R. M. 

Blatchford, the first Commanding General of the Lines of Communication, and was acting Adjutant General when the Headquarters of the Lines of Communication was organized. GHQ was 

small at this time and I knew personally nearly all of the officers 

at this Headquarters. The great cry was for more help, and I was 

frequently asked the names of promising young officers whom I 

knew, who were still in the United States, and who might be of 

some help; several were ordered to GHQ. At that time it became 

apparent that the army did not have enough officers trained for 

staff work, and in this sense I suppose you could say there was a 

gap. Leavenworth-trained men were scarce and much sought after. 

It was natural that the men Professor Coffman mentioned should 

fall into key positions. They were promising men of the right age, 

carefully selected before they went to Leavenworth, and were more 

or less marked men after they had completed their work there. In 

our small army at home these men had known each other, had 

worked together, and it was natural they would work closely in the 

AEF. 

I attended many staff coiiferences at GHQ (as a very silent 

68 
aide-de-camp in the background) and later on I served in the G-4 

section, Headquarters First Army (as acting G-4 part of the time 

during the active operations of that Army, August 1918 to April 

1919). There was never any indication to me that a “clique” did 

exist. 

I personally knew Generals Hugh Drum, Harbord, McAndrew, 

Fox Conner, W. D. Connor, Preston Brown, Hanson Ely (a former 

frequent tennis opponent in earlier days), Moseley, Malin Craig, 

and others. I would not care to make any assessment of these very 

outstanding men, particularly with respect to their Leavenworth 

training. This particular group would have been outstanding without Leavenworth training. While with the First Army I had dinner a 

couple of times with General Liggett and General Drum, both of 

whom had known me when I was a school boy. I was impressed 

with the apparent mutual confidence and respect between these men. 

General Drum was apparently very loyal to General Liggett. While 

the Leavenworth training did not particularly show, it was evident 

that many senior staff officers knew their jobs. Yet, I do not think 

other officers connected this in any way with Leavenworth training. 

I never recall that subject being discussed, though many of these 

Leavenworth men were my personal friends, and I had many 

opportunities to observe their work. 

As a G-4 staff officer at Headquarters First Army Corps (and 

at Headquarters First Army) during most of their existence in 

operations in the AEF, I visited many corps and division headquarters and was acquainted with many of the staff members of 

those organizations. I never once heard any discussion which implied that only Leavenworth men understood each other, i.e., spoke 

a language of their own, nor did a Leavenworth Clique seem to 

exist at any of these Headquarters. As a member of the General 

Staff Corps, I don’t recall that I ever gave any thought as to 

whether the men with whom I had to deal were Leavenworth men 

or not; and in many instances I never knew whether they were 

Leavenworth men or not. Generally the relationship with nonLeavenworth men was cordial. 

I received my staff training as a student at the General Staff 

College at Langres and was graduated in its first class. The course 

was very good; several of the lectures by experienced French and 

British staff officers were excellent. Most of the students had no 

0 

69 
experience with larger units and there is no question that the training received at Langres greatly broadened their outlook as well as 

increased their efficiency and “know-how.” Before the war I had 

served with the 2d Division in Texas and as an inspector-instructor 

with a Provisional Division composed of National Guard regiments 

at San Antonio, Texas. For this reason, I was aware of what the 

school was attempting to accomplish. The course was very useful 

and many of the graduates of this short course did splendid jobs 

later on as staff officers because of this brief training. 

MAJOR GENERAL CHARLES P. GROSS, USA (Ret.) 

West Point, Class of 1914 

I cannot recall any instance during my service with the AEF 

which would support Professor Coffman’s contention. Indeed, since 

my entrance into the US. Military Academy on 1 March 1910, 

this is the first time I have heard the term “Leavenworth Clique.” 

In 1917-18 Leavenworth graduates were spread too thin for them 

to dominate any command, and only at GHQ, AEF, could one refer 

to a “group” of them. They were, however, admired and respected. 

Except for the 2d Division on border duty before World War I, the 

army was made up of regiments. The Adjutant General’s Army 

Register listed all officers by branch and by numbered regiments of 

infantry, cavalry, and artillery. Naturally the value of officers 

schooled in division and army tactics and orders would be recog 

nized and appreciated by those whose loyalties for long periods of 

time had been given to their own regiments. It was a recognition of 

need in the expansion to a wartime organization embracing corps 

and armies. Non-graduates of the Regular Army were accordingly 

motivated to learn from the Leavenworth men and to emulate them. 

They had been selected from officers having excellent and superior 

efficiency reports. That system of selection has been maintained ever 

since. 

Did the Leavenworth training show? Definitely yes. It was 

evident to junior officers in combat, of whom I was one, that the 

Leavenworth-trained officers had a better or perhaps deeper grasp 

of military command and tactical operations. They created the 

70 
motivation that led us juniors to seek to go to Leavenworth schools 

as early in our careers as possible. (I later sought to go and finally 

attended the school in 1926-1927). 

I cannot recollect any instance which would give support to 

Charles Herron’s statement “that only Leavenworth graduates 

understood each other because of their common training, same 

military vocabulary, and similar outlook in tactics.” However, it is 

only natural that in an army that had been oriented toward the 

regiment, those schooled in the operation of divisions and armies 

would have greater facility and ease in understanding each other in 

the newly created situations. 

None of my regimental superiors, with the exception of 

Colonel Joseph Beacham, Chief of Staff, 6th Division, (School of 

the Line, 1915; General Staff School, 1916) and the division 

commander, Major General Walker H. Gordon (Army War College, 1914) was a Leavenworth graduate. But one man does not 

make a “clique.” Colonel Beacham did not set himself apart because of his schooling; he was well liked, respected, and admired. 

And why not, when you have an officer corps of men who try to 

excel1 and strive to do their best? The thought of envy, resentment, 

and hostility is just foreign to the real picture that obtained-no 

matter how enticing to a newsman, for whom it offered a subject 

that would readily capture attention. 

I did riot personally know any of the officers mentioned in 

Professor Coffman’s paper during World War I. However, I later 

served under General Drum on the War Department General Staff 

(when he was deputy to General MacArthur) and under General 

Craig, when the latter followed General MacArthur as Chief of 

Staff. I also met and knew General Herron. All were superior 

officers and without doubt were aided by their Leavenworth training. 

I owe much to their example, for I had heard little about Leavenworth during my cadet days at West Point (1910-1914). It was 

World War I that put Leavenworth on the map! 

71 
GENERAL OF THE ARMY OMAR N. BRADLEY 

West Point, Class of I91 5 

I consider that the establishment and organization of the 

General Staff by Secretary Root was a first step in bringing our 

army organization up to date. It permitted the development of our 

staff and command system to a state of efficiency where it would 

meet successfully the problems that faced it in this century. In fact, 

it is difficult to visualize the functioning of an army as large as we 

have today without the General Staff system. Of course the present 

system is the result of a gradual changing improvement of Mr. 

Root’s plan, but it had to have a beginning; and we took a big step 

forward under Secretary Root’s reorganization. 

The “Leavenworth Clique” played an important part in our 

successful participation in World War I. Prior to 1917, the courses 

at Fort Leavenworth were the only ones of any significance in our 

army, and the number of graduates was relatively small. The number of officers who could effectively conduct even a regimental 

maneuver was very limited and was pretty much confined to those 

who were graduates of the Leavenworth courses. 

I believe it was the effectiveness of the Leavenworth graduates 

in our Expeditionary Force that led General Pershing to establish a 

very complete army school system during his term as Chief of Staff 

immediately after the war. 

With the increasing complexity of weapons, it was essential 

to have an agency that could develop the tactical doctrines for 

their employment. Our schools served as laboratories for these 

developments. 

As a result of the training given in our school system in the 

interval between World Wars, most of our Regular officers and a 

large percentage of the officers in our Reserve components could 

conduct maneuver or training exercises of most any size unit. In 

addition, they spoke the same language, which not only made for 

72 
better efficiency within any unit, but it made it possible to transfer 

personnel, or sub-units, from one command to another with very 

little loss in effectiveness. 

I have often stated that in my opinion our army school system 

was one of the largest contributors to our success in World War 11, 

and there is considerable evidence to show that this school system 

was established because of the effectiveness of the so-called 

“Leavenworth Clique” in World War I. 

MAJOR GENERAL LEROY H. WATSON, USA (Ret.) 

West Point, Class of 1915 

In general, graduates of the Command and General Staff 

School at Fort Leayenworth and the Army War College at Washington, D.C., were outstanding in their thinking and their actions 

because they were handpicked to be students at those schools on 

the basis of their superior records. They became, therefore, better 

educated and trained from a military standpoint than non-graduates. For example, when I graduated from West Point in 1915 

and joined an Infantry regiment on the Mexican Border (at 

Douglas, Arizona), I found that its military training and performance was satisfactory only in company administration, close order 

drill, physical training of all kinds, discipline, military law, police 

work, loyalty, marksmanship, how to run a company and regimental 

mess, supply, medical and dental work-that was about it. From 

the standpoint of combat training they had advanced little, or not 

at all, since Civil War and Indian fighting days. I, and the soldiers 

in our rifle company, were taught to shoot and to march across the 

plains, mountains, and desert country around Douglas, Arizona, for 

twenty or twenty-five miles a day on a canteen of water, pitch camp, 

cook supper, and be ready to march again at daylight the next day. 

I started the march each day with a canteen of water and if, at the 

end of the march, I did not have at least a half a canteen of water 

left, the old First Sergeant would give me hell. He would say: 

“Lieutenant, some day you might get lost out here and have to go 

for several days on one canteen of water, so learn to do it now.” 

73 
That was the old army, and it was a good one as far as it went. 

However, there was almost a complete void in modern combat 

knowledge and training. The only textbooks we had were the 

Infantry Drill Regulations, the Field Service Regulations (which 

had been copied in large measure from the Germans and was 

written in very broad, general terms), The Manual for Courts 

Martial, and instructions on marksmanship. 

I wish to point out one strange and, to me, incomprehensible 

fact at this point. We had several graduates of the Command and 

General Staff School and the Army War College in the regiments 

stationed on the Mexican Border in 1915 but, to the best of my 

knowledge, they never tried to modernize our field training. We 

still deployed in one line as skirmishers, with the company and 

battalion officers a few paces to the rear, and commands were given 

by bugle, or by hand signal, or by runner. My own company 

commander was a graduate of the Command and General Staff 

School and the Army War College, and when the war broke out in 

Europe, he was Military Attach6 in Berlin. He accompanied von 

Kluck’s army through Belgium and Holland into France and was 

a military observer during the Battles of the Marne. He was then 

transferred to the Austrian Front, where he observed all of the 

fighting until von Mackensen arrived and took command of the 

Austrian forces. Von Mackensen did not like, or trust, Americans 

(he knew that eventually we would get into the war), and he sent 

all of the American observers home the day he arrived in Austria. 

Now, believe it or not, this man never made any attempt to teach 

me, or any of his enlisted men, anything he had learned at Leavenworth, or the Army War College, or while he was a military observer in Europe. Just think, in 1915 the war in Europe had been 

going on for two years, but no effort was made by anybody, so far 

as I know from General Pershing on down, to modernize our combat training. 

After the United States entered the war, our combat training 

continued to be completely inadequate and remained so until we 

actually entered combat. The reasons for this were first of all, lack 

of “know-how” from the very top on down to the bottom. But also 

lack of supporting weapons that we were going to be given to use in 

combat (artillery pieces which we eventually borrowed from the 

French for use in actual combat, machine guns, 37mm guns, trench 

74 
mortars, grenades, etc.), lack of qualified instructors, and lack of 

adequate training areas. For example, the 5th and 6th Infantry 

Divisions, each 20,000 in strength, were organized at Fort Oglethorpe, where there were practically no training facilities, except 

for marches. We were also badly handicapped because the higher 

ranking officers were being promoted so fast that they did not 

stay in the regiment long enough to take hold and have an effect on 

the training. I was regimental adjutant at first, and these officers 

would tell me to just go ahead with the training as we were doingthey were not going to be there long enough to get involved. Also 

remember that at this time we had a pitifully small number of 

Regular Arniy officers in each regiment-the rest of the officers 

were from the National Guard arid Reserve Officer Training Camps. 

In 192s there were many officers in the Regular Army who 

were iiot Leavenworth or War College graduates. Most of these 

were older officers whose records just were not good enough for 

them to be selected; others were younger officers who just hadn’t 

been around long enough to be selected. I have shown that there 

was literally 110 modern training with troops to teach us what we 

had to know, so we: had to learn the hard way-in combat. Bear in 

mind also that the vast bulk of officers who actually served in 

combat overseas were not Regular Army officers (of whom there 

were only a handful)-they were National Guard and Reserve 

officers. Now these officers were primarily businessmen and professional men; they had spent only a very small amount of time 

on military training. But even though their training had been 

identical with that being done in the Regular Army, they had much 

less of it. The Leavenworth and War College graduates had the 

advantage over the rest of us due to the fact that they were men 

who had been picked for their superior records to start with, and 

they had obtained superior training at those schools. This showed 

up in combat, particularly in staff work. 

There was no such thing as a “Leavenworth Clique” in the 

sense implied in the question. In combat the urgency and demands 

of ability were the only guides for selection to office, no other. But 

the qualities and training of the Leavenworth and War College 

graduates weighed heavily in their favor, just as selected and handpicked men are favored in the business world today. An applicant 

who is a graduate of a certain college or university, where he has 

75 
received special training along the lines the firm seeks, receives 

preferential treatment by the firm. In fact, firms go to these schools 

and use every device to find the most qualified personnel, and then 

offer them tempting contracts to go with that firm rather than to a 

competitor. Obviously this engenders envy and jealously on the 

part of those not selected for preferential treatment. The same thing 

was true in the officer corps in World War I. Leavenworth and War 

College graduates who were selected for staff jobs and higher 

command were envied by the National Guard and Reserve Officers 

on active duty, which was ridiculous when you realize that these 

men were only part time soldiers, whose main job was in their 

business or profession, and the time that they spent on military 

training was more or less insignificant. 

MAJOR GENERAL W. E. R. COVELL, USA (Ret.) 

West Point, Class of 1915 

There is no doubt that the graduates of the Leavenworth 

School who served in the AEF in World War I felt and manifested 

a group cohesiveness and a corporateness which set them apart 

from other officers. In my mind this was amply warranted. This 

apartness” manifested itself both on the staff and the command 

level, but not on the social level. Leavenworth graduates had 

justifiable confidence in their training and it is remarkable how 

nearly they thought alike. To junior officers in staff positions, of 

whom I was one, it was clearly evident that the Leavenworth 

trained officers were far superior to the others, non-Leavenworth 

trained. I fully agree with Charles Herron’s statement, cited by 

Professor Coffman, that only Leavenworth graduates understood 

each other because of their common training, same military vocabulary, and similar outlook in tactics. 

6b 

I personally knew Hugh A. Drum and Fox Comer. I had high 

respect for both, but above all for George C. Marshall, who was my 

immediate superior, and for General Lejeune, the Commanding 

General of the 2d Division. Without exception all of these men 

felt and continually remarked that their Leavenworth training was 

invaluable to them. The G-3 Section of the First Army, of which I 

76 
was a member, consisted of twenty officers. Marshall was chief of 

the section and Ralph T. Ward was the head of the Operations 

Section; I was chief of the niap section. The real work was done by 

Marshall and Ward, but Lewis H. Watkins, G-5 of Army Staff, who 

was not very busy, acted as an assistant to Ward, Both were West 

Point and Leavenworth graduates; Ward, Class of 1904, and 

Watkins, Class of 1907. I worked closely with both of them and 

they continually remarked how much it was like being back at 

Leavenworth. All the other officers of the seotion were junior in 

rank and generally younger; none was a Leavenworth graduate. 

This, however, did not disturb our working relationships or lead to 

discussions. They (the Leavenworth graduates) knew, and we knew 

that we did not know! 

While at West Point from 1911 to 1915, I do not recall any 

mention of the Leavenworth School at all; I did not even know it 

existed. But when I joined the Corps of Engineers, my first company 

commander was an honor graduate of Leavenworth, and I heard a 

great deal about the school and the system used by the Corps to 

assure that its officers stood at the head of their classes at Leavenworth. 

COLONEL HOWARD DONELLY, USA (Ret.) 

West Point, Class of 191 5 

After graduating from West Point in 1915, I joined the 17th 

Infantry in Texas. Both the colonel and lieutenant colonel were 

Leavenworth graduates. Both had previous staff assignments in 

Washington, D.C., and their two-year tour with the regiment was to 

“purify” them for further staff duty. I learned then that quite a 

group of Leavenworth graduates had in the past remained on staff 

duty, especially in Washington, to avoid the humdrum life at 

regimental posts. This had led to the passage of the “Manchu” law, 

requiring two years of troop duty before becoming eligible for an 

additional staff tour. Both of these officers were able and competent 

men. The colonel became a major general in World War I, but 

because of age remained in the United States as a camp commander. The lieutenant colonel, George S. Duncan, also made two77 
star rank and commanded the 82d Division in the AEF. Just before 

the 17th Infantry was ordered to join the Punitive Expedition in 

1916, both were ordered back to Washington, and the regiment 

entered Mexico commanded by the senior major. 

During my two years with the regiment, I learned a little about 

the subject of Professor Coffman’s paper. The average age of the 

captains in the regiment was forty years and over. They were 

generally veterans of the Spanish American War, the Philippine 

Insurrection, or had served against the Moros in Mindanao. None, 

including the two majors of the regiment, had Leavenworth training. 

Among these varied types of background there was a general feeling of resentment and sarcasm toward Leavenworth ; when referring 

to the “Leavenworth grad” they meant the Federal Penitentiary at 

that post. This feeling had arisen in the past and it probably was 

the reason why the “Manchu” law was passed. In later years I 

understood why these men developed this attitude, for not having 

gone (or being selected to go) to Leavenworth appeared to shut 

them off from higher command or more desired assignments. However, in the field in Mexico they all were competent, able, and 

commanded troops under very trying conditions, with that efficiency 

that comes from devoted troop duty. 

In the AEF in 1918 (and the AFG [American Forces in Germany] in 1919), it was apparent why the Leavenworth staff training was recognized as very essential for staff and high command 

levels. In the 2d Division, the division commander, General Omar 

Bundy, was fortunate in having Colonel Preston Brown as his chief 

of staff. While Colonel Brown had a few adverse personality traits, 

he did know his job and how to handle the General Staff, something 

new in our combat troop echelons. 

In summary, the officers who had had Leavenworth training 

spoke a common language and knew how to work together, so 

essential in the large AEF units where plaiis and decisions could 

only be handled by trained staff officers. 

78 
Part I1 

BRITISH NAVAL LEADERS IN WORLD WAR I 

JELLICOE AND BEATI’Y 

AS COMMANDERS IN CHIEF, GRAND FLEET 

Arthur J. Marder 

The primary purpose of this paper is to demolish a legendthat the two most famous British naval commanders of the First 

World War were direct opposites in nearly every important respect. 

Leadership and Administration 

Admirals Sir John Jellicoe and Sir David Beatty were exceptional war leaders who got identical results in contrasting ways. 

Jellicoe possessed the unreserved confidence, trust, and love of the 

Grand Fleet, though more particularly of the main fleet at Scapa 

Flow. He had a remarkable gift for drawing loyal, wholehearted 

service from officers and men. One light-cruiser squadron proudly 

called itself “The Fourth John Jellicoe’s Own Light Cruiser Squadron.” Appearance and personality had nothing to do with Jellicoe’s 

hold over the fleet: he was unimpressive in appearance, being short 

(about five feet, six inches) and plain looking, and he was modest 

in manner. There is no charisma here. No, it is to Jellicoe’s personality and professional expertise that we must look for the 

answer. His extraordinary consideration for the officers and men 

and his nobility of character made a profound impression on them. 

He was,” declared the Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin, in a 

eulogy in the House of Commons (12 December 1935), 

a man of wonderful understanding of the human heart. He was 

kindly and thoughtful to everyone of every kind, in every rank, 

with whom he was brought into contact, and he had in full 

measure that gift of inspiring with affection all who worked with 

him, and for him, and with that, and an absolutely concomitant 

part of it, D flawless sincerity aiid complete selflessness. 

bb 

His fundamental humanity never deserted him. One of his stair 
officers, Roger Bellairs, never saw him “out of temper or anything 

but cheerful, and infusing everyone with the joy of carrying out the 

work in hand.”’ Jellicoe’s mastery of his trade was held in the 

highest regard by nearly all his service contemporaries, certainly 

before Jutland, though largely after Jutland, too. His reputation 

was a deserved one. He possessed a high technical proficiency in his 

profession, and this included a sound, for his time, knowledge of 

strategy and tactics. 

No man is perfect. Jellicoe’s leadership talents were flawed by 

a kindness of heart and loyalty to old friends that tended to blind 

him to the war-revealed limitations and failings of his brother 

officers (Burney, his second-in-command, is a good example here), 

or to stand by them even when he was aware of their serious 

deficiencies (Warrender, a battle-squadron commander, is an example). A still more serious weakness was his over-centralization. 

Lacking the ability to delegate authority, and having a tremendous 

capacity for work and power of concentration, as well as an exceptional knowledge of the technicalities of his profession, he was 

inclined to do too much himself, even to the petty details of fleet 

administration. “Paper work is my curse,” he wrote. “I can’t get 

away from it.”2 The inevitable consequence was that, to quote 

Beatty, “the big questions got slurred over or overlooked altogether.” ’ 

Beatty, Conirriaiider of the Battle Cruiser Fleet (an integral 

part of the Grand Fleet), relieved Jellicoe as Commander in Chief 

late in November 1916. His outstanding leadership was the product 

of a variety of traits and assets. There were, in the first place, 

his rather flamboyant appearance and personality. The handsome 

Beatty, a well-known figure in hunting circles and London society, 

had a cheerful and colorful personality featuring dash, a touch of 

swagger, and self-possession. A sartorial individualist, his sixbuttoned monkey jacket (instead of the usual eight-buttoned one) 

and famous cap, tilted at a sharp angle over his eyes, captured the 

fleet, as well as the public, fancy. He had, then, charismatic gifts. 

(This, incidentally, was the most important of the many leadership 

traits that Nelson possessed.) This was far from all. He was exceptionally approachable, welcoming suggestions from all his 

officers and never resenting criticisms. His great breadth of view 

won him the admiration and loyalty of the more progressive officers 

in particular. One of his ablest captains, Herbert Richmond, noted: 

02 
“It is refreshing to find a naval officer who sees so much beyond 

his own arm.”‘ Finally, and hardly least, was Beatty’s fighting 

spirit. 

Admiral Goodenough, who served under Beatty throughout the 

war, singles out the last two factors as the most important explanation of Beatty’s greatness as a naval commander. After denying 

that his pre-eminence was due to “great brains” or to “great professional knowledge,” he says: “It was his spirit, combined with 

comprehension of really big issues. The gift of distinguishing between essentials and not wasting time on non-essentials.” ’ Beatty’s 

officers and men had great admiration for, confidence in, and 

devotion to him. Missing only was the love that so many Grand 

Fleet officers and men had for Jellicoe. 

Beatty shared one of Jellicoe’s weaknesses. His magnanimity 

and his desire to do nothing that would weaken fleet morale had 

the same result as Jellicoe’s kindness and loyalty: incompetents 

were retained even when proved failures. The best-known case is 

that of Beatty’s Flag-Lieutenant, Ralph Seymour, who, through 

inept handling of Battle Cruiser Fleet signals, grievously failed 

Beatty on three important occasions. Pakenham, Beatty’s battlecruiser commander in 1917-18, was a sad disappointment to the 

Commander in Chief, yet was permitted to stay on. And there are 

other instances of softness. Beatty did not share Jellicoe’s other 

basic deficiency: he was not one to immerse himself in detail. He 

preferred to have his secretary handle this aspect of his job, leaving 

him, as he put it, “free for other things of greater importance.” 

Outstanding war leaders are rare and are, I am convinced, 

born, not made. They are the result of inborn personality traits. 

(This is not to deny that a measure of leadership can be developed 

in most, or at least in many, officers.) Jellicoe and Beatty were too 

such born leaders; it was their styles that were different. 

Strategy 

There was no dearth of offensive projects submitted at the 

Admiralty and in the Grand Fleet in 1914-16. Thus, in the winter 

of 1914-15 there was high-level discussion of the capture of 

Borkum or Sylt by a bold coup de main. The use of one of these 

German islands in the Heligoland Bight as an advanced British 

naval base might (with other advantages), it was thought, force the 

83 
High Seas Fleet to offer battle. Fleet bombardment proposals were 

plentiful in 1915-16, such as that for a raid in the Bight to destroy 

the Heligoland dockyard and draw heavy ships from Cuxhaven or 

Wilhelmshaven to sea, to be dealt with. Another scheme that popped 

up now and then was to send a powerful battle squadron into the 

Baltic to contain the High Seas Fleet. 

Jellicoe’s position never altered. He refused to be stampeded 

into any hazardous adventures; no risks must be run that would 

threaten the British command of the sea. Trying as it was for the 

fleet and the country, the policy of the Grand Fleet must be a waiting one. Jellicoe believed that the fleet should always seek a decisive 

victory at sea, but he always qualified it with two powerful considerations: (1) a recognition of the practical obstacles: the submarine and the mine danger was the principal deterrent; (2) the 

knowledge that, because a defeat would be catastrophic, they must 

ever be on their guard against being drawn into action under 

conditions favorable to the enemy and deliberately planned by 

him. Jellicoe stated his basic strategy most clearly in a memorandum of 12 April 1916 for the Admiralty: 

The first axiom appears to me to be that it is the business of the 

Grand Fleet to nullify any hostile action on the part of the High 

Sea Fleet; secondly, to cover all surface vessels that are employed. 

either in protecting our own trade, or in stopping trade with the 

enemy; thirdly, to stop invasion, or landing raids. . . . So long as the High Sea Fleet is confined to its harbours, the whole 

of these desiderata are obtained, and although, of course, the total 

destruction of the High Sea Fleet gives a greater sense of security, 

it is not, in my opinion, wise to risk unduly the heavy ships of the 

Grand Fleet, particularly if the risks come, not from the High Sea 

Fleet itself, but from such attributes as mines and submarines. 

There is no doubt that, provided there is a chance of destroying 

some of the enemy’s heavy ships, it is right and proper to run risks 

with our own heavy ships, but unless the chances are reasonably 

great, I do not think that such risks should be run, seeing that any 

disaster to our heavy ships lays the country open to invasion, and 

also gives the enemy the opportunity of passing commerce destroyers out of the North Sea.e 

When Beatty succeeded Jellicoe, it was assumed in the country 

at large, and to some extent in the fleet. that the new Commander in 

Chief stood for a more provocative strategy. This was to misunderstand Beatty. His Flag-Captain, Chatfield, tells us why. “He was 

84 
no reckless and lighthearted swordsman, as he has sometimes been 

represented to be, but was always imbued by the need of a wise 

balancing of risks, realizing the responsibility of his valuable 

command.” ’ Beatty’s strategic policy was as cautious as that of his 

predecessor. At no time as Commander in Chief, any more than 

when Commander of the Battle Cruiser Fleet, did he suggest any 

fundamental change in the naval strategy of the war. He was no 

more in favor of so-called offensive operations-an attack on 

Heligoland, etc.-than Jellicoe had been. He would not seek an 

engagement except in favorable circumstances. Favorable circumstances did not include a fleet action in the southern part of the 

North Sea; it was a very different matter north of the latitude of 

Horns Reef. This is not to say that ideas for offensive operations 

were absent from Beatty’s thinking, especially ideas for the use 

of naval air power to strike at the High Seas Fleet and its bases. 

Since the prevalent doctrine of the High Seas Fleet was that a largescale battle, if fought at all, should be accepted only if it took place 

in waters comfortably close to German bases, the continued stalemate as regards the two fleets was assured. 

The strategic outlook did not improve during 1918. The 

submarine was being mastered; but the campaign was imposing a 

considerable strain on Grand Fleet resources, specifically through : 

(1) the call for destroyers for convoy escort and other anti-submarine work; (2) the maintenance and efficiency of the British 

mined area in the Bight involved a constant activity by the light 

forces, which meant that the destroyers and light cruisers of the 

Grand Fleet might not always be available for fleet operations; (3) 

the attacks by surface raiders on the Scandinavian convoys in the 

autumn of 1917 made it evident that in the future, heavy ships 

must cover the convoys. For all practical purposes, this detachment, 

in Beatty’s view, had to be regarded as a permanent reduction in 

Grand Fleet capital-ship strength. The Jutland-revealed weaknesses 

in the protection of the battle cruisers and in the shell represented 

for the Commander in Chief further discounts in the real strength 

of the battle fleet. It was these factors that led to Beatty’s momentous recommendation of 9 January 1918, and which was accepted 

by the Admiralty and the War Cabinet that month, that the “correct 

strategy of the Grand Fleet is no longer to endeavour to bring the 

enemy to action at any cost, but rather to contain him in his bases 

[by intensified minelaying in their vicinity] until the general 

85 
situation becomes more favourable to us. This does not mean that 

action should be avoided if conditions favour us, or that our role 

should be passive and purely defensive.” * Beatty’s position was not 

the radical departure it appeared to be to high authority. It had, in 

effect, been his strategy throughout the first year of his command. 

What was new was the clear spelling out of the whys and wherefores of Grand Fleet strategy and the endorsement by authority. 

The “new strategy” was basically identical to Jellicoe’s (if the 

considerations behind it were not quite the same), and this was 

testified to by Jellicoe’s brother-in-law, Admiral Madden, who was 

Beatty’s second-in-command : “When History is written, these 

papers [ Beatty’s and the Admiralty’s, which closely followed 

Beatty’s main arguments: the War Cabinet had had both before 

them] will be a complete vindication of your policy, as Commander in Chief and as First Sea Lord.”’ The crux of the matter 

was Beatty’s conviction, as it had been Jellicoe’s, that there must 

be no gambling with the Navy. The whole Allied cause was based 

on the latent power of the Grand Fleet. 

In one not unimportant respect, Beatty’s strategic outlook was 

broader than Jellicoe’s. Jellicoe never had much use for joint 

operations-when Comander in Chief, because they would only 

drain naval strength from where it mattered, the North Sea; when 

First Sea Lord, in 1917, because such operations would add to the 

Navy’s already excessive burdens in guarding the supply lines to 

the military forces overseas. Jellicoe accepted the situation that an 

offensive naval strategy was not possible in any direction. Beatty, 

on the other hand, chafed under the restrictions imposed by the 

passive naval strategy. It was more than a case of contrasting 

temperaments. Strongly influenced by the ideas of the leader of the 

“Young Turks” in the fleet, Captain Herbert Richmond, Beatty 

argued that an offensive strategy was possible, and was required, in 

the Mediterranean. There the Navy would be able to carry on its 

traditional amphibious strategy: assisting the military campaigns 

by threatening the enemy’s lines of communication and landing 

troops at vital points to tie up large numbers of Austrian or Turkish 

troops; and destroying the Austrian naval base at Pola and the 

Whitehead torpedo factory at Fiume, which would strike heavy 

blows at the submarine campaign in the Mediterranean. He got 

nowhere with Jellicoe, nor with his successor as First Sea Lord, 

Wemyss. 

86 
Tactics 

Three main conceptions dominated Jellicoe’s Grand Fleet 

Battle Orders: (1) a subordination of the offensive spirit to defensive precautions, especially against the torpedo; (2) the single 

line, parallel course, and long range of the plan of battle; (3) centralized command.” As regards the first, Jellicoe was determined 

not to hazard his capital-ship superiority to the risk of underwater 

damage from torpedoes, mines, or submarine-and-mine traps. His 

respect for the torpedo, the mine, and the submarine, though full 

war experience was to prove it an exaggerated one, was shared by 

the whole navy. As between a turn-away or a turn-toward a massed 

destroyer torpedo attack, used with a smoke screen to cover the 

enemy’s turn-away, Jellicoe had decided that the turn-away was the 

better of the methods to ensure the safety of the fleet. But his use 

of this maneuver at Jutland was one of the main complaints against 

his tactics. It had, his critics insisted, wrecked all chances of forcing 

an action on the enemy. 

As regards (2), in particular fighting in single battle line, or 

line ahead, each ship following its next ahead: just as the great 

majority of senior officers accepted the turn-away, so they accepted 

the single line. The case for the single line included these arguments: the high speeds of modern ships and the smoke-filled battle 

areas now made it practically impossible for a Commander in Chief 

to retain control of independent squadrons, especially in a period 

when short range wireless and aircraft had not been developed 

very far; an independent squadron attempting a tactical concentration on a part of an enemy fleet would be severely hammered or 

overwhelmed if it came under the guns of a concentrated enemy 

battle fleet. The opposition to the single line became vociferous after 

Jutland, which proved to the critics the advantages of divisional or 

divided tactics; it was a way out of the tactical sterility allegedly 

inherent in one long single line of battle. The attempt to apply 

equal pressure all along the line, they maintained, usually produced indecisive results. A decision was best achieved by concentrating a superior force on part of the enemy’s line, the defeat 

of which would lead to the collapse of the whole enemy line. 

As regards (3), which was in part a derivative of the singleline conception: the line was worked entirely by the Commander 

in Chief from his flagship. “The system of signalling every move87 
ment from the Fleet Flagship produced an acute form of tactical 

arthritis,” Admiral Dewar has pointed out, “suppressing the initiative of Captains and divisional leaders who had merely to follow 

passively in the wake of the next ahead.” It is a fact that Jellicoe’s 

Battle Orders strictly limited independent action by divisional or 

squadron commanders, for example, to alterations of course to 

avoid an attack on the rear or an attempt to close for a torpedo 

attack. 

Jellicoe’s tactics were the subject of much controversy in the 

fleet after Jutland. His denigrators then and since have scored his 

“cautious handling” of the fleet, which, they say, robbed the Grand 

Fleet of a second Trafalgar. 

In the months after Jutland, there were significant aniendinents in the Grand Fleet Battle Orders in the direction of decentralization and greater flexibility of the line; and as a counter 

to a massed torpedo attack by a retiring fleet, a turn-toward was 

made possible: “the appropriate counter would depend on circumstances.” 

Beatty’s post-J utland lament, “There is something wrong with 

our system,” did not lead to a revolution in tactics when he became 

Commander in Chief.” He was not an impetuous fighter who would 

take needless risks. He saw no need to go far beyond the postJutland modifications in the Grand Fleet Orders as regards the 

three points which had given rise to so much discussion after the 

battle : decentralization of command versus centralization, divided 

tactics versus concentration of the battle fleet, and a fleet turn 

toward versus away from a massed torpedo attack. It is difficult to 

detect any significant difference between Jellicoe’s views (postJutland, particularly) and Beatty’s on how much scope ought to be 

allowed to individual initiative. Nor did their ideas on concentration differ noticeably. Beatty made it clear that he had no intention 

of employing divided tactics until the battle had reached an advanced stage-that is, in the words of Jellicoe’s Flag-Captain, 

Dreyer, not “until he had knocked the stuffing out of the enemy.” 

Beatty was no more willing than Jellicoe had been to accept the 

torpedo menace in order to be able to inflict serious punishment 

on the German line of battle. He was, however, prepared under 

certain conditions to have the fleet turn toward a destroyer torpedo 

attack. This is one instance oi a new offensive spirit in the Battle 

88 
Orders that did much to sustain fleet morale. Other examples: a 

more aggressive use of torpedoes by all vessels (the post-Jutland 

Battle Orders had already gone some distance in this direction), 

the acceptance of a night action if necessary, and a full use of 

submarines and aircraft with the fleet. Let it be said here that 

Beatty was one of the comparatively few senior naval officers with 

a belief in the tremendous potential of naval aviation, above all, 

torpedo planes. 

Assessment 

Though very different as human beings, the two admirals had, 

as this paper has tried to bring out, a great deal in common. The 

contribution each made to the Grand Fleet’s major share in the 

winning of the war was unique. Jellicoe made a fleet out of a 

heterogeneous collection of ships and squadrons, and this fleet 

established a moral ascendancy over the High Seas Fleet. He met 

the supreme test of a great battle commander by making quick, and 

on the whole sound, decisions in the unprecedented and fluid 

tactical situation at Jutland. And he demonstrated greatness as a 

fleet commander by capitalizing on the materiel, tactical, and other 

lessoris of that battle. 

As for Beatty, his most important achievement as Commander 

in Chief, Grand Fleet, is one that has gone unnoticed. Despite the 

boredom and war-weariness that gripped the fleet in the last two 

years of the war, as the possibilities of meeting the High Seas Fleet 

receded, morale remained remarkably high until the end of the 

war. This was to a large degree Beatty’s doing. As Chatfield wrote, 

The mainspring of the Fleet’s spirit was that of its leader. It had 

confidence in him, that he was a fighter; that he would take the 

Fleet out whatever the circumstances of weather or other dangers, 

and that he would not let the enemy go once he was in contact. . . . It is to David Beatty’s everlasting credit that during these monotonous and testing two years he maintained the spirit of the 

Grand Fleet, its efficiency, harmony and cheerfulness at the highest 

possible level and enthusiasm.”12 

To which I would add: Beatty’s optimism that the High Seas Fled 

would have to come out was infectious and did much to keep up 

the spirits of the Grand Fleet. 

The Grand Fleet went through the war without fighting a 

89 
decisive battle, and yet it was the dominating factor all the time. 

For this achievement Jellicoe and Beatty were equally responsible. 

NOTES 

1. Arthur J. Marder, From the Dreadnought to Scapa Flow: The Royal 

Navy in the Fishe.r Era, 1904-1919 (London, 1961-69, 4 vols.), 11, 443. 

2. Jellicoe to Admiral Sir Henry Jackson (First Sea Lord), 8 October 

1916; Jackson MSS (Naval Library, Ministry of Defence). 

3. Beatty to Lady Beatty, 5 December 1916; Beatty MSS (in the possession 

of the second Earl Beatty) . 

4, Arthur J. Marder, Portrait of an Admiral: the Life and Papers of Sir 

Herbert Richmond (London, 1952), p. 274. 

5. Admiral Sir William Goodenough, A Rough Record (London, 1943), 

p. 91. 

6. Jellicoe’s Memorandum for the Admiralty, 12 April 1916; Beatty MSS. 

7. Admiral of the Fleet Str Ernle Chatfield’s letter in The Times, 13 March 

1936. 

8. “Situation in the North Sea”; Admiralty MSS (Public Record Office). 

9. Admiral Sir Charles Madden to Jellicoe, 28 January 1918; Jellicoe 

MSS (British Museum). 

10. There is a full discussion of Jellicoe’s pre-Jutland Grand Fleet Battle 

Orders in From the Dreadnought to Scapo Fh, 111, 3-35, and of the postJutland amendments, ibid., pp. 221-227. 

11. Beatty’s tactical ideas are discussed in detail in Chapter 11 of 

From the Dreadnought to Scapcc Flow. 

12. Admiral of the Fleet Lord Chatfield, The Navy and Defence 

1942), p. 172. 

Vol. IV, 

London, 

90 
COMMENTARY 

Donald M. Schurman 

In regard to Arthur Marder I wish to say the following. Military men and historians may agree or disagree with his interpretations and views, but now that he has written his books-he is not 

finished yet-on the Royal Navy, in the period 1880 to 1918, 

everything must be said in the light of this great work. Everyone 

here knows, as I do, that his paper is like an iceberg; only the tip 

of erudition and judgment is presented for our perusal-underneath lies the body of the detailed research; work, in my opinion, 

that would have occupied the lifetimes of four or five ordinary 

mortals. Enthusiasm has inspired him, diligence has marked him, 

judgment has grown upon him, and magnanimity has rustled the 

banners of his accomplishments. 

Although assurance has marked Arthur Marder’s publications, 

I do not think he suffers from undue vanity. He is enough like the 

subjects of his nordic sagas that he will be suspicious of too much 

flattery, and he is enough of the general historian to beware of 

Greeks “bearing gifts.” So much for praise, but it is, as everybody 

here knows, merely his due. 

Now, when the pungent historian of Fisher finally turned and 

dealt with the performance of the Royal Navy in World War I, 

naval historians and naval men waited with bated breath for the 

firm upsetting of all the previous judgments that had been made. 

“Now we will get the truth about the Grand Fleet and Jutland,” 

they said. It was expected that the former heroes would be left to 

float listlessly on the salt water, and that, like Arthur Bryant’s 

Alanbrooke, the real winner of the war would swim into focus. (Not 

that I think that Alanbrooke was the real winner of the war.) This 

has not happened, fortunately. Since I have a certain amount of 

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knowledge of Sir Julian Corbett, the official naval historian of the 

First World War at sea, I am sure Professor Marder will not take 

it as an insult when I say that he, Marder, has come perilously close 

to qualifying for the title of second “Official Historian of World 

War I at Sea” as practiced by the Royal Navy. 

What this has meant for the subjects of this paper is that he 

has shown them to be both remarkable men, but not so different as 

might at first be expected. Not “men for all seasons’ but eminently, 

as Corelli Barnett has pointed out in Jellicoe’s case, solid men of 

their time. If Nelson did not come again, Howe and Kempenfelt 

did! Wielding new weapons in a new era, they maintained British 

naval supremacy in the testing cauldron of war. Marder has seen, 

correctly in my view, that it was a perverted conception of the 

function of the Grand Fleet by the general public, many naval men, 

and some naval historians, that has led to overemphatic criticism of 

the handling of North Sea strategy at the personal level. Critics 

have looked generally for a facile explanation of failure. In fact, 

they ought, as Marder has, to have looked for the explanation of 

success. In the First World War the prime value of the Royal Navy 

in the North Sea lay in its power to control enemy sea power’s 

ability to affect the course of the war in general, and to make the 

weight of sea power felt in the homes, factories, ports, and diplomatic offices of Germany-this it did. 

But the miscoiiceptions about the real nature of the Grand 

Fleet’s role even affected the relationships of the two subjects of 

Marder’s paper. Both Beatty and Jellicoe in fact knew what they 

had to do. What they were denied was the bonus of a second 

Trafalgar. When one considers the shooting powers of the High 

Seas Fleet this may have been just as well for the Royal Navy’s 

reputation. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that the British press, 

public, Admiralty, and naval command suffered from frustration. 

There was a dearth of opportunity for big battle, and when the 

opportunity came the result of the day was partly indecisive. Now 

as far as this indecision is concerned, I am surprised that writers, 

Marder included, have been disinclined to point out that a clean 

sweep fight such as Trafalgar was very much the exception in 

British naval history. With the exception of courage (as opposed 

to confidence) I do not suppose two fleets will ever meet in the 

history of the world that were so unevenly matched as those on 21 

October 1805. Leadership, practice. seamanship, fighting skill have 

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seldom been so much on one side in a sea fight, at least since 

Tromp mastered Oquendo in the Downs in 1639. But the British 

were so nurtured on the Nelson myth that they would be content 

with nothing less than a repetition of his heroic career. What went 

wrong was that Scheer was not Villeneuve. However, when one 

looks at the stereotype of the girl that passed for ideal femininity 

at the time of the First World War, and then looks at Romney’s 

reproductions of Emma, Lady Hamilton, one is reminded of Nelson’s verdict: if there were more Emmas, there would be more 

Nehons. By all accounts David Beatty might have profited from 

such a solid base, if I may use the phrase. 

This frustration, not due to sex, but a lack of resounding 

victory, persisted throughout both the actual and the following 

“paper” wars concerning Grand Fleet tactics and strategy. Unfortunately it induced tensions in the fleet and between the commanders, both during the war and after. These tensions are really 

the occasion for Marder’s paper. He has moderated the tensions in 

a way that has needed to be done for a very long time. 

Nevertheless, the resulting frustration, understandable as it 

may be, had a direct effect, in my opinion, on both commanders. 

Now what I am about to say is not entirely my own but comes from 

a close reading of Julian Corbett’s work for another purpose. 

Marder quotes Jellicoe, to the effect that it was wrong to risk the 

fleet because of the danger represented by possible invasion or by 

escaping commerce raiders. It seems to me that the frustration I 

have spoken of made the Grand Fleet commander hypersensitive to 

all word from London and that, in addition, he was so convinced 

of the primary role of the Grand Fleet that he conceived of himself 

as the formulator of strategic thought for the nation. I do not think 

Jellicoe would ever have been vain enough to put it in those words, 

but I think it gradually permeated his mind in that way. I do not 

mean that he was not successful in so imposing himself, but only 

mean that the effect of his strategic dominance was to distort his 

vision. This was not too dangerous with Churchill and Fisher both 

in Whitehall, but Admiral Henry Jackson and Sir Edward Carson 

were a different kettle of fish. Jellicoe more and more saw himself 

as the focal point for the whole war. This made him, I think, want 

to decide global priorities. When I think for instance of his interest, 

later on, in the Third Battle of Passchendaele and his rather pessi93 
mistic views of that subject and its possible effect on events in the 

North Sea, and this is really the important point, it made him want 

to be equally strong everywhere at once. Now this may have been a 

proper view in a commander, but it, in turn, had the effect of 

making him want to have performance perfection instead of the 

usual wartime “ups and downs,” which every military man it seems 

to me has to face. You can’t win them all! Consequently, he remained in a constant state of what I would like to call apprehension. This was partly caused, as Marder has shown, by his 

strong fears of mines and submarines, but I do not think it was an 

asset in a leader. Hankey once said of Jellicoe that when he got 

to the Admiralty he expected a German to jump through the 

Admiralty window behind him and hit him a poke when he least 

expected it. Personally, I do not see how a naturally cautious, 

overcentralized, over-responsible, and overworked man could evade 

this defect. But I do think that it was a defect from which Jellicoe 

suffered. And all the time taunts by soldiers (for whom he seems 

to have had unwarranted respect), about the possibility of invasion, 

increased this natural posture of apprehension. 

Now when Beatty came to power in the Grand Fleet, I think he 

inherited this sense of apprehension that had governed Jellicoe. I 

do not intend to develop this point, because I think Marder’s paper 

has made it clear. In Beatty’s case it was probably a good thing, 

for it restrained a certain propensity to behave in action as if he 

were the commander of a fleet destroyer. But Beatty had qualities 

besides those induced by North Sea frustrations, and these qualities 

helped to obviate the defect of an excess of “unthinking” battle 

ardour. I do not quarrel with the idea that Marder has put forth, 

for instance, that Beatty was “responsible” once he became Grand 

Fleet commander, but I think that there were times, earlier on, that 

one can question this. He was capable, as Marder has shown in his 

paper again, of taking advice; he was also capable of learning from 

his mistakes. Admiral Chalmers has described to me (as he no doubt 

has to Professor Marder who introduced me to him), how Beatty 

began to work out a staff system as soon as he took over command 

of the Grand Fleet, and how he began to delegate authority, and to 

discuss hypothetical battle situations with his fleet captains with 

some regularity. This was fortunate. At Jutland his preoccupation 

with fleet signaling was not overwhelming; at the Dogger Bank he 

was a communications disaster. I have read Marder’s account of 

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the Dogger Bank with some care and it seems clear that Marder 

is aware that Beatty-and I perhaps lay myself open for great 

attack here-ought to bear a good deal of the responsibility for 

many of the errors in that action and not poor Admiral Moore, on 

whom both Beatty and Jellicoe placed the blame after the fight; 

not officially, mind you, they did not send in a bad report on him, 

but in correspondence between themselves they said Moore was not 

up to much. I say this, because Marder refers to it obliquely in the 

paper when he says that Beatty was failed three times by Ralph 

Seymour, his Flag Lieutenant in charge of battle cruiser fleet 

signals. Nevertheless, as Marder implies, Beatty himself was ultimately responsible for the fleet signalling under his command, and 

he was terribly wrong not to correct such a glaring weakness. Beatty 

was also wrong not to have consulted carefully about signal 

probability as he trained his squadron; he was also wrong to be 

periscope-shy.” But he learned, as I say, from his mistakes. As 

a result of Beatty’s concentration on consultation in the Grand 

Fleet, a second Jutland might have had a better result, at least 

from the point of view of signals. One could make more of this 

and perhaps attack it from different points of view. Therefore, it 

is my opinion that one real problem with the Grand Fleet was, that 

the fleet itself in its position in the North Sea dominated Whitehall’s 

strategic thinking. This had reverberations that came back to the 

fleet, affecting its own performance; and this is true for more reasons than I have time to expound on here. In Jellicoe’s case the 

result was not entirely good. In Beatty’s it was helpfully corrective. 

b& 

As to its effect on the overall impact on the war, much might 

be said. I perhaps should suggest ’two things. Professor Marder 

said that he thought Beatty was more interested in combined 

operations than Jellicoe was, and I think this is true. But I wonder 

if it had come to the “pinch” and they had begun to ask Beatty 

to send ships from the Grand Fleet to the Mediterranean to carry 

out some of these proposals that were put forward, whether one 

would have found him any less unyielding than Jellicoe had been. 

I am inclined to think that the answer to that would be “no.” This 

preoccupation with the Grand Fleet, you see, as it dominated 

Whitehall’s strategic thinking, had the unfortunate effect of making 

real, serious plans for combined operations in other parts of the 

globe virtually impossible. I have no intention to open the can of 

worms of the Dardanelles at this time, but one ought to note in 

95 
connection with the Dardanelles that people tended to evaluate it 

from the point of view of its effect on the naval operations of the 

Grand Fleet. And it was this, over-preoccupation with Jellicoe’s 

Grand Fleet position, that caused a good deal of the difficulty in 

the spring and the summer of 1915. 

Secondly, people writing a history of the First World War, 

especially those who are interested in the military side in some 

detail, seem to have a disinclination to mount the ladder of power 

in Whitehall, when they are dishing out responsibility for things 

that went wrong. I do not know why this is; I have never been able 

to quite understand it. Perhaps it is because the English Establishment hated David Lloyd George so much that anything he wrote 

about himself after the war-or the very thought of him, by the 

time his memoirs were beginning to appear-inhibited any judgment, or sort of “choked back” any assent that they might have 

been inclined to nod toward his judgment of what happened during 

the war. For when I think of the Dardanelles, and I think of the 

problems of the Grand Fleet, I consider that the man who must 

ultimately bear the responsibility in wartime for defects and difficulties is the Prime Minister. Lloyd George accepted this. Winston 

Churchill accepted it in the Second World War. In dealing with 

1914, 1915, and 1916 the tendency is to talk about the responsibility of Whitehall admirals and First Sea Lords and forget that 

Herbert Henry Asquith, and that great wartime disaster Sir Edward 

Grey, ought to come in for their share of the blame as well. Wars 

are waged, ultimately, by politicians; and these two men had the 

capability of welding diplomacy and military power together. They 

failed their country as it has never been failed in war before or 

since. 

What 1 have tried to do here then is to use Marder’s paper to 

give a little different slant on Beatty’s and Jellicoe’s problems. In 

war “chickens come home to roost” on Prime Minister’s shoulders, 

and the shade of Asquith has some days of white shoulders ahead 

of it yet. But Marder’s paper has realistically taken us away from 

the old Jellicoe-Beatty “paper war,’’ I hope for good, and put us 

firmly back with the Grand Fleet in action facing real problems, 

and its relation with the home government. It makes it possible for 

us to raise important issues, I think, and discuss them to our mutual 

benefit. This after all, in my opinion, is what we quill-drivers are 

for. 

96 
THE MILITARY VIEW: 

COMMENTS BY MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL NAVY 

ADMIRAL SIR WILLIAM JAMES, G. C. B. 

Royal Navy (Ret.) 

No battle ever aroused so much controversy as did Jutland, 

and never before has so much nonsense been written about a battle 

by critics eager to tell Jellicoe and Beatty what they should have 

done. 

In my comments I shall endeavor to give the views of‘ the 

officers who (like myself) served under Jellicoe and Beatty and 

who after the war saw the battle demonstrated at the Tactical 

School with models of all the ships on a large table. That demonstration, by the way, was staged after the German report of the 

Battle of Jutland was published. 

In his book The World Crisis, Winston Churchill wrote of’ 

Lord Jellicoe: “He was the only man on either side who could lose 

the war in an afternoon.” Churchill knew that if, through faulty 

tactics, the Grand Fleet suffered a heavy defeat, German ships on 

the morrow of their victory would be far afield seeking their preythe Norwegian, North Sea, and Channel convoys, shipping plying 

between English and French Channel ports nourishing the British 

Army in France; and some ships striking at the weakly defended 

British ships on the Atlantic trade routes. He knew that were the 

German fleet free to operate in any seas within their radius of 

action, we could not survive for long. The British public did not 

understand this elemental fact of maritime war. They did not 

understand that the Grand Fleet stood between them and defeat. 

They murmured, “What is the Grand Fleet, on which so much 

of the country’s wealth was expended, doing, hiding somewhere in 

the northern mists?” It had always been the same. In the sailing era 

97 
when there was no news of the main fleet for months and often 

years the people murmured, “What is Hawke doing? Why is there 

no news from Nelson?” 

Admirals were always a target for criticism by a public fretting for news of battle and not understanding the elements of sea 

warfare. What Churchill wrote about Jellicoe was equally true 

of Beatty. Professor Marder’s admirable pen pictures of these 

two admirals show how widely they differed in character, but 

that revolutionary changes in battle tactics, which many people 

expected when Beatty became Commander in Chief, did not materialise. 

When Beatty assumed command, I was Flag Commander to 

Admiral Sturdee, commanding the 4th Battle Squadron. Shortly 

after he hoisted his flag, Beatty convened a tactical committee to 

investigate new battle tactics which would introduce more flexibility. 

My admiral was a member and I went with him to the meeting. 

Critics of Jellicoe’s‘handling of the fleet at Jutland had ascribed 

two reasons for his failure to force action on the High Seas Fleet. 

One was the turn away when the German flotillas made their 

destroyer attack, the other was the rigid control exercised by the 

Commander in Chief which, as a corollary, did not allow squadron 

leaders to act on their own initiative. 

That was the question put to the tactical committee. 

After many sessions, investigating with ship models every 

facet of divided tactics, the committee came to the conclusion that 

a battle must be fought in single line until the enemy had been 

heavily defeated, and then, and only then, were divided tactics 

justified. If a squadron leader led his squadron out of the line in 

the early stages of a battle and the German Commander in Chief 

was quick to see his chance of bringing the fire of his whole fleet 

on a part of the enemy-the dream of a Commander in Chief 

commanding a weaker fleet-this attempt to use divided tactics 

would end in disaster. 

So Beatty’s battle orders do not differ very much from Jellicoe’s battle orders. Professor Marder includes in the changes Beatty 

made “acceptance of a night action, if necessary.” 

98 
Beatty would, like Nelson, take calculated risks as he did 

when he entered the Heligoland Bight in August 1914 but, aware 

as his predecessor was that an ill-judged tactical signal might lose 

the war in an afternoon, he would take no risk that could not be 

calculated. I do not think that Beatty ever contemplated night action. 

Admirals had never sought night battle for obvious reasons. After 

the first few salvoes the Commander in Chief would lose control, 

because his signals by flashing light would not be seen; the gunlayers and trainers at the guns and the men working the searchlights 

would have the greatest difficulty in finding and holding their 

target; friend would be mistaken for foe, and there would be 

chaos. 

Since the advent of the torpedo-boat destroyer, all navies had 

adopted the same pattern for sea battle. As the light failed the 

battle was broken off and the two fleets separated, and as soon as it 

was dark enough the destroyers were sent in to attack with torpedoes. Admiral Togo was the first exponent of this pattern at the 

Battle of Tsushima. 

It was not until 1930 that a fleet was first trained for night 

battle. Admiral Chatfield on assuming command of the Mediterranean fleet decided the time had come to train the fleet because it 

was now possible to manoeuvre the fleet by wireless; the guns were 

now laid, trained, and fired from the foretop (the layers and 

trainers following pointers) ; the searchlights were manipulated by 

distant control, the gunnery and searchlight control officers being 

in the foretop above the smoke. Chatfield’s initiative reaped its 

reward when Admiral Cunningham encountered the Italian fleet off 

Cape Matapan at night. 

Half-begotten battles, as St. Vincent called them, have always 

roused controversy and often been followed by quarrels between 

the admirals. After the Battle of Ushant the quarrel between Keppel 

and his second-in-command Palliser reached the House of Commons and the London social world; ladies of fashion wore ribbons 

with the names of the admirals. But there was no quarrel between 

Jellicoe and Beatty; it was their friends and admirers who waged 

war in articles and the press. One camp said Jellicoe had been too 

cautious and lost a wonderful opportunity of inflicting a severe 

defeat on the High Seas Fleet; Beatty had been too rash, said the 

other camp. 

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But the criticism, which continued for years, was always destructive and never constructive. Professor Marder quotes Captain 

Dewar as saying: “The system of signaling every movement from 

the Fleet Flagship produced an acute form of tactical arthritis, 

suppressing the initiative of captains and divisional leaders who 

had merely to follow in the wake of the next.ahead.” This is quite 

meaningless but typical of much of the criticism. When the Grand 

Fleet put to sea Beatty or Jellicoe was in command of a huge 

armada : three battle squadrons each of eight dreadnoughts, stretching for seven miles, four cruiser squadrons and nearly 100 destroyers. 

The courses and speeds of this armada could only be ordered by 

the Commander in Chief; it was utterly ridiculous to suggest that 

captains and squadron leaders should be free to act on their own. 

When contact was obtained with the High Seas Fleet and the Commander in Chief had to decide on the vitally important deployment 

signal or after the fleet had deployed into line of battle, it was 

essential that the fleet should be in good order, battleships, cruisers, 

destroyers all in their appointed place in the battle diagrams. The 

independence suggested by Captain Dewar could have led to complete disorder. Over a hundred years before the Battle of Jutland, 

the following conversation took place between Lord St. Vincent and 

his secretary, which the latter recorded in his memoirs. 

“Pray God, they’ll come out soon,” said the Commander in 

Chief fervently, “but I fear they’ll not give battle and unless I get 

a chance shift of wind I cannot force ’em to it. I said the same in a 

letter home. Get it Mr. Tucker, the copy’s in my drawer.” The 

secretary did as directed and said, “Here it is, My Lord. It reads: 

‘I have often told you that two fleets of equal force can never 

produce decisive results unless they are equally determined to fight 

it out, or the Commander in Chief of one of them bitches it, so as 

to misconduct his line.’ ” 

This was as true of the steatii as of the sailing era. 

Neither Jellicoe nor von Scheer “bitched” his line and so in 

the low visibility von Scheer was able to abide by his instructions 

and avoid battle with the Grand Fleet. The outcome would not have 

been very different if Beatty or any other admiral had been in 

command of the Grand Fleet; von Scheer had the necessary speed 

to avoid battle. 

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Professor Marder says the Grand Fleet went through the war 

without fighting a decisive battle, and yet it was the dominating 

factor all the time. But the Battle of Jutland, though half begotten, 

was a decisive battle because after the battle, the German High 

Command gave priority to submarine warfare. The High Seas Fleet 

did put to sea once after Jutland but had not advanced very far into 

the North Sea before altering course for its defended bases. 

Though men of such different personality, Jellicoe and Beatty 

had one thing in common: they were superb leaders. Despite the 

boredom and waning hopes that there would ever be a battle 

between the main fleets, there was no war-weariness in the Grand 

Fleet. Efforts to improve efficiency and enthusiasm and complete 

confidence in the Commander in Chief, whether it was Jellicoe or 

Beatty, never waned from the day the fleet assembled in Scapa 

Flow to the day the Grand Fleet shepherded the surrendered High 

Seas Fleet into the Flow. 

REAR ADMIRAL S. A. PEARS, C. B. E. 

Royal Navy (Ret.) 

I have been asked to comment on a paper by Professor Arthur 

Marder delivered at the United States Air Force Academy’s Second 

Annual Military History Symposium in 1968. 

Marder opens with the sentence, “The primary purpose of this 

paper is to demolish a legend-that the two most famous British 

naval commanders of the First World War were direct opposites in 

nearly every important respect.” Since my primary purpose must 

be to demolish Marder’s purpose and support the “legend,” it may 

be well to start by stating my qualifications for thus disputing the 

view of such a well known naval historian. 

1. As a very junior officer I served for a year in Jellicoe’s 

flagship, H.M.S. Hercules, prior to the war. Dreyer and Bellairs 

served in the same ship at that time. 

2. For the first two years of the war I served in the light 

101 
cruiser H.M.S. Falmouth, for most of that period based on Rosyth 

in Goodenough’s squadron under Beatty. 

3. At the time of Jutland, H.M.S. Falmouth was on temporary 

detachment to act as Napier’s flagship in command of all light 

cruiser squadrons. I was Napier’s Fleet Gunnery Officer and thus 

in an almost unique position to observe the development of the 

battle from the foretop of the centre ship of the light cruiser screen. 

4. H.M.S. Falmouth was sunk by submarine in August 1916 

and after a short period of leave and three months on temporary 

duty in escort destroyers, I was appointed to H.M.S. Oak (not 

Royal Oak), destroyer tender to the fleet flagship, Queen Elizabeth, 

and consequently continued in medias res until the end of the war. 

5. Although only a lieutenant I can claim to have been personally known, both on and off duty, to Jellicoe, Beatty, Warrender, 

Napier, Goodenough (on whose staff I later served), Dreyer, Chatfield, and Bellairs, among others. 

Before proceeding to “reminisce” about the above officers, 

some personal remarks are essential to indicate the point from 

which I viewed these men from 1911 onward. 

When I first knew them, as I rose through the ranks of midshipman, sub-lieutenant, and lieutenant, Jellicoe and Beatty were 

already admirals and Dreyer was a commander. My association 

with Jellicoe and Dreyer arose from the fact that my primary 

service interest centred from the first upon the art of gunnery, which 

they were striving desperately to develop before the impending war 

broke out. Later I occupied the Admiralty post of Chief Inspector 

of Naval Ordnance which, unlike a post of the same nomenclature 

in the US. Navy, controlled not only the appointments and activities of some 100 naval officers specialised in the inspection of naval 

armaments during manufacture and at sea, but also research, design, and experimental work. This gave me a unique hindsight view 

of the history of naval gunnery from the start of the century. 

In the much publicised book The Swordbearers, the author 

ascribes the low level of efficiency of naval armaments to the 

monopoly of senior naval appointments by an incompetent aristocracy. Such a suggestion arises from his socialistic bias and is 

102 
quite untrue. Jellicoe and Dreyer, with Fisher and Scott, formed 

the naval team in the armament field, except torpedoes, and none of 

them was an aristocrat. Their main trouble on the material side was 

that research, design, inspection, and supply in that field were 

controlled by the War Office. About 1908 they managed to plant a 

Naval Inspector of Steel at Sheffield, but results were naturally slow 

to materialise. Unfortunately no parallel moves were made with 

explosives and, consequently, some ships and thousands of men 

were blown up during the war without any enemy action. 

I have not seen it anywhere adequately publicised that the 

shortcomings of naval ammunition at the start of the First World 

War were due to the “dead hand” of the War Office, with which the 

officers named above had to struggle. That this was so is proven by 

the fact that immediately after the war, naval specialists were 

infiltrated into the Research and Design Departments, while the 

navy acquired its own explosives factory and its own Inspection and 

Supply Departments for all ammunition as well as guns. In particular, extensive and expensive firings, for which I was the experimental firing officer, were carried out against the battleship 

Baden and other German ships. 

The fire control side was a naval responsibility, and it was 

here that I had the honour of co-operating, albeit in a very humble 

capacity, with Jellicoe and Dreyer during 1911-12. Almost incredibly, I witnessed as late as early 1911 a “battle practice” by 

a heavy cruiser with six-inch guns at a range of about 4,000 yards 

with stationary targets in which almost the only “control” was the 

supply of opening range and deflection, after which individual 

gunlayers were effectively left to their own devices. The maximum 

elevation of the guns was 7-8 degrees. During the following year 

Jellicoe, commanding the Second Battle Squadron with Dreyer 

as his Flag Commander, used his Orion class battleships for the 

development of director, plotting table, and associated fire control 

communications systems. At this time, Jellicoe and Dreyer, together 

with the gunnery officers and staffs of the ships concerned, worked 

what sometimes seemed to be 24 hours a day, with the result that 

the Grand Fleet as a whole was fitted with some such systems in 

time for the war. 

Nevertheless, Jellicoe found time to take a friendly interest in 

all his personnel and also to show himself to be a devoted family 

103 
man. His wife often “followed” the squadron, which was most 

unusual at that time; and I remember well, for instance, parties for 

her children ashore and afloat at Lamlash, when the squadron was 

exercising off the Isle of Arran. I remember “J.J.” himself as a 

little man, almost bird-like in appearance, free of any trace of 

pomposity. I should describe his expression as “interested” and 

ready to smile. I do not recall a single display of anger or, for that 

matter, any display at all. He has been criticised for overattention 

to detail (for a senior officer), but he never fussed or interfered 

with his staff. He showed confidence in them and they tried to 

justify it. I do not myself recollect any great interest of his outside 

the service, in particular outside naval gunnery, his men, and his 

family; but my memory may be at fault here. I know that I never 

served under an officer who commanded so much universal respect 

and affection. 

Dreyer, as a commander, was of a contrasting type. Tall, with 

a large head and brain, he was intolerant of lesser men. He would 

“fly off the handle” not just over a mistake, which might be 

understandable, but over the slightest hesitation in carrying out an 

often complicated instruction. He seemed to expect nothing but 

idiocy from his junior staff and while we admired his ability and 

devotion to his task, we kept out of his way as much as we could. 

I remember being used as a “living” blast gauge before such things 

were invented. He had a wife and family but I do not recall any 

sight or sign of their existence during the year or more that I 

served in the same ship with him before the war. Later, my wife 

and I got to know them well, and we have been in contact with one 

or another until quite recently. Meanwhile I encountered a mellowed Dreyer from time to time; on the last occasion before his 

death we reminisced over the early days in the friendliest manner. 

Warrender was quite a different type again. I served in his 

flagship, King George V, for almost two years and was a sublieutenant about two months before the war, when I moved to 

Gunnery School. I do not remember Warrender taking any interest 

in the technicalities of our armament, although we were the latest 

ship at sea. His service interests were what we called “salt-horse,” 

manoeuvres, discipline, welfare, boat work, visual signals, etc. ; 

woe betide the midshipman under sail who brought his boat alongside clumsily! He was a rich man who was generous and socially 

104 
inclined. For example, when the squadron paid a visit to Malta in 

1914, he insisted that polo be substituted for the midshipmen’s 

morning physical drill he paid for the hire of ponies. My personal 

contact with him arose from his fanatical enthusiasm for bridge. I 

happened to be gunroom champion and was constantly called to 

make up a four in the “cuddy” in the evenings, which was a profitable pastime; he played for high stakes and paid when he lost but 

“remitted” the losses of junior officers! It is said that in his last 

illness he had a four by his bedside daily until the day before he 

died. I never met him after the outbreak of war, except for a 

congratulatory drink on the return of my ship, Falmouth, from the 

Heligoland Bight, and would not like to comment on his own view 

of his performance at Jutland. 

My relations with Beatty were of a much less personal nature 

than the above. In 1915 and 1916, I served under his flag but not 

in his ship. I listened to his speeches and I read his signals and 

orders, but my only personal contact with him was as Sports 

Secretary, Light Cruisers. For instance, I won his consent to a boxing tournament using as a ring the cover of No. 3 hold of a collier 

lying alongside the light cruiser Nottingharn, with plank seating up 

to her funnels and over No. 4 hold; all had to be susceptible to 

demolition in three hours since we were at four hours’ notice for 

sailing. Beatty attended himself as part of his unremitting effort 

to maintain the morale of his force. In this he was almost too 

successful, for our image of him was of a gallant commander who 

would, if and when Jellicoe allowed him, show his battle cruisers 

some enemy targets which he was supremely confident they would 

then destroy. I never knew Beatty to be disloyal to Jellicoe, but the 

implications of his dashing attitudes inevitably suggested an unduly 

cautious Jellicoe. Of course, his principle of reckless attack that 

paid off at short range against light cruisers in the mists of Heligoland Bight, was vitiated by technical inefficiency at Dogger Bank 

and finally shown up at Jutland. It could only succeed against an 

inefficient or otherwise feeble opponent-and the High Seas Fleet 

was neither inefficient nor feeble. In 1917 and 1918, I was closer to 

Beatty in the destroyer permanently attached to the fleet Flagship 

which he used frequently for a variety of solo tasks, such as the 

point-to-point, his own conveyance of himself and V.1.P.s-including King George V. Although I occasionally met Beatty and his 

wife socially, I would not say that there was any relationship be105 
tween us off service. At that distance, however, from what he said 

at staff conferences and elsewhere, it seemed clear to me that Beatty, 

while still Beatty, had taken upon himself the mantle of Jellicoe. I 

would not wish the above to be taken as too critical of Beatty. I 

thought and still think that he was a magnificent leader for a battle 

cruiser force, but his confidence in the efficiency of his ships was 

misplaced, and he lacked the technical ability to see this. To what 

extent such overconfidence is a defect in a leader is an open question. He was not alone in this respect, as witness the suicidal action 

by Arbuthnot with his “armoured” cruisers. 

It would be difficult to fault Marder’s masterly initial assessment of the characters of the two admirals, except that at one point 

it seems that he has been misled by Beatty himself. I suggest that 

it is impossible to square Beatty’s belief that under Jellicoe “the 

big questions got slurred over or overlooked altogether,” with 

Jellicoe’s clear statement of his basic strategy in his memo of 12 

April 1916, which was adopted by Beatty himself when he took 

over the Grand Fleet. Furthermore, the allied criticism that Jellicoe 

failed to decentralise adequately, ignores the admiral’s emphatic 

effort to do so by his issue of Orders and Instructions; Orders were 

irrefragable, but Instructions gave wide latitude to the discretion 

of Jellicoe’s subordinates. 

Also, in this section, I would have made specific mention of 

Beatty’s outstanding gift of oratory which contributed so much to 

his maintenance of morale throughout the war. 

What surprises me is that Marder, having established that the 

only similarity between his two subjects was their common and 

fully admitted softness towards incompetent subordinates, then 

goes on to conclude that they were not “opposites in nearly every 

important respect.” In this he seems to have been misled by Chatfield’s “he was no reckless and light-hearted swordsman. . . . Chatfield was writing of Beatty as Commander in Chief, Grand 

Fleet, after his shattering experience at Jutland and after he had 

adopted wholesale the attitudes of Jellicoe. I saw the reckless 

swordsman light-heartedly attacking the High Seas Fleet, without 

even waiting for the powerful support of the four, fast, new battleships close at hand; and I saw his retreat with his remainder. Such 

action would have been impossible to Jellicoe, who was a gunnery 

specialist and knew about guns, shell, armour, etc. Incidentally, I 

9’ 

106 
wonder to this day whether Beatty, whom I still admire, overrode 

his staff or whether they had failed to instruct their gallant but 

technically ignorant master of the facts of life. 

Perhaps it would be worth recounting an incident trifling in 

itself but illuminating as showing that Beatty was basically Beatty 

even late in 1918. Almost immediately after the German Fleet had 

anchored in the approaches to the Firth of Forth, the Oak was 

ordered to embark the Commander in Chief from his flagship off 

Rosyth, to pick up a party of V.1.P.s at a point off Inchkeith below 

the Fourth Bridge, and to proceed to view the German ships. In the 

morning the harbour was enveloped in a dense blanket of fog but, 

as it was reported clear outside, Beatty confirmed the trip and I 

took him down the Firth, navigating buoy to buoy with nothing else 

in sight, at 30 knots to minimise effects of tide and current. On 

arrival and stopping at my estimated revdezvous Beatty waited a 

few minutes and then turned to my helmsman. 

“Can’t see a damn thing-we can’t be close enough in-halfspeed ahead both!” 

The helmsman, correctly, turned to me, as being in command 

of the ship, and I gave an amended order. 

“Slow ahead starboard only.” 

The ship had hardly gathered way before the propeller was 

churning up mud and I ordered: 

“Half astern both.” 

The trip was successfully completed in due course without 

comment from Beatty, though he later told the story against himself. 

“Can’t see a damn thing-half ahead both!” 

In my close but admittedly worm’s-eye view of the two admirals, I can think of few attributes in which they were not direct 

opposites. 

I do not want to be involved in the interminable discussions on 

tactics to which Jutland has given rise, but I cannot resist challeng 

107 
ing the bald statement of some critics, to whom Marder refers, that 

Jellicoe’s turn-away “wrecked all chance of forcing an action on 

the enemy.” But for the lamentable failure of initiative and communications on the part of certain light forces during the night, 

the next day would have seen Jutland “Part 11” with all day for 

its enactment. 

REAR ADMIRAL C. M. BLACKMAN, D. S. 0. 

Royal Navy (Ret.) 

I regret to say I have little I can add to these two admirable 

papers by Professors Marder and Schurman, and the following 

reasons may put my ignorance of the two great men into perspective : 

First, 1 was on the China Station when the war broke out, having been in command of a destroyer for nearly a year and was 

only 24 years of age. 

Secondly, it was not until the German China Squadron had 

been located that a relief was sent out to me, and I did not arrive 

in home waters until the end of 1915. My first appointment was 

then to a destroyer engaged on convoy escort work in the English 

Channel, and it was not until just after the Battle of Jutland that 

I joined the First Destroyer Flotilla attached to the Battle Cruiser 

Force in the Firth of Forth. Thus I missed the most exciting action 

in which they took part. 

Thirdly, the Admiralty had directed that no diaries or such 

like were to be kept and I therefore have no records of my own. As 

you probably know, the Grand Fleet Battle Squadrons were mostly 

in the north at Scapa Flow, whereas the battle cruisers were farther 

south in the Firth of Forth. Consequently, I do not remember ever 

having seen Admiral Jellicoe, whereas Admiral Beatty, who had 

been my captain when I was a midshipman, was with us in person. 

I had always retained a great admiration for Admiral batty and 

was proud and gratified at serving under him again. His dash and 

charm, and what Professor Marder terms his “sartorial individualism,” so exactly reflected the temperament of a destroyer 

108 
officer. We regarded ourselves as the corps d’tlite of the Royal 

Navy, so you may imagine that to be attached to the battle cruisers 

as the spearhead of the Grand Fleet was a great source of pride, 

not only from the functional point of view but also to have the 

honour of serving under such a gallant and inspiring admiral as 

Beatty. We tended to follow his example in “sartorial” eccentricities, such as disregarding Admiralty instructions to wear the 

chevrons denoting years of war service (they were a sop to volunteers as opposed to conscripts) and wound stripes. 

So much for personalities-heresay of one, personal though 

distant contact with the other. 

Strategy 

Looking back and trying to divorce myself from hindsight, I 

don’t think that the matter of strategy concerned us young destroyer 

captains. We were certainly never admitted to the councils of the 

great, where such matters were argued and decisions made. If 

detailed, we got our sailing orders; if in company, we carried out 

the purport of such signals as were made to us. “Ours not to reason 

why, ours but to do and die,” attitude! In those days we never had, 

or at least I was never called upon to attend, what is now called a 

”briefing.” 

My impression, so far as destroyers were concerned, was that 

the submarine menace was so serious that we were continually being 

detached to various other parts of the war area to combat that 

menace, thus departing from the previously held function of torpedo attack. 

Tactics 

The cruising order for the battle fleet to enable rapid deployment into line of battle was, I think, generally accepted; but so 

far as the destroyers were concerned (except for stationing flotillas 

in advantageous positions) the force of attack, when ordered, was 

rather ad hoc and somewhat “helter skelter” dash in, following the 

divisional commanders. At night our own big ships seemed to be 

so afraid of our own destroyers-rightly so, perhaps, with no means 

of rapid identification-that there was a strong disinclination to let 

us loose to attack the enemy. 

109 
As the war years rolled on, the waning of the unrestricted 

submarine warfare and the waning menace of the‘High Seas Fleet 

seemed to change the early function of a destroyer as an attacker 

with torpedoes to that of a screen against submarine attack, when 

in company with heavy ships; or when detached, as a seeker and 

destroyer of enemy submarines. It must have largely been due to 

the experience and appreciation of the two admirals under consideration that these functional changes took place. 

I am sorry that I can contribute so little, but “old men forget,” 

as Lord Norwich wrote, and I may add, get a bit blurred with 

World War I1 on top of World War I. 

With regard to Professor Schurman’s remark about the shooting powers of the High Seas Fleet, it was evident that the stereoscopic range-finder seemed more accurate than our prismatic type 

for the opening salvoes, but I seem to remember from sustained 

actions that this initial accuracy fell off to a very great extent under 

punishment from our own ships once they had the range. 

CAPTAIN G. E. BANNISTER, C. B. E., Royal Navy (Ret.) 

and 

ADMIRAL SIR ANGUS CUNNINGHAME-GRAHAM 

K. B. E., C. B. E., Royal Navy (Ret.) 

I have asked Sir Angus Cunninghame-Graham to join me in 

preparing these comments because his knowledge is unique and far 

greater than my own. He served throughout the war in Grand Fleet 

battleships, excepting only a short period in 1917. In the latter part 

of the war as a flag lieutenant, his work gave him exceptional 

opportunities for meeting and knowing personally all the various 

flag officers. 

Admiral Sir Angus Cunninghame-Graham considers that Professor Marder’s paper defies criticism. The Royal Navy is indeed 

fortunate that, following Mahan, a second naval historian from 

your country should exercise such power and insight to evaluate our 

exploits in the twentieth century. Marder’s volumes From Dread110 
nought to Scapa Flow review the facts and opinions with impartiality and illuminate the lessons learned in a masterly way. 

Knowledgeable officers and writers who love our navy are looking 

forward eagerly toward the publication of his concluding volume. 

Arguments and correspondence over Jutland still persist, but 

neither Admiral Cunninghame-Graham nor I wish to become personally involved in the controversy. 

After fifty-two years, despite memory’s known imperfections, 

Professor Marder’s statements that Admiral Beatty’s advent produced no significant change in the Grand Fleet’s way of life is 

confirmed. Routine both at sea and in harbour went on as before. 

The Grand Fleet Battle Orders were unchanged, save for the incorporation of some lessons learned at Jutland. 

Circumstances reduced the frequency of the sweeps by the 

whole fleet into Heligoland Bight. Instead battleships went to sea by 

squadrons or divisions to support convoy operations to and from 

Stavanger (Norway) and also the British and American minelayers 

employed on the Northern Barrage mining operations. 

Professor Marder with clarity and perception has assessed 

accurately the character and influence of these two great leaders. 

The one failing common to both, but not remarked upon, was that 

neither had learned from Nelson the value of calling their captains 

onboard their flagships for consultations and discussions. This fault 

was perhaps less in Admiral Beatty’s case. 

Professor Schurman, while supporting Professor Marder’s 

conclusions, raises certain other issues which scarcely bear on the 

paper read. He implies that the High Seas Fleet’s gunnery was 

superior to that of the Grand Fleet. In fact, though the Germans 

usually started well (due to some technical advantages from stereoscopic range finders), the shooting soon fell off in bad weather 

and when being hit. The Grand Fleet had nothing to fear from 

them; it is believed that they scored 122 heavy hits against 55 

received from the Germans. It is agreed that British shells were less 

effective against German ships than German shells against British 

ships. This, being a deficiency in design, could neither be corrected 

by the British Commander in Chief nor by the training and spirit 

111 
of the ships’ companies. It only came to light afterwards and is 

hardly pertinent to these papers. 

Though drawing attention to the infrequent but outstanding 

victories such as Trafalgar, Professor Schurman refers to the Nelson “myth.” This word seems unfortunate. The fighting spirit and 

high morale maintained in the Grand Fleet during the long years 

operating from Scapa was no doubt inspired by the Nelson tradition 

with the hope of a second Trafalgar. Had the Germans studied the 

lessons taught by Nelson, they would not have made the same 

mistake in the two wars, i.e., keeping their “fleet-in-being” with its 

ships mostly in harbour. This resulted in the officers and men being 

denied the opportunity of becoming experienced seamen and increased their demoralization. 

It is agreed with Professor Schurman that the victory at Jutland was fully established through time. In the short term the 

Grand Fleet knew that the Germans had been beaten and only saved 

themselves by escaping back to harbour. The British public, thirsty 

for spectacular success, had little but casualty lists to sustain their 

enthusiasm and this sparked the controversy. At Jutland, providence 

provided such low visibility that the movements of large numbers of 

vessels operating in relatively confined waters could in no way be 

co-ordinated. Critics, if restricted to the meager and misleading 

information available to commanders on the bridges of their ships 

at sea, with minutes to make vital decisions, would find right judgments less easy. These facts are of course well known. They are 

dealt with more adequately in The Life and Tinees of Lord 

Mountbatten. 

Suggestions that Admirals Jellicoe and Beatty (in turn) were 

unduly anxious in regard to the hazards from underwater attacks 

(submarines, mines, and torpedoes) are regarded as mistaken. 

Jellicoe was technically alive to the progress made with these 

devices and the lack of adequate antidotes. Even such men as Sir 

Maurice Hankey may make remarks that are not meant to be taken 

seriously or indeed repeated. It is relatively easy for subordinate 

commanders to advocate the disregard of both physical and mental 

risks over any course of action. The Commander in Chief, vested 

with the security of his country, must exercise a more responsible 

approach. When the security of the fleet base becomes less than 

112 
that of the high seas, flag officers who sleep badly in harbour are to 

be commended. The loss of the Royal Oak in more recent years 

comes easily to mind. 

Both Marder and Schurman imply a misplaced loyalty to 

subordinates by these two great admirals. Rather should it be 

claimed that two such diverse characters shared the prerogative (or 

distinction) of the best leaders, i.e., standing between a subordinate 

and a higher authority demanding retribution for some infringement. By such acts of unexpected humanity and understanding, 

teams are inspired with loyalty and devotion which may achieve 

miracles. 

Sir Winston Churchill, presiding over a meeting to establish 

full protection for the fleet at Scapa after the loss of the Royal Oak, 

closed by saying, “Gentlemen, should further casualties arise we 

shall all be hanged together.” Not, as was expected, “YOU will all 

hang.” 

CAPTAIN R. H. I;. DeSALIS, 0. B. E., D. S. C. 

Royal Navy (Ret.) 

First, 1 think I should make clear what my own position is 

before I comment on the papers by Professor Marder and Professor 

Schurman. 

My service in World War 1 was almost entirely connected with 

minelayers and minelaying, and I never served in the Grand Fleet. 

However, my connection with Lord Jellicoe commenced in 1911, 

when I was a sub-lieutenant in H.M.S. Prince of Wales, his flagship 

in the Atlantic Fleet, and continued, after I had been promoted to 

lieutenant, in H.M.S. Hercules, his flagship in the 2nd Battle 

Squadron. As staff officer to the Captain-in-Charge of Minelayers, 

I was several times sent up to the Commander in Chief and was 

interviewed both by Jellicoe and afterwards by Beatty. In 1919, I 

was on the staff of Jellicoe’s Mission to India and the Dominions, in 

H.M.S. New Zealand, as Mining Staff Officer. 

113 
H.M.S. Price of Wales was newly commissioned, and when she 

joined the Atlantic Fleet she compared badly with her sister ships. 

After about a month, we had a most unpleasant week of “shaking 

up,” and a very remarkable improvement took place, especially in 

morale. The Vice Admiral (Jellicoe) had no apparent connection 

with this improvement. I think this may illustrate Professor Marder’s remarks on the “unreserved confidence, trust, and love” on 

the part of the lower deck. 

There can, I think, be no question of his mastery of his trade. 

As regards overcentralization, I agree with Professor Marder ; 

but it must be remembered that the naval staff system was in its 

infancy and working with a staff was then largely “trial and error” 

-both on the part of the commander and his staff. It was really 

Jellicoe who made the staff system work when he came to the 

Admiralty in 1916. I have always felt, moreover, that Dreyer, on 

whom he relied heavily, was not a good influence in delegation. Nor 

can I refrain from noting the similarity between Jellicoe and 

Collingwood, especially after Trafalgar. 

As regards Beatty, I really only saw him once, in 1918. I had 

attended the birth and trials of the new American mine in America. 

This mine had made rather a bad “debut” and I had been sent 

up to give the Commander in Chief information about it. I was 

thoroughly, but courteously, questioned and dismissed. As I got to 

the door I turned and, though a mere lieutenant, something made 

me go back and tell the Commander in Chief my personal opinion. 

He received this impertinence from an unknown junior most charmingly. I have never done such a thing before or since, and I still 

wonder why I did it then. Perhaps this illustrates his approachability, but there must have been something else as well-personal 

magnetism? 

I can make 110 comments on the strategy or tactics of the 

Grand Fleet for I was not there, and my remarks can only be at 

second hand. But, from the naval outposts, I can say that we looked 

to the Grand Fleet, and that we never lost our confidence in either 

Commander in Chief. In fact, looking back, I feel now that these 

two men were far and away the most fitted for their post, and I can 

114 
think of no others with the same qualities and qualifications except 

perhaps Prince Louis, who was too old, and Tyrrwhit, who had by 

then not enough experience. 

Finally, it should be noted that both men were leaders and not 

drivers, and that both men kept themselves supremely fit physically. 

115 

Part Ill 

THE END OF THE PRUSSIAN MILITARY TRADITION 

IN GERMANY 

THE RISE OF THE MILITARY OPPOSITION 

IN THE NAZI REICH 

Harold C. Deutsch 

The phenomenon of an army or, more accurately, the leadership of an army in a state to which it feels alien has been no rare 

experience in the 20th century. In lands of more conservative 

tradition it has counted among the abiding afflictions of both liberal 

republics and Fascist totalitarianism. In varying forms this fate was 

shared by the Third French Republic, the Spanish Republic of the 

1930s, and the Weimar Republic of Germany. Perhaps the most 

interesting and unique example involves Hitler’s Third Reich, if 

only because in this instance the issues raised came to a head during 

the Second World War and had some bearing on its course. 

The interrelation of sword and swastika in the 12-year history of the Nazi regime has been scrutinized persistently from 

the moment of Hitler’s rise to power. Many a reader has closed the 

latest treatise on the subject with the feeling that at last the final 

word must have been spoken. Yet the very fact that so much in the 

way of public and private records was lost after July 1944 and in 

the holocaust that consumed the Third Reich gives extra weight to 

each surviving fragment of evidence that comes to light. Within a 

few months the diaries and papers of one major military resistance 

figure, which should add materially to our knowledge, are scheduled for publication.’ One other important diary is known to exist 

in private hands.2 And, alluring as a pot of half-fabled gold at the 

end of a long research trail are the memoirs and papers of Colonel 

General Wilhelm Adam, head of the Truppenamt or camouflaged 

General Staff at the time of the 1933 take~ver.~ Inshort, new insights do continue to become available and sources known to exist 

remain untapped. 

119 
The compass of‘ this study does not contemplate analysis of the 

type and degree of responsibility of the Reichswehr, the army of 

the Weimar Republic, in the collapse of Germany’s first experiment 

with democracy. Let it suffice to say that this role was substantial 

and that what came later for them was little more than those involved deserved. Like several other influential segments of German 

society and, for that matter, such heterodox elements as the Communists, the Reichswehr leadership could not bring itself to take 

Hitler entirely seriously. Those military figures more directly involved seem to have felt, with Franz von Papen, that they had 

“hired” the Nazi Fuhrer to do a job for them and that, once he had 

served his turn, he could be “praised, complimented, and thrust 

aside.” 

On Nazism as such the officer corps in the first instance split 

horizontally. The subalterns, especially among the troop officers, 

were decoyed by its unmistakable national dynamic and its capacity 

for mobilizing the spiritual and material energies of the masses. 

They were too naive politically to comprehend the muddle-headedness and contradictions of the Nazi ideology. So it was easy to find 

satisfaction in those watchwords and slogans that happened to 

reflect their own dreams and prejudices. 

Staff and general officers were less vulnerable. They were 

deeply grounded in aristocratic and conservative traditions; the 

snobbery of their caste sprang instinctively to arms against the 

vulgarians who manned even the top echelons of the party. They 

were repelled by the crudity, the disrespect for established law and 

good form, and indiscriminate brutality. On the other hand, they 

were attracted by the Wehrfreudigkeit (defense-mindedness) of the 

regime. The external goals announced to the world by Hitler at 

this stage seemed both reasonable and in the national interest, a 

view widely shared among foreign observers. The rearmament he 

launched, at first clandestinely, then in open repudiation of the 

Versailles Treaty, looked much the same to them. 

Thus though only one general officer, the future Field Marshal 

Walter von Reichenau, had professed himself a Nazi before 1933, 

many of his fellows inclined to make allowances and to give Hitler 

the benefit of the doubt in questionable situations. Much that 

repelled them was allowed to pass because it was counted among 

the growing pains of a new political order. Even intrepid, blunt120 
spoken General Adam, in a talk to high staff officers at Garmisch in 

the summer of 1933 in which he excoriated Nazi excesses, mitigated 

his censures with: “Revolutions still begin by bringing the dirt to 

the surface, but later it sinks to the bottom. So it is up to us to wait 

and hope.” 

In this spirit the army leadership tried to look at the best side 

of things and seek in every cloud a silver lining. The elimination of 

Captain Ernst Roehm and of the aspirations to military power of 

the SA (Storm Troopers), for example, made it easier to swallow 

the coincident assassinations of General von Schleicher and Colonel 

von Bredow in the same hideous “Blood Purge” of 1934. The 

Schlieffen Society of former and active General Staff officers 

actually considered itself greatly daring in passing privately a 

resolution that their departed comrades had “died with honor on 

the field of honor.” ti Meanwhile, the supposedly less rigidly antiNazi Werner von Fritsch and Ludwig Beck had succeeded Hammerstein-Equord and Adam as Commander in Chief and Chief of 

Staff respectively. It would seem rather anomalous that Fritsch, the 

central target of Nazi intrigue in 1938, and Beck, later the archetype of uncompromising military resister, were then regarded as 

lesser evils by those who sought a measure of accommodation 

between the army and the regime. Clearly, much water was to pass 

under the political and military bridges of Germany during the 

next five years. 

The period 1934-1936 was the least troubled in the relations 

between the civil and military authorities of Nazi Germany. “he 

Vehrmacht (armed forces) was intensively‘ preoccupied with its 

progressive expansion. The sense of solid accomplishment coupled 

with vastly accelerated promotion gave satisfaction to the officer 

corps. Except for an adventurous fling in Austria in July 1934, 

Hitler maintained a posture of tolerable restraint in external affairs. 

The period was also one of comparative moderation in domestic 

activities. 

A turning point in these as in most respects was the year 

1936. To his intimate circle, Hitler was beginning to stress his 

anticipation of a major conflict when his arms programs should 

reach their peak in the early mid-forties. The aims he now enunciated far transcended those he had publicly proclaimed since 1933 

and echoed Lebensraurn (living space) goals he had formulated in 

121 
the 1920s. Both the pace and the scope of rearmament portended 

preparation for aggressive war; their economic implications, in 

particular, could not be reconciled with any other policy. It was, 

in fact, in this latter area that major challenges to the dictator’s 

intentions first arose. At this time Hjalmar Schacht on the side of 

the civil government and General Georg Thomas on that of the 

Ministry of War began that persistent, though necessarily subdued, 

agitation that was to endure to the eve of war itself. 

More particularly, 1936 saw the beginning of the parting of 

the ways between Hitler and the army chiefs, notably General 

Beck. The Rhineland occupation, the intervention in Spain, and the 

definitive shift from the support of China to that of a Japan 

launched on her own imperial road, in varying degree roused the 

opposition of the Chief of Staff; they meant so many steps toward 

his eventual junction with the conspiratorial forces that were beginning to coalesce on the civilian side. 

Beck had shared in the widespread underestimate of Hitler 

and the Nazis. It gradually became clear that they could not just be 

used to promote rearmament and a more national policy. Beck 

seems also to have belonged to those, legion throughout the world, 

who had believed wishfully that Nazism would mellow and its more 

distasteful aspects wear away. His own favorite way of putting it 

had been that it would “grind itself to pieces on the flinty good 

qualities of the German people.” Events unfortunately were to 

prove that either these qualities lacked the required degree of 

flintiness or the Nazi substance itself was of a temper that exceeded 

Beck’s estimate. 

Well before the Hossbach Conference of 5 November 1937,7 

when Hitler revealed his aggressive intentions for 1938 to his 

service chiefs and thus, indirectly, to Beck, the Chief of Staff had 

formed a clear concept of the direction in which the regime was 

heading. However much he felt it imperative to restore Germany 

as a military power, he did not regard war itself as a primary 

function of the soldier. In his view, to quote John Wheeler-Bennett: 

“Germany should proceed toward but not exceed that measure of 

rearmament which would lessen rather than increase the danger of 

war by making it impossible for her to be attacked with impunity.’’ 

In making this assessment, Beck felt that it was the business 

122 
of the General Staff to serve as “the conscience of the army.” In 

effect, he ruled out aggressive war, the more so as he was in agreement with such leading civilian members of the opposition as Carl 

Goerdeler, who held that the existing European constellation offered 

Germany every opportunity to pursue her legitimate international 

aims by diplomatic means. 

The final disenchantment of Beck, if any was still needed, was 

the BlombergFritsch affair of early 1938, an incident that will 

always occupy a special niche in the history of the opposition. It 

furnished the essential vehicle through which a heretofore purely 

civilian conspiracy acquired its first substantial military base. 

Werner von Blomberg had become Minister of War at the 

start of the Hitler regime and, wittingly or unwittingly, had been 

one of the cogs in the maneuvers which had brought the dictator to 

power. In the following half-decade he did much to extend Hitler’s 

control over the Wehrmacht. At the same time he failed to provide 

any moderating influence for which military levers would have 

been at hand. At a time when many Germans looked despairingly 

to the army as a last resort for applying restraints, Blomberg took 

refuge in the legalistic alibi that in a totalitarian state there was no 

collective cabinet responsibility.’ He must also shoulder the blame 

for conniving with the Fuhrer in the monstrous extension of the 

oath of obedience, which was sprung on the Wehrmacht when 

Hindenburg died and Hitler took over the command power. 

Though Blomberg thus failed to serve as a mitigating agent in 

the face of Nazi tyranny, he also fell somewhat short of giving 

fullest satisfaction to his master. The same hesitations he showed 

in dealing with the Fuhrer were reflected also in handling his army 

subordinates. Moreover, he shared some of their doubts about 

Hitler’s increasingly adventurous policy. In the Hossbach Conference, the War Minister actually joined Fritsch when the latter 

insisted that the idea of war with the Western Powers should be 

eliminated from all calculations. 

Much of importance about the ensuing BlombergFritsch affair, particularly the exact role of Adolf Hitler, is likely to remain 

unclear. What matters most is that the essential target was the army 

leadership and that, if there had been no incident linking the fate 

of the two generals, there would almost certainly have been one 

123 
headed by the name of Fritsch alone. Hitler, as he later confessed 

privately,1° had determined that he could no longer work with 

Fritsch. In addition to the aforesaid, he entertained grievances 

against the Commander in Chief, in that the annual revised mobilization plans were all grounded in defensive concepts. Fritsch had 

also strenuously opposed building up an SS military force around 

the core of the Leibstundurte (Hitler’s personal SS bodyguard unit) 

which would exist parallel to the army.” Small wonder, then, that 

Himmler too had singled him out as a target for his animosity 

and had been after his scalp for several years. A framed-up case for 

homosexuality had been ready to be sprung since 1936, but Hitler 

found so early a showdown with the army leadership inconvenient 

and supposedly had ordered the destruction of the “incriminating” 

documents.” After the Hossbach Conference the fever for “getting 

something” on Fritsch again mounted. He was carefully shadowed 

during a vacation he took in Egypt in the following weeks, and the 66. investigation” on the still unsprung morals charge resumed.” 

These and other portents that something was brewing against 

Fritsch definitely precede the catalyst that was the case of Blomberg. Here the chief villain was undoubtedly Goering, who had 

first encouraged Blomberg to marry a woman with a more than 

questionable past and then maneuvered adroitly to make his position untenable. l4 It is a safe assumption that Goering wanted the 

War Ministry, which would have nailed down dramatically his rank 

as second in the state. To clear the way for him, two heads would 

have to roll-that of Blomberg, who held the coveted post, and that 

of Fritsch, whose next claim to it as chief of the senior service was 

virtually incontestable unless some cause for personal disqualification could be discovered. Goering must have known enough about 

Hitler’s feeling toward Fritsch to be certain that the Fuhrer would 

turn a ready ear to revived accusations against him and would lend 

himself to whatever might eliminate him both from his present post 

and from claim on the greater one. 

The course of the Blomberg-Fritsch affair demonstrates how 

much the officer corps had become exposed both to the splitting of 

its leadership and the corrupting influence of the professional 

fleshpots that had been set before it. Power had exercised its magnetic attraction on a much wider circle than that of the habitual 

opportunists. As early as January 1934, the French military attache, General Renandeau, had written penetratingly: “The Party is 

124 
gaining the Reichswehr; it is conquering its top echelons and its 

foundations. The army is losing its neutral status.” The comment 

may have somewhat anticipated developments, but its prognosis was 

essentially accurate. 

Blomberg’s own conduct put the cap on that long chain of 

betrayals of his kind of which he had been guilty. The cynical 

insinuations of Goering convinced him that his dismissal was at the 

insistence of his fellow generals. His revenge was to eliminate them 

en bloc from the succession by advising Hitler to take the command 

of the Wehrrnacht upon himself. He also suggested as Chief of 

Staff of a newly formed High Command of the Armed Forces 

(Oberkornrnando der Wehrrnacht-OKW) Wilhelm Keitel, who is 

best characterized by the fashion in which he inherited (and qualified even better for) Blomberg’s nickname of “the rubber lion.” 

It only served to clinch matters with Hitler when Keitel, in quarters 

that were dismayed at such an appointment, was described to the 

Fuhrer as an unimaginative nonentity who knew only how to work 

hard and to obey. Supplemented as he was by the coldly ambitious 

Alfred Jodl as operations chief, and the progressively more alcoholic Rudolf Schmundt as Wehrmacht-Adjutant in place of the 

intrepid and independent-minded Hossbach, Keitel proved the perfect tool for making a sterile military bureau of the budding 

0KW.l6 This served essentially the two functions of (1) a channel 

for imposing Hitler’s will with a minimum of argument on the three 

services, and (2) cannibalizing their missions whenever it suited his 

purposes. Hitler can claim for himself the distinction of decapitator 

of the Wehrmacht as an autonomous organism; it was Keitel who 

followed and surpassed Blomberg as the digger of its grave. 

The fate of the army command as it came out of the 

Blomberg-Fritsch affair runs in many ways parallel to this. That of 

Fritsch personally is the more amazing in that Hitler did fail in the 

end to make the fabricated charges stick. He had been obliged to 

place the “incriminating documents” in the hands of Minister of 

Justice Franz Gurtner, but had done so with the broad hint: “You 

will know at which end of the rope to pull.” Using exactly these 

words, but with a smile that spoke volumes, Giirtner had handed the 

file to Hans von Dohnanyi, a fiercely anti-Nazi member of his staff 

whom he had abetted for years in the systematic collection of 

criminal data against the Nazi Party and its leaders. Dohnanyi did 

125 
not need to go far in pursuit of clearing Fritsch before he encountered others who had set themselves the same mission.“ 

In fact, the rally of diverse anti-Nazi elements to the defense 

of the Commander in Chief constitutes the first significant conspiratorial enterprise of an amalgam of forces that was to hold 

ranks after some fashion to the critical days of July 1944. While 

the beleaguered general himself floundered and had only vague 

notions of what was undertaken on his behalf, links were formed 

that, for the next two years, also provided the vital conspiratorial 

center which twice was able to assemble enough backing to make 

a turnover conceivable. 

The parties Dohnanyi discovered to be pulling at the same end 

of the rope with him were highly placed members of the military 

intelligence or Abwehr, soon after to be incorporated in the new 

OKW. Foremost among them was the Abwehr’s Chief of Staff and 

head of its Central Division, Colonel Hans Oster. Already loathing 

Nazism with an intensity rare even among ardent opponents of the 

regime, Oster gained from the Fritsch affair an overwhelming sense 

of personal grievance and of mission. In a man whose sentiments 

were never measured by halves, the shock of the treatment of his 

revered former regimental chief sank deep. His purposeful and 

unremitting activity to prepare the ground for a coup d’dtat dates 

from this period when, as he later told his Security Service (SD) 

interrogators, he decided to “make Fritsch’s case my own.” 

With the uneasy tolerance of Admiral Canaris, the celebrated 

mystery figure who commanded the Abwehr, Oster had already used 

its resources to promote the beginnings of a domestic counterintelligence service to combat the SD and the Gestapo. He had 

tentacles reaching to the Berlin Chief of Police as well as to Himmler’s high SS entourage. Thus it was possible to discern and 

counter many moves of the latter camp. It did not suffice, however, 

to save Fritsch, with regard to whom the vital role was played by 

Hitler personally. 

It is not within the compass of this study to trace the cynical 

maneuvers by which the Fuhrer first suspended Fritsch “for reasons 

of health” and, not awaiting the completion of the investigation and 

court-martial, then dismissed and replaced him. Fritsch himseli 

behaved like a man who did not quite know what was happening to 

him. If he had acted immediately against the demeaning treatment 

126 
and summoned the senior generals to his support, there is much to 

argue that they would have rallied to him. But, though entirely 

aware of a Nazi plot against him, he was paralyzed by uncertainty 

whether Hitlet himself was a party to it. Once he allowed himself 

to become entangled in an effort “to clear himself,” it was his finish 

as Commander in Chief, however much the endeavors of his known 

and unknown helpers secured his personal vindication. 

The man who succeeded Fritsch was not the first whose name 

was raised in official consideration for the post. Hitler initially had 

made a gesture toward appointing Beck, probably in the cynical 

hope of separating him from his chief. Beck refused even to be 

considered, loyally insisting that there could be no thought of 

removing Fritsch until a military court had ruled in his case. Hitler 

had then put forward his real choice, his old favorite, Reichenau, 

whom he had already tried unsuccessfully to insert in place of 

Hammerstein in 1934, when old President Hindenburg had interposed his veto. When Hitler went through the form of consulting 

Rundstedt, senior of the Generuloberste ( Colonels-General) , the 

latter roundly rejected Reichenau on behalf of the entire army 

leadership corps. Even the complacent Keitel and Jodl thereupon 

counselled Hitler to desist.” In this way the position finally fell to 

Colonel-General Walther von Brauchitsch, who accepted under conditions which were to compromise his entire term of office. At the 

Fuhrer’s direction, Keitel made clear to Brauchitsch that he would 

be expected “to bind the army closer to the Party and its ideology,” 

as well as to choose, if necessary, a new chief of staff similarly 

willing to accommodate himself. Brauchitsch not only agreed to 

these terms, but further mortgaged his personal independence by 

mentioning to Goering that he needed help in ridding himself of one 

wife in order to take another. For this, a substantial settlement to 

pay off his current spouse would be required?’ It is noteworthy 

that the matter was raised before Hitler made his final decision on 

Brauchitsch and it may well have contributed materially to this. 

The dictator was an expert in human weakness and how to buy men; 

by providing the sum needed, he put his new army commander 

under heavy personal obligation that was to pay the donor repeated 

dividends. 

By the diabolical dexterity with which he had managed the 

Blomberg-Fritsch affair, Hitler effected a fantastic concentration of 

127 
military power in his own hands. In inverse proportion, he had won 

a deconcentration of authority on the military side. Instead of the 

single War Ministry, he now had immediately subordinate to him 

the three service chiefs and a completely supine Chief of the OKW. 

By fobbing off Goering with the baton of a Field Marshal, he kept 

him from adding the army to his military empire, but, in making 

him the ranking officer of the Wehrmacht, he detracted from the 

atrmy’s prestige as the senior service. 

To sum up, Hitler was now the immediate master of a 

Wehrmacht command which had absorbed and was steadily to add 

to the powers and functions of the former War Ministry. He was 

seconded by a Chief of Staff who studied only how to remain in his 

good graces. The new army commander had allowed himself to be 

placed under severe mental and emotional handicaps in dealings 

with the Chief of State. To top all, the army leadership corps had 

been thrown into confusion and inoculated with an abiding insecurity. 

To somewhat balance this, opponents of the regime could count 

as a positive result that the lines had been drawn with new clarity 

for many a figure in high military quarters. Hitler’s handling of the 

Anschluss had confirmed the seriousness of his pronouncements of 

that previous November. A program of political adventurism with 

corresponding military implications loomed ahead. The true significance of the Blomberg-Fritsch affair had been the extent to 

which it had implemented Hitler’s resolution to eliminate the army 

leadership as a restrictive influence. Most appalling to those who 

had seen behind the externals of the situation was the shamelessness 

of the methods he had employed. Here and there military figures of 

consequence had stood up to be counted-not to the extent of 

challenging Hitler outright but of committing themselves to back 

any action against him. The most lasting impact certainly lay in the 

crystallization of the group of ardent spirits around Oster and the 

more positive support afforded it thereafter by Canaris. Almost 

from the moment of his appointment to the command of the Abwehr 

in 1935, the admiral had pursued a personnel policy which packed 

its top ranks with enemies of the regime. Did he merely provide a 

refuge for kindred spirits or consciously set himself the mission of 

building an apparatus which in due time could be turned against 

the regime? Whatever the answer, by 1938 he had, whether in128 
tentionally or not, provided opposition forces with a made-to-order 

conspiratorial center. 

It has been noted that, with many misgivings, Canaris had 

tolerated Oster’s formation of an internal political information 

service that violated the division of functions between the Abwehr 

and the SD. During the Fritsch crisis the admiral had come to rely 

heavily on it and at the same time to regret that it was not yet 

sufficiently effective. Thereafter Oster could count on more active 

support from his chief in these efforts. From the Fritsch crisis also 

dates a new intimacy between Canaris and Beck. During the previous two years their relations had been cooled by Beck‘s annoyance 

with Canaris’s active role in the German intervention on behalf of 

Franco. 

For Beck himself, the Fritsch affair was finally decisive in 

more than just confirming the irreconcilability of the regime with 

either fundamental morality or the basic interests of the German 

nation. He had been guilty of a certain complacency in believing 

that the personal prestige of Fritsch and the supposed unassailability of the army guaranteed a final resort if Hitler’s adventurism 

exceeded all bounds. This insurance policy, whether real or fancied, 

had now been cancelled. With such members of his immediate staff 

as his deputy, Franz Halder, Beck was henceforth committed to the 

plot to overthrow the regime. As Halder has testified,’l the Chief of 

Staff from this period on was in closest contact with Oster, who 

would be closeted with him for hours in his office. In the spring 

and summer months of 1938, the Beck-Oster group also interlinked 

with quarters of the civilian opposition sector. Dohnanyi, who at 

Bormann’s demand had been forced from the Ministry of Justice 

for having pulled at “the wrong end of the rope,” was now an 

intimate of Oster and a weekly caller with him at the home of 

Beck. Hitler himself had indirectly called Beck‘s unique role to 

Dohnanyi’s attention by saying to Giirtner during the crisis that 

here was the one general he thought capable of “undertaking something.”22 In such ways the Blomberg-Fritsch affair had both materially added to and strengthened the front of the principal 

opponents of the Third Reich. 

The vital issue on which a coup d’ktat. depended now revolved 

about Hitler’s evident intention to force matters with Czechoslovakia 

over the German minority in that country. Any remaining doubts 

129 
were dispelled by his speech to leaders of party and state in the 

Reich Chancellery on 28 May 1938. His line of thought conformed 

in essentials with what he had said in November. He ended with the 

injunction to utilize every resource to extend the Westwall fortifications and to be poised for a lightning thrust at Czechoslovakia by 

September. 

Unwittingly the Fuhrer had presented his opponents with a 

composite of auspicious factors of which their more determined 

spirits were resolved to take advantage. In opposing a war likely 

to assume continental proportions, they could count, in 1938, on 

the fullest accord, though not necessarily the unanimous adherence, 

of the heart of the military establishment, the Generalitut. They 

could also expect the support of the masses, who were appalled by 

the prospect of a new world conflict. The basic requisite, however, 

was certitude that the stakes did indeed involve preventing a war of 

such magnitude. 

This study can allude only to some Qf the controversial aspects 

of this first major round of conspiracy to overthrow the regime; of 

the various Putsches which were conceived against Hitler in the 

years from 1938 to 1944, the first was the most thoroughly blocked 

out. With Oster acting as the principal motor and Beck and Halder 

as final authorities in the matter of go-ahead, the key commanders 

in the Berlin area and at several other vital points had been won 

over. A select commando troop-chosen from officers, students, and 

young workers to give the coup a wider base-had been organized 

by Captain Heinz of the “Oster Circle.” It was to invade the 

Chancellery supposedly to capture Hitler for a prospective show 

trial or incarceration in a lunatic asylum. Actually its leaders had 

agreed with Oster to kill the dictator when, to employ the Nazi’s 

own sinister jargon, he would “resist arrest” or “attempt to escape.”23 Most important, a stream of messages went to London to 

apprize the British of the plot and plead with them to publicly 

affirm the intention of the Western Powers to intervene if Hitler 

attacked Czechoslovakia. A communication by the German charg6 

d’ufuires in London, The0 Kordt, to British Foreign Secretary 

Halifax in the night of 5 September 1938 was the most climactic 

among them. 

130 
The responsibility for the failure of the coup to materialize in 

September 1938 seems fated to remain a perennial subject of 

debate. The few opposition survivors who figured in that plot related that twice in September the button calling for action within 

twenty-four hours was pressed by Halder, only to have action 

countermanded when British gestures of appeasement undercut the 

foundations on which all hopes were based. To this, defendants of 

the British policy respond indignantly that such claims were no 

more than an alibi for those who lacked the resolution, pluck, and 

self-reliance to carry through as planned. The verdict of history will 

probably lie somewhere between these positions. No one who has 

devoted intensive study to the plot of September 1938 can seriously 

question the central aspect of the threat of a European war to all 

its hopes of success. On this assumption alone, the generals, except 

for Busch and Reichenau, had, at the beginning of August 1938, 

endorsed Beck’s argument that a general war spelled disaster for 

Germany and, if Brauchitsch had found the courage to lead them, 

would have gone to Hitler in a body with an ultimatum. Even the 

faltering Brauchitsch had, on 28 September, appeared prepared to 

go along with a coup if Hitler persisted in his aggressive intentions. 

As noted, public support of a Putsch depended similarly on a clear 

demonstration that an attack on Czechoslovakia was equivalent to 

launching a wider conflagration. 

On the other hand, it is easy to show that doubts and confusion 

persisted in opposition ranks through the critical days of September. 

The events of the following year tempt one to believe that the 

substitution of Halder for Beck was not immaterial in this. Beck’s 

departure could hardly have been more badly timed insofar as the 

course of the conspiracy is concerned. His resignation followed 

Hitler’s demand in mid-August for “unconditional obedience” and 

the.end of all interference by the army in political decision-making. 

If made a month later, the Fuhrer’s ultimatum might well have 

provided the occasion for the anticipated showdown. Delivered 

when it was, it forced Beck’s hand before the time was ripe for 

action. Not only was his departure too early, but it was kept too 

private to make the impact on developments that might have been 

hoped. Coming at the height of the international crisis a few weeks 

later in a framework of world publicity, it should have had a 

smashing effect and produced the best possible setting for a revolutionary situation in Germany. As it was, Beck allowed himself to 

131 
be persuaded by his Commander in Chief to make no immediate 

announcement and the public learned of his withdrawal only when 

officially informed in October 1938. For the last time, but perhaps 

fatally, he had allowed the traditions and habits of his caste to 

dominate what should have been a political decision. It was a 

choice which was never to be his to make again. 

With Halder’s accession to direction of the General Staff, one 

resister to Hitler’s policies followed another. But the men themselves 

were stamped from very different molds. Under a purposeful 

superior, Halder probably would have shown many of the qualities 

of a brilliant second. He has stated, in fact, that as Beck’s deputy it 

was he who had pushed the harder and who during the Fritsch 

crisis had urged immediate and drastic action.24 In relating this, 

Halder wished to illustrate how much easier it is to demand strong 

measures when one is not in a position of ultimate responsibility. 

With much justice he reminds us that he and Beck had, traded positions in this dual sense. At the same time, the contrast between the 

two men in their conduct at critical junctures and in the solidity and 

consistency of their commitment is a striking one. 

In their first meeting, the new Chief of Staff was put on stark 

notice by Hitler that he would no longer tolerate what he was so 

often to denounce as the “Beck complex”-the thesis that the 

General Staff must have a conscience of its own to compel resistance 

when faced with irresponsible use of the armed forces. One of 

Hitler’s initial remarks led to the following exchange : 

Hitler: “You should take note of one thing from the start, that you 

will never discover my thought and intentions until I am giving my 

orders.” 

Halder: “We soldiers are accustomed to forming our ideas together.” 

Hitler: (smiling and with a negative wave of the hand) : “No, 

things are done differently in politics. You will never learn what 

I am thinking, and those who boast most loudly that they know my 

thoughts, to such people I lie even more.”25 

In principle Halder was usually ready to proceed with force 

against the detested regime, which he was accustomed to denounce 

in vituperative terms. This encouraged his associates to assume that 

132 
their only problem with him was to create the right circumstances 

for launching a coup. But there were seasons when he could not be 

moved at all and, most fateful, times when he seemed wholly 

committed but would shy off at the critical moment. This was the 

man who, from September 1938 until May 1940, sat at the central 

control board over whose wires the electric call to action would 

have to be flashed. As far as matters went in September 1938 he 

seems to have done well enough. There is, of course, no way of 

telling what he would have done if Hitler had rejected the “call to 

Munich” on 28 September and Brauchitsch, as was only too likely, 

had gone back on his half-commitment to proceed with a coup. 

What must be noted later about his conduct on 5 November 1939 

is grist for the mill of those detractors of the September 1938 plot, 

who maintained that then too he would have drawn back. 

In the years after Munich the circumstances for action against 

the Third Reich were never again in such happy conjunction. Except 

for the interval between the 1940 Western campaign and the end 

of that in Russia in 1941, the least propitious period was that of 

the twelve months between 28 September 1938 and Hitler’s announcement to the generals of the Western offensive on 27 September 1939. True opponents of the regime were disheartened; more 

opportunistic elements were glad to go other ways. A reshuffle of 

military commands after Munich largely dispersed the key figures 

Beck had maneuvered into strategic positions. Most of the Gem 

eralitiit, now thoroughly aware of Hitler’s hatred of Beck, shied 

away from its old chief and left him in that comparative isolation 

in which he lived his last six years. This had, however, a brighter 

side. If his house had become a center for military pilgrimages-a 

gathering place for general officers whenever they were in Berlinit would surely not have escaped strict surveillance by the Gestapo 

and SD. As things were, he seemed so neglected and forgotten that 

no one took the trouble to keep concerted watch over him. Actually, 

those visitors who did come would have been worth careful scrutiny, 

for they were usually men who came on opposition business. 

Since 1936 and to the very day of Munich, the center of 

resistance to Hitler’s external program had been the Army High 

Command (OKH) . Except for a few short weeks in October-November 1939, this was not again to be the case. Beck had worked 

with and through Fritsch to brake and thwart the dictator’s more 

adventurous policies. Despite increasingly stormy scenes with 

133 
Brauchitsch, he had carried on in virtual defiance of his exasperated 

commander to gain and hold the adherence of the high Generalitat 

to his positions. Halder lacked the strength, the unswerving purpose, 

and, it must be said, the uncompromising integrity of his predecessor. To do him justice, changes in circumstances made his path less 

clearly marked and the problems more complicated. Hitler’s uninterrupted string of foreign successes had gone far to turn the 

heads of critics in all walks of life, and the generals were far from 

immune. It had begun to look as if the Western Powers were 

going to let him get away with almost anything in eastern Europe. 

Also, there was far greater unanimity on the issues that divided 

Germany and Poland than on the question of the Sudetenland. The 

Fuhrer’s published aims on Danzig and the Corridor seemed reasonable compared to his attitude in mid-September 1938 when, despite 

British willingness to meet him almost all the way, he seemed bent 

on trampling on Czechoslovakia. Moreover, quite apart from the 

prospect of Anglo-French intervention, the generals had not felt at 

ease about the military problem of dealing with Czechoslovakia, 

whereas in the case of Poland they felt sure of themselves and of 

their assignments. 

So OKH, in marked contrast to 1938, had nothing to do with 

the renewed stream of messages that flowed to London in the spring 

and summer of 1939. These originated either with the Beck-Oster 

group or in various civilian quarters. London was repeatedly 

warned as the German-Soviet relationship moved from hostility to 

dCtente to entente. There were frank statements that this time there 

could be no promise that the generals would refuse to fight or that 

there were genuine prospects of overthrowing the regime in an 

effort to prevent war. 

The more exact motives and intentions of these emissaries and 

those for whom they spoke are debatable. Certainly they expected 

-it proved to be wishful thinking-that the British would be 

induced to exert themselves to reach an understanding with the 

Kremlin that would forestall one between Stalin and the Reich 

Chancellery. If that could be prevented and the Western Powers 

themselves stood firm against an aggression toward Poland, Hitler 

might be stopped in his tracks. 

In such efforts Halder had no share, and the more exact nature 

of his commitment to his associates of the 1938 plot during these 

134 
months remains unclear. Whatever its extent, in the last critical 

days of August we find him denying himself to friends and obdurately moving ahead in execution of Hitler’s orders. So far 

Brauchitsch, he did not scruple to threaten the arrest of Schacht if 

he should appear at Army Headquarters to urge the unconstitutionality of Hitler’s making war without the action of the Reichstag. 

It would be incorrect to say that the generals entered the war 

light-heartedly. Though they had no doubts about being able to 

handle Poland, they continued skeptical of Hitler’s assurances, 

notably in the famous speech at his mountain retreat on 22 August, 

that the deal with Moscow eliminated danger of Anglo-French 

intervention. But, in contrast to the backing Beck had from the 

Generalitiit a year earlier, they were resigned to submit to Hitler’s 

will and make the campaign. Worse, over a week before it was 

launched, they had failed to protest against a project that offended 

every soldierly tradition. This was the sham attack by concentration 

camp inmates in Polish uniforms on the radio station at Gleiwitz. 

Despite the pleas of Canaris, who informed them of what he 

branded a “gangster trick,” they could not be persuaded to intervene with Hitler. The bitterness of the admiral against OKH speaks 

out of his diary entry: “The [Army] chiefs have through their own 

fault robbed themselves of all influence.” 26 Prophetically Canaris 

saw in this flight from responsibility a harbinger of how the 

Wehrmacht was progressively to mortgage its soul to the diabolical 

figure who so skillfully blended temptation and intimidation. 

September 1939 was a month of surprises. The first victim of 

miscalculation was Adolf Hitler, who had been supremely confident 

that the Western Powers would lament and protest but leave Poland 

in the lurch. When undeceived, he expressed the hope that their 

declaration of war was no more than a face-saving gesture, and that 

they would resign themselves quickly to a deal over the prostrate 

body of Poland. The dazzling progress of the campaign, however, 

produced a dramatic change in his outlook. Early in the third week 

of September, when it was approaching its triumphant climax, the 

dictator determined to finish for once and all with what he conceived 

to be the Western saboteurs of his expansionist program in eastern 

Europe. On 27 September, in the Reich Chancellery, he expounded 

to the top military leaders his arguments for attacking in the West 

that autumn and, without permitting challenge or discussion, dismissed them with the injunction to effect the earliest regroupment 

there?’ 

135 
Those present on that fateful day seem to have left the Chancellery in a state of inner turmoil. What Hitler demanded looked 

to them akin to madness. The time of year alone was enough to 

make the project infeasible. To launch a campaign based on concepts of Blitzkrieg with every prospect of mired tanks and fog 

bound airplanes impressed them as sheer lunacy. The defensive 

doctrine of the Fritsch-Beck school also continued to cast its spell. 

Just ten days before, Halder’s deputy, General Karl Heinrich von 

Stulpnagel, had concluded a detailed study with the categorical 

statement that no attack on the Maginot Line could succeed before 

the spring of 1942. 

As, during the following weeks, the awareness of Hitler’s 

intentions was disseminated downward through command channels, 

the staffs from OKW and OKH down to corps and divisional levels 

buzzed like hives of disturbed bees. The history of warfare can find 

few parallels for the unanimity with which the proposal for a late 

autumn offensive in the West was rejected. With the sole exception 

of Jodl, entranced with a Hitler who at this stage seemed to him to 

be cast in the Napoleonic mold, the Generulitut predicted not only 

failure but disaster. One by one the three Western Army Group 

commanders, Leeb, Rundstedt, and Bock, besieged OKH with 

memoranda which detailed their objections. They could count on the 

solid backing of their army commanders, the depth of whose feeling is best illustrated by what has come to light recently about 

Reichenau.28 “The Nazi general,” Hitler’s own favorite whom, for 

the second time, just a year before, he had tried to install as 

Commander in Chief of the Army, first learned of the dictator’s 

intention when, on 10 October, he arrived in the West to take over 

an army command from General Curt Liebmann. As Liebmann 

reports it, Reichenau was “thunderstruck” on hearing that current 

preparations pointed unmistakably to an early attack through the 

Low Countries. Such a move he labelled “veritably criminal” and 

he would go to the Fuhrer if necessary to prevent it?’ 

In this frame of mind, Reichenau was fortified by Canaris, 

when the admiral toured the Western Army command centers 

shortly after to stir up the generals to oppose the offensive plans 

and, wherever possible, to promote an attack on the regime itself. 

It was easy to harvest expressions of indignation but quite another 

thing to move anyone to positive action. To the amazement of 

Canaris, the only one with the courage to confront Hitler directly 

136 
was Reichenau. The general was also among those most aroused by 

Canaris’s account of atrocities in Poland.ao 

During the next twenty days the metamorphosed general 

virtually placed Hitler under siege. He laid on his argumentation 

in a critical memorandum that went directly to the Chancellery, 

spoke up almost alone at a seven-hour meeting between Hitler and 

the army leaders on 25 October 1939, and on three occasions confronted the dictator personally with such determination that he was 

never forgiven. The last of these occasions was on 5 November, 

when Hitler persisted in issuing the orders for the attack on the 

12th. Far from beaten, Reichenau thereupon determined on what 

was, in World War 11, perhaps the most extraordinary, independent 

attempt to thwart the dictator. That story, however, is best related 

in another context. 

This display of the courage of his convictions was to cost 

Reichenau command of the German Army. In established opposition 

quarters, such examples of high-level military support in warding 

off the offensive suggested the opportunity to combine this with the 

overturn of the regime. Notably the Beck-Oster circle went to work 

with new energy and purpose. Around the person of the implacably 

anti-Nazi Lieutenant Colonel Helmuth Groscurth, it had established 

a beachhead close to Halder in OKH. The function of this group 

was coup-planning and, especially, the stiffening of the resolution 

of the Chief of Staff. Another Oster move was to bring Hans von 

Dohnanyi into his staff with one major goal: the further preparation 

of the case against Hitler and his Nazi chieftains with Abwehr 

facilities. And it was Oster who took in hand the most promising 

of several efforts to arrive at an understanding with the British 

government. 

No doubt the Western Powers for their own reasons were as 

eager as the German generals to forestall the offensive, which, once 

launched, would impose on them a vast commitment of human and 

material resources to the war. If peace could be restored without 

serious fighting and the aggressive regime in Germany disposed of 

at the same time, they would escape from the conflict cheaply and 

without damage to national honor. The challenge to the opposition 

was to persuade London both of its bona fides and of its ability to 

set afoot forces capable of accomplishing the necessary turnover. 

What was required in return were assurances that would convince 

137 
the generals that support of a coup did not mean delivery of Germany to the mercy of vengeful antagonists. This could only assume 

the form of an undertaking that there would be no Allied offensive 

to exploit the confusion or possible chaos of a takeover situation, as 

well as moderate peace terms for a successor government. To give 

the proper weight to the assurances on both sides, it was imperative 

to secure an intermediary of exceptional stature. The man chosen 

was no less a personage than Pope Pius XII. To explore the willing 

ness of the Holy Father to accept such a role, Oster sent to Rome the 

Munich attorney Josef Muller, whose extensive relations with 

Church authorities assured him a hearing. The consent of Pope 

Pius to exchanges via the Vatican came in mid-October, that of the 

British shortly after. There followed a series of communications 

which were to come to a head three months later. 

The ultimate focus of opposition efforts, of course, was on 

triggering action at OKH, the “central switchboard” of the army. 

The pivotal figure was unquestionably Halder, whose influence 

alone could conceivably sway Brauchitsch to throw in his lot with 

the conspiracy. But the chance of this was so minimal that the issue 

really revolved about whether the Chief of Staff could be induced to 

move by himself. Brauchitsch might be willing to declare himself 

neutral, permitting Halder at least to proceed without his interference. If he refused, there was the desperate expedient of confining him and issuing orders in his name. This was, in fact, urged 

by Halder’s deputy, Stulpnagel, who offered to “lock him in his 

office and throw the key into the W.C.”’l But would the orders, 

even if issued in Brauchitsch’s name, be obeyed in the first instance 

at army group and army level? 

Assuredly the top general officers were in a state of intense 

agitation that paralleled or exceeded that of the Fritsch crisis. 

Hitler’s offensive plan, they feared, spelled disaster for Germany, 

shattering in the process the instrument they had devoted their lives 

to fashion, To make matters worse, he was inviting the execration 

of the world by repeating and extending to the Netherlands the 

violation of Lowland neutrality, which since World War 1 had been 

a burden on the German conscience. Bock, who was certainly not the 

most finicky of them, put it boldly in his diary: “It is noteworthy 

that together with the doubts expressed on military grounds, all the 

generals are moved by repugnance to violate the neutrality of two 

countries that has repeatedly been guaranteed [by Germany1 .” *2 

138 
Qualms of this kind were compounded by two other disturbing 

developments. There was Himmler’s infamous SS-Circular, which 

sanctioned and indeed sanctified illegitimate births in wartime and 

seemed to offer his SS-Guards as breeding partners. And week by 

week reports multiplied about the bestialities perpetrated in Poland. 

Some of the military leaders transferred from the East had seen the 

beginnings of the systematic extermination of elite groups there. A 

special role was played by Canaris and the men of the Beck-Oster 

circle in disseminating such information into every military channel 

they could reach. As early as 12 September 1939, Canaris had 

fruitlessly protested to Keitel and shortly after was carrying his 

message to the West. Abwehr agents in Poland were instructed to 

gather evidence in every form. It should be borne in mind that the 

full compass of the genocide unleashed in that country became 

known to the Generalitiit only later, principally through the extended tour of Western command posts by Groscurth in December 

1939.83 But enough was known even in October to cause considerable ferment; it revived in many officers the conviction that they 

served a political leadership that was alien to all in which they 

took pride in the German military tradition. 

This did not mean that the generals were prepared to back 

their chiefs in whatever they might undertake. Except in the case of 

Colonel-General Wilhelm von Leeb of Army Group C, who said it 

emphatically, there had been no hint of this in the memoranda of 

the group commanders. When Stulpnagel visited the various headquarters to test their readiness to back a coup, it was again only 

Leeb who said he would support Halder in whatever he undertook. 

Rundstedt, as always when sure of the people he talked with, had 

spewed every imaginable venom against the Fuhrer, but the response that counted had been: “If I draw this sword, it will break 

in my hand.” “ 

Rundstedt had indeed touched on the point that claimed endless hours of discussion in opposition conventicles. Granted the 

unlikely assumption of a united front in the Generalit&, no one 

could be sure of the reaction of the subalterns and the rank and file. 

Judging by the four captains who were his own sons-in-law, Halder 

had the gravest doubts. October 1939 was for him a long agony of 

indecision. Basically he was at one with his opposition friends that 

a desperate situation was at hand. At the same time, he was under139 
standably appalled at the responsibility for launching a coup without the concurrence of his superior and the assured backing of 

only one of the three Army Group commanders. 

By mid-October the Chief of Staff had concluded that he must 

be prepared for any eventuality. To Groscurth he issued a directive 

to reconstruct with all possible speed the Putsch plans of the previous year. He himself took the grave step of holding east of the Elbe 

two armored divisions which were in process of refitting. ” He also 

began to carry a loaded revolver whenever he went to Hitler, a 

practice he was to repeat “dozens of times” in the following three 

years without ever summoning the resolution to use the weapon.” 

On 22 October 1939, Hitler tentatively set 12 November as the 

date of attack, designating 5 November as the day on which the 

definitive order would be issued. Brauchitsch and Halder were 

scheduled to visit the western command posts on 2 and 3 November. If Halder on 5 November was to be in a position to opt for 

action, a decision on fully alerting the Putsch apparatus, such as it 

was, would have to be made before his departure. In the course of 

a long discussion with Groscurth in the late afternoon of 31 October 

the die seemed to have been cast. Before leaving the next evening, 

Halder instructed Stulpnagel, Groscurth, and Colonel Eduard Wagner to ptit the final touches on their preparations and to notify such 

civilian figures as Goerdeler and Schacht to hold themselves in 

readiness. Back in Army Headquarters at Zossen on 4 November, 

the Chief of Staff seemed more than ever resolved to strike if Hitler 

persisted in his intentions. Perhaps most significant, he summoned 

Oster, whom he usually shunned as too importunate, and asked 

him to coordinate his own plans and preparations with those of 

Stulpnagel and Gro~curth.’~ 

The everits of 5 November were indeed to prove decisive. At 

noon Brauchitsch and Halder appeared in the Reich Chancellery, 

the former going in to Hitler to plead for putting off the offensive 

to a more suitable season. In presenting his arguments he unfortunately overdid things and touched the dictator “on the raw” 

by what seemed a slur on Nazi youth training. The upshot was a 

paroxysm of rage culminating in denunciations and rhreats that 

completely unnerved the Commander in Chief. More serious in its 

consequences was the impact on Halder as Brauchitsch stammered 

out the tale on the drive back to Zossen. From quoted remarks of 

140 
the Fuhrer, the Chief of Staff concluded that the plot had been 

discovered and that Zossen was on the point of being inundated by 

“black uniforms.” In blind panic he ordered the abandonment of 

all plans and the destruction of incriminating documents. Two or 

three days later the retained divisions were released to the front.*’ 

Though he continued to carry his concealed pistol into the tyrant’s 

presence, never again did Franz Halder commit himself to take 

up arms with his comrades of the opposition. 

For weeks and months the men of the Beck-Oster circle doggedly endeavored to change Halder’s mind and kept working on his 

fellow generals from Army Group commanders downward. Here 

and there a ray of hope “flickered and as regularly died out.’’ The 

information that continued to come from Poland created much 

ferment. General Johannes Blaskowitz, who commanded on the spot, 

wrote two eloquent memoranda of protest (the real author seems 

to have been Canaris) that were widely di~seminated.~’ Blaskowitz 

received many an approving pat on the back from his fellow generals, but was to all intents and purposes abandoned to the mercies 

of the infuriated Himmler, who made a thorough wreck of his 

career.40 Alone among the then colonels-general, he was never to 

receive the coveted Field Marshal’s baton. 

A central feature in the steady downward trend in opposition 

fortunes, insofar as the Generalitat was concerned, was certainly 

the improved outlook for the offensive. As autumn became winter 

and winter moved toward spring, the certainty of doom changed to 

doubt and doubt gave way to confidence. The original fifty-two truly 

combat-worthy divisions were supplemented by one hundred others ; 

tank forces roughly doubled. The constant alerts and movements 

into jumping-off positions, dictated by Hitler’s twenty-nine successive directions for the postponements of the offensive, were 

unadulterated misery for the generals and a severe hardship for the 

troops. But they also produced a fine edge of preparedness that 

contrasted sharply with the state that resulted from the dull routines 

of military life “on the other side of the hill.’’ In warding off the 

importunities of his opposition associates, Halder soon was saying 

that perhaps things were turning out for the best. Some kind of 

showdown with the Western Powers which were determined to 

fence-in Germany had become inevitable in any case. Once victory 

had been gained over the French and British, the army would be in 

a position of real strength in dealing with the dictator. Along such 

141 
lines then, Hitler’s offensive plans were argued to be the opposition’s opportunity, in a sense opposite to that originally conceived. 

Under these circumstances even the sensational news that the 

Vatican exchanges had scored a complete success and secured from 

the British all that one had the right to expect fell flat. Much delayed by unfortunate complications, the information only reached 

Halder in the form of the so-called “X-Report” on 4 April 1940. In 

November or early December 1939, it might have decided matters 

favorably. By January 1940 it was perhaps already too late; by 

April it had no chance at all. 

Thus it is hard to escape the conclusion that, after November 

1939, there was never any possibility of a united rising of the 

Generulitut. The plots and plans which can be called the third and 

fourth rounds of conspiratorial activity after 1941 belong to a very 

different category than those of the first and second in 1938 and 

1939-1940. The latter had offered a real chance for the army, 

under its recognized chieftains, overturning the regime in the name 

of what was best in its own tradition and for the welfare of the 

German nation. What came after May 1940 was essentially the 

work of relatively isolated pockets of opposition die-hards in one 

headquarters or another, something that was still largely true of 

July 1944. The united front of the commanders in the West at the 

latter juncture probably came closest to the pattern of 1938 and 

1939. 

The degree to which the army leadership did regard the Nazi 

state as alien to itself is best illustrated by the manner in which, no 

matter how they otherwise reacted, the principal generals never 

considered reporting the treasonable proposals made to almost all 

of them. One had to be a notorious Nazi henchman of the breed of 

a Schoerner, a Model, or a Burgdorf never to have been sounded 

in this fashion. Only Fritz Fromm, who was to play so sorry a role 

on 20 July 1944, covered himself through the formality of notifying his official superior, Brauchitsch, when Halder tried to recruit 

him.“ 

Some had never been content to let the issue of thwarting 

Hitler’s offensive plans rest on the chance of a political turnover in 

Germany. Reichenau, though probably ignorant of any wide flung 

conspiracy, knew enough about Goerdeler to make a shrewd guess 

142 
that he had “means of communication with the enemy.” On 6 

November 1939, the day after his final failure to dissuade Hider, 

the general met with Goerdeler in the home of former Berlin mayor 

Fritz Elsas. The Fuhrer’s plans he called “absolutely crazy,” and 

he proposed that the Dutch and/or British be informed so that 

they might take visible countermeasures that would discourage the 

project. Warnings then did travel to London via Denmark and 

5~itzerland.‘~ 

Far more significant for the dilemma of the German soldier 

who saw the regime in its full colors was the role of Hans Oster. 

This mainspring of the Abwehr action group had learned to face 

fundamental realities like no other opposition figure. With the 

rapier logic of the man who deals in absolutes, he was prepared to 

meet squarely basic challenges from which more complicated and 

less courageous natures were apt to shy. His countrymen were 

accustomed to make a sharp distinction between high treason 

(Hochverrat) and national treason (Landesverrat). The former was 

susceptible to honorable and even heroic connotations. To “betray 

one’s country,” on the other hand, was regarded in Germany, as 

elsewhere, the deed of a dastard. No one could have agreed with 

this more than Oster. Where he and most of his comrades parted 

company was in willingness to break traditional codes and do what 

had to be done to promote true long-range national interests despite 

the appearance of injury to immediate German concerns. Thus, 

after intense soul-searching, he directly or indirectly warned Dutch, 

Belgians, Danes, Norwegians, British, and the Vatican of one or 

another of Hitler’s offensive plans. This undoubtedly meant 

jeopardizing the lives of German soldiers. Seen in its true colors, 

however, it was like the act of a commander who, with a heavy 

heart, sacrifices a specific company in order to avert far greater 

losses. If Oster had succeeded, he would have saved the lives of 

tens of millions, including millions of German lives. Both in the 

history of the opposition and in the debates about the fundamental 

human question, the issue he faced so courageously is known as the 

Oster Problem. Unfortunately, for most of his comrades it did not 

exist. 

NOTES 

1. These are the diaries and papers of Lieutenant Colonel Helmuth 

143 
Groscurth which have been edited by Helmut Krausnick, Director of the 

Institut fur Zeitgeschichte (Munich) and the present writer and will be 

published shortly (in German) by Deutsche Verlagsanstalt, Stuttgart. 

2. This is the diary of Captain Hermann Kaiser, a close associate of the 

Goerdeler circle. 

3. These papers of General Adam are deposited in the monastery of Ettal 

(Germany) and are subject to restrictions as to the time of publication. 

4. Affidavit of General Adam in Nuremberg, No. 2 Archives of the Institut 

fur Zeitgeschichte, Zeugenschrifttum No. 6. 

5. From a copy of the original mimeographed resolution in the possession 

of the writer. Courtesy of the late General von Eisenhart-Rothe. 

6. Hans Bernd Gisevius, To the Bitter End (Boston, 1947), p. 278. 

7. The conference received its designation from the fact that Colonel 

Friedrich Hossbach, Hitler’s Wehrmucht adjutant, kept the minutes. See 

Friedrich Hossbach, Zwischen Wehrmacht und Hitler 1934-1938 (Wolfenbuttel, 1949). 

8. John Wheeler-Bennett, The Nemesis of Power: The German Army in 

Politics, 2nd ed. (London, 19@), p. 299. 

9. As related to the writer by General Georg Thomas, who several times 

appealed to Blomberg to intervene in cases of Nazi extremism. Thomas 

interview, September 1945. 

10. Gert Buchheit, Soldatenturn und Rebellion (Kastatt, 1961), p. 107. 

11. Ibid. 

12. Hitler told Hossbach that he had not been able to spare Fritsch earlier 

because he was needed during the army’s build-up period, Hossbach, p. 127. 

13. Thus there was a secret Gestapo check of Fritsch’s bank account in 

January 1938. 

14. Buchheit, pp. 97, 99ff. 

15. G. Castelan, “Journal du General Halder, chef d’Btat major g6nBra1 de l’arm6e allemande,” Revue BHistoire de la deaxidme guerre mondiale, (1953, No. 10/11), 432. 

16. Blomberg himself had designated Keitel to Hitler as a “reliable office 

manager.” Blomberg affidavit at Nuremberg, 7 November 1945. 

17. Christine von Dohnanyi, “Aufzeichnung von Frau Christine von 

Dohnanyi, geb. Bonhoeffer,” p. 2. Manuscript in the writer’s possession. 

Also, interview with the same, 26 June 1958. 

18. Spiegelbild einer Verschworung. Die Kaltenbrunner Berichte an Bor- 
mann und Hitler uber das Attentat vom 20. Juli 1944. Ceheime Dokumente 

aus dem ehemdigen Reichsicherheitshauptamt, ed. Karl Heinz Peter (Stuttgart, 1961), p. 430. 

19. Wheeler-Bennett, p. 370. 

20. Buchheit, p. 111. 

21. Letter of Halder to General Hermann von Witzleben, 6 September 

1952. Made available to the writer by the courtesy of the latter. 

22. “Aufzeichnungen von Frau Christine von Dohnanyi,” p. 3. 

23. Heinz interview, 2 August 1958. Also quoted by Gerhard Ritter, Carl 

Goerdeler und die deutsche Widerstandsbewegung (Stuttgart, 1954), p. 189. 

The writer is indebted to Lieutenant Colonel Heinz for the use of an unpublished manuscript in which the preparations for takeover in 1938 are 

dealt with in some detail. 

24. Halder interview, 9 August 1960. 

25. Halder interview, 19 June 1958. 

26. Entry of 25 August 1939 in the diary of Lieutenant Colonel Helmuth 

Groscurth. 

27. See the detailed account in Harold C. Deutsch, The Conspiracy against 

Hitler in the Twilight War (Minneapolis, 1968) , pp. 69-70. 

28. For Reichenau’s “one-man war” against the Western offensive see 

ibid., pp. 71-77. 

29. From a statement written by Liebmann in November 1939, “Personliche 

Erlebnisse des Gen. d. Inf. Curt Liebmann aus den Jahren 1938-39,” 

Archives of Institut fur Zeitgeschichte. 

30. Karle Heinz Abshagen, Canaris, Patriot ‘und Weltbiirger (Stuttgart, 

1949), pp. 224-225. 

31. Halder interview, 9 August 1960. 

32. Fedor von Bock, “Diary Notations from May 1939 to 9 May 1940,” 

entry of 15 November 1939. Copy in Archives of Institut fur Zeitgeschichte. 

33. Entries of 18, 19, 20, and 21 December 1939, Groscurth Diaries. 

34. Halder interview, 9 August 1960. 

35. There has been much dispute about the reality of Halder’s reserve 

divisions. The clinching evidence is to be found in the testimony of the 

later General Kurt Haseloff, who in 1939 was Chief of Staff of the so-called 

Home Army under General Fritz Fromm. Haseloff, who had no connection 

with the opposition whatsoever, was with Fromm when on 31 October 1939 

Halder tried to recruit him for participation in a coup, mentioning among 
other preparations these two divisions. From Haseloff’s account to the Colloquium of the Europaische Publikation ; made available to the writer 

through the courtesy of General Hermann von Witzleben. 

36. Far from boasting of his half-formed intentions to kill Hitler, Halder 

in the postwar years never mentioned them and indeed always spoke 

negatively on the whole assassination issue. It was only when confronted by 

the writer with the evidence in the form of notations in the Groscurth diaries 

that he acknowledged the facts as here given. Halder interview, 9 August 

1960. 

37. The events of these days are followed most closely, sometimes hour by 

hour, in the Groscurth Diaries. On Oster’s summons to Zossen the principal 

source is Gisevius, pp. 385-386. 

38. Halder’s postwar claim that he did not release these troops until December is belied, among other evidence, by the testimony of Vincenz Miiller, 

Ich fund das wahre Vaterlund, ed. Klaus Mammach. (Leipzig, 1963), p. 375. 

39. A major source on the role of Canaris in connection with the Blaskowitz 

memoranda is the Heinz Mss, see p. 116. 

40. As related in detail by Blaskowitz to the writer in an interrogation of 

September 1945. 

41. See above, note 35. 

32. Deutsch, Conspiracy uguinst Hitler, pp. 75-77. 

146 
COMMENTARY 

CHARLES V, P. VON LUTTICHAU 

Professor Deutsch‘s paper combined two topics of a number of 

other choices that would be available: the growth of the opposition 

against Hitler in the military establishment and the dilemma officers 

in the Wehrrnacht had to face, a personal dilemma that was essentially a conflict of conscience. The first topic is historical in 

nature: the development and progress of the opposition in relation 

to the growth and power Hitler usurped step by step until 1938, at 

which time he had concentrated all power in his hands. Professor 

Deutsch’s paper shows how Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor set 

in motion a chain of events that inevitably led to total dictatorship. 

For those who lived through those years, both in Germany and 

abroad, the development and the final outcome did not appear as 

clear-cut as it does today. This was partly because each step along 

the way was viewed in isolation and, therefore, seemed more acceptable or at least understandable. It was also partly because 

foreign governments, opposition groups in Germany, and individuals, with few exceptions, were unwilling to face squarely the 

problem and the potentially dangerous consequences of Hitler. In 

short, it was always the hope that there might be a change for the 

better, a return to reason. It is far easier in retrospect to point to 

the logical fact that there could be no hope; that Hitler, and not his 

henchmen, was the motor, the driving force, and that any attempt 

to change the course of events would have to be directed first and 

foremost against the central person, the man who was the dictator. 

The alternative to that logical though unpleasant deduction was to 

accept the phenomenon of Hitler as a demonic manifestation that 

fate had wrought on the nation and that, as Goethe prophetically 

had written more than a century before: “All moral force united 

cannot prevail against demonic force and only nature itself can 

bring down what it has created.” 

147 
I would like to dwell a little more on the second topic of 

Professor Deutsch‘s paper, because it concerns the moral predicament of responsible individuals caught up in events beyond their 

control. I would like to offer a few thoughts on this subject because 

the conflict of conscience lies at the very heart of the German 

resistance. The paper we just heard traces the historical acts of the 

drama, focusing on the principal actors, the leaders of the military 

establishment-the generals, the General Staff-who in the eyes of 

the German people and in the eyes of the world should have or 

could have acted to save Germany from the fate of destruction. 

Focusing on the principals, however, is a short cut, an oversimplification, even if one were to include the nonmilitary opposition 

groups-the men around the central figure of Carl Goerdeler, the 

opposition in the Catholic and Protestant churches, the trade union 

leaders, the professors, the students at the universities, the diplomats of the German Foreign Office. Although these leaders were 

prominent in their field they were not generally well known at the 

time. Indeed, the list of names publicized after the 20th of July 

194Gwith few exceptions--did not mean much to the general 

public. Conspirators, of course, do not advertise! One should not, 

however, overlook the many nameless men and women who, alone 

or in small groups, searched their souls in an attempt to understand 

what was happening, find ways to express their concern, and act, if 

possible, to halt a trend that could only lead to catastrophe. Among 

these nameless heroes were to be found the helpers of the movement 

of the “moment of need,” the grantors of shelter to the fugitive, the 

guides across the mine field on a border. These anonymous men and 

women from all walks of life shared with the generals, with the 

priests and the bishops, the politicians and the civil servants, and 

the soldiers the dilemma of conscience: the choice between loyalty 

to one’s country and obedience to its laws, or to a higher transcending loyalty and responsibility before God and the nation. That 

choice could not be a collective act nor could it be made in the 

secrecy and protection of a voting booth. The decision had to be a 

personal one, a matter of one’s conscience, an agonizing decision 

each individual had to make it his own heart and mind and live 

with, if necessary to the point of ultimate sacrifice. 

The German resistance was thus not a movement or an organization but a gathering of individuals pursuing ways of action or 

retreating into an “inner emigration.” They shared a common 

148 
ground that Hans Rothfels rightfully called “the ethical and spiritual revolt against evil.” The German resistance was a moral force, 

not a political movement-political expression of the people’s will 

had been destroyed-nor a military revolt, even though the army 

was the only instrument left that had the organizational means, the 

logistics, and the potential power to overthrow the regime. In the 

last analysis even the generals stood alone, uncertain of the true 

feelings of at least some of their comrades and unsure of the following they could command if they issued orders to their subordinates 

that would go against Hitler and the Nazi government. Again and 

again the questions have been asked: “Why didn’t the army act?” 

“How could the generals and key figures of the resistance tolerate 

Hitler and his regime after the murders of the Roehm Affair in 

1934, after the ignominious dismissal of the Commander in Chief 

of the Army, Fritsch, in 1938,” to name just two of the key dates? 

“Where was the much vaunted civil courage or plain ‘guts’ of the 

military, of the aristocracy, the Prussian spirit of old?” “Why 

didn’t somebody do something?” 

Professor Deutsch described how the Reichswehr was formed 

after World War I. This 100,000-man force of volunteer professionals was trained by Seeckt to carry on the Prussian tradition, 

preserve the highest standard of the Imperial Army and embody 

the spirit of an “enduring Germany.” The Reichswehr was to serve 

as a support for the authority of the Reich, the state, not of any 

particular government. True, the Reichswehr thus became an elite, 

and like the Praetorian Guard a law unto itself. But in spite of all 

the efforts made by the instructors it was not a homogeneous 

corporate entity. While the rank and file, and that included a large 

majority of the officers, were indeed more or less unpolitical, the 

top leadership played “at politics,” if only to strengthen its hand 

in its dealings with changing civilian governments. The Reichswehr 

leadership used its “marriage of convenience” with a civilian executive to lay the groundwork for an armaments industry and for 

close relations, for example, with the Soviet Union and even with 

China. The goal was to break the shackles of the Versailles Treaty 

and its restrictions on German rearmament. These activities could 

proceed because of the intrinsic weakness of postwar German governments and because these governments needed the Reichswehr in 

case of serious internal disturbances. The Reichswehr leadership 

strove meticulously to maintain a stance of neutrality, one could 

149 
almost say an arrogant stance, between political parties. However, 

as time went on, the middle ground between the right wing and the 

left narrowed and the Reichswehr was at last forced to make a 

foray into politics. 

The experimental thrust of General Schleicher and his group, 

which led Schleicher briefly to the position of Chancellor, ended in 

failure. But it is worth recalling that at the time Schleicher did 

not have the trust of his own confreres and even less support 

from the rank and file. Unavoidably the younger generation of the 

Reichswehr, tired of continued failure of the policy of mutual 

understanding that in their eyes produced nothing but empty 

promises, tended to gravitate toward Hitler and the dynamic movement he appeared to champion. It was during Bruening’s administration in the late 1920s that the Reichswehr leadership got closest 

to its goal of an active policy-making force on a lofty plane above 

party politics, but it was Hitler who in those days also told the 

Reichswehr generals that the army was in the process of becoming a 

palace guard, a state police force, losing contact with the nationalist 

and patriotic elements of the dynamic German youth. The venture 

into the political arena led the army into a vacuum. To many an 

officer the lesson to be learned was to return to the safe haven of 

professional soldiering and leave dirty politics to the politicians. 

Hitler was by then on his way to power. He had early realized 

that he would have to come to terms with the Reichswehr. He was 

also quite aware that he was not acceptable to the stuffy generals, 

with the exception of Reichenau, and he appeared to have made up 

his mind to use the generals while robbing them of their base, the 

young recruits, the young officers. If in addition, he could dilute 

the Reichswehr by expansion, the professional army eventually 

would be swallowed to become the People’s Army, the army Hitler 

envisioned. Until that time Hitler needed the professionals to serve 

his cause “unpolitical1y”-and he could wait. Hitler believed he 

could use the generals for his purposes and he did so with resounding success. The generals in turn, as Professor Deutsch pointed out, 

believed they could use Hitler. Parts of the National Socialist program, such as the abolishment of the restrictions of the Versailles 

Treaty, the restoration of Germany as a world power, and the 

rebuilding of the armed forces, all were close to their own views. 

As Professor Deutsch pointed out, one believed Hitler could serve 

a useful purpose, supervised, guided, of course, by built-in safe150 
guards such as von Papen and Blomberg, the new Reichswehr 

Minister of Hindenburg’s choice. It was envisioned that Hitler, 

having served, could then be discarded. 

It is very clear today that the Reichswehr leadership and 

Hindenburg himself seriously miscalculated Hitler’s strength and 

his aims. They underestimated the man and his dynamic appeal to 

the masses. It is difficult to understand today the degree of nayvet6 

in political matters displayed by the conservative soldiers and 

ex-soldiers. What Colonel Hossbach, Hitler’s Wehrmacht Adjutant, 

said was true: “The army lived on an island of national pride 

under a self-made law.” That island was far removed from the 

hard realities of political dynamics represented by Hitler. The 

army leadership in politics, at least, was hopelessly outclassed by 

the “Bohemian corporal,” Hitler. That is one of the main reasons 

why the cabals, the plotting and planning, the conspiracies, and 

finally the coup of the 20th of July 1944 were doomed. 

There must have been a realization of weakness in the military 

opposition that made the generals and their political allies look for 

assistance from abroad and made them depend increasingly on 

such assistance to bring off an overthrow of Hitler. Unquestionably 

Britain and France, by appeasing Hitler at Munich in 1938, played 

into his hands and frustrated the one attempt to overthrow the 

dictator that coul dhave succeeded. But these historic facts also 

show that Hitler in those days was popular and had the support at 

least of the majority of the people, whereas the generals did not. It 

was unfortunate for the generals that they in their efforts to oppose 

Hitler chose a negative approach. It must have seemed strange to 

Hitler that the generals were the ones who warned him not to 

move against Czechoslovakia, to hear from them that the Westwull 

would not deter the French, to hear from the builders of the new 

Vehrrnacht that it could not fight, only to be able to prove to them 

at each turn that all of their famed Denkschriften and estimates of 

the situation were wrong, and he, Hitler, the amateur strategist, was 

right. The army leadership thus lost face and lapsed into a state of 

negative criticism without the power and without the determination 

to act. No one was more aware of the state of affairs than Hitler 

himself. His growing contempt of the old line generals was as 

vociferous when he was among his own entourage as that of a von 

Rundstedt in his own “Generals’ Mess.” The only difference was 

that Hitler had the power, the generals did not. 

151 
Disenchantment with the generals, incidentally, was not confined to Hitler. Ambassador von Hassell’s diary mirrors a despair 

experienced by the non-military opposition groups about the 

“temporizing” generals who kept making excuses. Undoubtedly the 

civilians had exaggerated expectations of what the generals could 

do, and their impatience was merely another sign of their own 

frustrations. I recall long and impassionate conversations with leading figures of the resistance and with some generals: they always 

ended on a note of helpless resignation. Certainly after the war 

broke out in 1939, the feeling was rather widespread that henceforth events must run their course. I believe it is only fair to point 

out that generals, and other officers for that matter, are not by 

nature conspirators, much less revolutionaries. But Lenin reportedly 

once said in reference to German workers and their bent for revolution that they were so disciplined that if one told them to storm a 

railroad station, they would first buy a ticket. This also held true 

to a very large extent for the army, which can only be understood 

after spending a lifetime in the traditions of duty, honor, loyalty, 

and discipline. The army could not abandon such precepts easily; 

revolution was not their trade. Contemplating high treason, the 

assassination of the head of state, and the overthrow of the established government to them meant lowering themselves to the level 

of Hitler and his men, and that had a distinct disadvantage. Hitler 

was not only an expert revolutionary, he also held in his hands the 

power of a police state. It therefore took exceptional people to be 

willing to act under such circumstances. Young, idealistic, dedicated 

officers such as Stauffenberg, Tresckow, and Oster were the action 

people, the doers; they were of necessity in the minority even in 

the resistance. The majority were thinkers and planners, and indeed 

philosophers; they were also the “doubting Thomases,” the ones 

who cautioned the more energetic and impatient “hotheads.” 

The conflict between obedience and conscience then, between 

the oath to Hitler and the responsibility to the nation, became ever 

graver for each responsible individual as time went on. Before the 

death of the revered Field Marshal von Hindenburg, a decision for 

Germany and against Hitler would have weighed lighter than after 

Hindenburg’s death and the swearing in of the Reichswehr to Hitler 

himself. And again this phase in retrospect was still less complicated than that which followed the discreditation of General von 

Fritsch. Yet after the war had begun, a move against the leadership 

152 
conducting the war would weigh even heavier on the soldier’s 

conscience. The feelings of some of the best fighting men at the 

front were rather generally: “Let’s win this war first, then we’ll 

take care of the Nazis when we get home.” The thinking soldiers 

pondered these nuances during the war phase, the difference between winning and losing. Who would dare raise his hand against a 

victorious captain, and still hope to find support among the people? 

Conversely, who would eliminate the helmsman during a period of 

defeat and brave the accusation of another “stab-in-the-back”? 

These points are raised here, not to offer an excuse for the relative 

ineffectiveness of the German military opposition and its ultimate 

failure, but because those who were fated to live through these 

agonizing years of decision, driven, as Churchill said, “by the 

restlessness of their consciences,” tried to resolve their inner conflicts and establish, each for himself, his moral place in history. 

There is a deep tragedy in the failure and defeat of idealism, 

tragedy in seemingly senseless sacrifice and in the victory of evil. 

But as long as there are men who will make the ultimate commitment for what they believe in, the battle is not in vain. 

PETER PARET 

I should first like to comment briefly on Professor Deutsch’s 

paper, and then move on to German military history in general, and 

discuss in very broad terms one of its recurring themes-a force 

that can be traced through two centuries, and tKat still played a part 

in the 1930s, in the developing conflict between the army and 

Hitler. 

Let me begin by saying a few words about the paper we have 

just heard. Historians, as you know, have the annoying habit of 

approaching their topic from the rear, of looking beyond it at the 

events that preceded it, in order to understand why and how things 

came about as they did. To people who are not professional historians, the most fascinating event in the course of the German 

resistance appears to be the attempt by certain officers and civilians, 

in July 1944, to kill Hitler and assume control of the government. 

The very real drama of this episode has certainly not been ignored 

153 
by scholars; but in the main they have found the events leading up 

to the attempted coup d’kttat more challenging to their powers of 

investigation and interpretation and, when you come down to it, 

also more important-that is to say, more decisive-than Stauff enberg’s placing of the bomb in the Wolfsschanze, which wounded but 

did not kill Hitler; the attempt of the conspirators to take over 

Berlin, which failed; and the attempt of their comrades in France to 

take over Paris, which succeeded, but which had to be rescinded 

when the plot at the center, in the German capital, collapsed. The 

events between 1933 and 1944 do matter more than the climactic 

20th July. And it is therefore no accident that Professor Deutsch 

has chosen to devote his attention to the background of the coup 

d’dtat rather than to the coup itself. By identifying certain features 

of the opposition, by analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of 

some of its leaders, he has given us a better understanding not only 

of the history of the movement but also of the reasons for its 

eventual failure. 

Some points in Professor Deutsch‘s paper seem to be of particular significance. He stressed the political and technical difficulties in the path of the opposition. A modern, highly organized 

society does not readily lend itself to violent political change. It 

contains too many control points-most of them, even in the Third 

Reich, administrative rather than ideological in nature-which can 

inhibit movement, the transmission of information, the concentration of force, and thus prevent co-ordinated action. Secondly, as 

Professor Deutsch indicated, international developments continuously affected events within Germany. In the short run, at least, 

Hitler’s foreign policy proved surprisingly successful-at times far 

more rewarding than he himself had expected; and the expansion 

of German territorial power and political influence in central 

Europe undercut much of the appeal that opposition to the regime 

might otherwise have enjoyed. To these external obstacles which the 

resistance faced must be added certain internal handicaps. In Nazi 

Germany only revolutionaries who were tactically flexible had a 

chance of success. For the generals in the 1930s to insist on the 

creation of a united front as the basis for action guaranteed that 

nothing would be done. It is difficult to overthrow a government 

without possessing some degree of political instinct, and like most 

segments of German middle-class and upper-class society, the 

German military were critically short of political understanding. 

154 
In part this was, of course, the result of their impressive military 

achievements in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, which had 

made possible the creation and maintenance of an authoritarian 

empire in which few men could acquire political sophistication. 

In another way, too, the soldiers were victims of a situation 

that they themselves had helped bring about. At the beginning of 

his paper, Professor Deutsch pointed out that the Reichswehr bore 

a considerable degree of responsibility for Hitler’s coming to 

power. The army not only failed to support the Weimar Republic 

-its habitual posture of neutrality between the government and the 

anti-democratic forces of the radical right and left meant in effect 

that it opposed the government, or at least rendered it defenseless 

-but the army also perpetuated attitudes that could only prolong 

fatal divisions existing in German society, and that incidentally 

went against its own highest standards of soldierly honor, and thus 

contributed to their decline. A characteristic example was the refusal of the army to open the regimental associations and other 

veteran organizations under its sponsorship to Jewish servicemen, 

even when they had been wounded and decorated in the World War. 

After 1933 it became apparent that some of the army’s tendencies 

and attitudes resembled in kind, if not in degree of intensity, 

policies that Hitler now pursued. To some extent this link seems 

to have been recognized or at least felt by most of the officers who 

came to oppose the new regime. It infused them with a sense of 

guilt, which could serve as a spur to action, but which at other times 

worked as a brake. In short, the dividing lines between army and 

regime were muddled, and to that extent made opposition to Hitler 

far more difficult. These are psychological and moral issues, to 

which I want to return in a moment in a different, wider context. 

Here let me simply conclude that it may help clarify the perspective 

in which we must see the resistance, if we recognize that increasingly during the 1930s and the Second World War normal standards of behavior, honor, and responsibility no longer applied in 

Germany. Some of the officers, whose ambivalence and hesitancies 

Professor Deutsch has so well described, come off very badly 

indeed when we compare them with responsible and courageous 

Republicans of the Weimar period. They appear in far better light 

in comparison with the Nazi leaders. Circumstances alter cases; the 

same man may have a very different value in different situations; 

he may even have learned from experience and to some extent have 

155 
changed his fundamental views, which seems to have been the case 

with Stauffenberg. 

I began my comment by suggesting how natural it was for 

Professor Deutsch to look at the events preceding the final attempt 

on Hitler’s life; that is how historians function. By the same token, 

I suppose, it is proper for me to look at the background to the 

years he has just discussed. Or at least to look at a piece of that 

background. Let me therefore revert to the question of morality 

which I mentioned a moment ago, and connect it with an issue that 

has been part of German military thought and policy since the early 

years of the Prussian monarchy: the issue of preventive war. 

The calculations that cause a state to resort to preventive war 

-or to reject its use-are obviously largely political and strategic 

in nature. In conjunction with these, preventive war does, nevertheless, raise certain moral questions, which it would be unwise 

simply to dismiss as abstract luxuries, of no concern to the practical 

statesman or soldier. 

You will recall that a decisive incident in the development of 

Beck‘s oposition to Hitler was the meeting of 5 November 1937, at 

which Beck became convinced that Hitler wanted war, and wanted 

it sooner rather than later. In spite of his dislike of the new regime, 

Beck would have had few qualms about defending the nation, even 

though it was led by Hitler. Probably he would also have supported 

a cautious policy leading towards what most Germans would have 

felt to be justified frontier rectifications in the East, even if this 

might have involved limited offensive military action. What he 

could not support was Hitler’s view of a dynamic Germany, threatened on all sides, whose only chance for survival lay in what Hitler 

called at this meeting “lightning strokes, unexpectedly executed at 

the propitious moment.” 

The long-range goal of Hitler’s foreign policy can be summed 

up as the establishment of an intercontinental empire, stretching 

from the Urals to the Atlantic, secure against any other power on 

earth. This goal could be achieved, if at all, only by a series of 

aggressive and pre-emptive maneuvers. As it happened, the occupation of Austria, the destruction of Czechoslovakia, and the partition 

of Poland had partly preventive motives; the invasion of Norway 

can be considered as almost a textbook example of a preventive 

156 
stroke; and in the decision to attack Russia in 1941-at least two 

years earlier than Hitler had originally intended-the preventive 

element is very strong. 

These few examples from the Second World War will indicate 

that it is rather difficult to define preventive war, and, in particular, 

to distinguish it clearly from aggressive war. The two are often 

related; but not always: consider the Arab-Israeli conflict of 1967, 

in which the side that struck first did so to protect its independence, 

and possibly even its continued existence. In very general terms, we 

might say that it is a war initiated in order to prevent the probable 

sacrifice of some vital interest of the state, or to interrupt a course 

of events which can become only more damaging as time goes on? 

Nor does Western political and ethical theory agree on the 

justice or injustice of such wars. Here I can do no more than call 

your attention to a few salient features in the voluminous literature 

that has been devoted to this subject since the Renaissance. It 

probably doesn’t stretch things too far to suggest that much of 

European and American thought on preventive war is polarized 

around two contradictory points of view.3 One can be conveniently 

personified by Machiavelli ; the other by Luther. Machiavelli treated 

preventive war entirely from the point of view of state interest. In 

his eyes any political or military act that benefits the state is justified. It is immaterial that this act may transgress law, morality, 

alliances with other states, or historical tradition. In short, according to Machiavelli, preventive war poses no moral problem. 

His argument, based wholly on the self-interest of each particular state rather than on the interests of the international community, was carried on and elaborated by such writers as Sir 

Thomas More (whose Utopian state is free to resort to any strategy, 

including that of preventive war, since it is a just state, and its 

enemies-by definition-are unjust) and Richelieu, who declared 

that preventive war is an inevitable evil, resort to which is justified 

when the state is faced with a self-evident threat that cannot be 

turned aside in any other way. A hundred years later Montesquieu 

judged the problem pretty much in the same vein. 

The opposite point of view is expressed by Luther, who taught 

that the only just war is the strictly defensive war. Wars of aggression or preventive wars, however well motivated, are evil.* 

157 
These men did not develop their thoughts in a vacuum. They 

reflect the conditions in which they lived, and they address themselves to these conditions. Machiqvelli, concerned with the creation 

of viable political authority in Italy, not unnaturally places the 

highest value on the effective use of power. Thomas More and 

Richelieu, representatives of vast monarchies which nevertheless 

have to contend with dangerous rivals, will not hesitate to use 

power ruthlessly for the greater good. Luther, on the other hand, 

lived in a politically fragmented society, made up of relatively 

small and weak states, uncertain about the extent of their sovereignty; a community whose members were to a considerable extent 

dependent on the tolerance and good will of their neighbors. To 

proclaim the justice of preventive war in this context would have 

been self-destructive. 

Frederick the Great was still brought up on Luther’s argument, 

which in this respect coincided with the views of the Reformed 

Church, that the only just war is a defensive war. His father had 

repeatedly amused the courts of Europe with his reluctance to take 

up arms even in defense of his vital interests. As a young man 

Frederick wrote a study opposing Machiavelli’s view of international relations as permanent conflict devoid of any moral law 

except that of narrow self-interest. And yet, Frederick began his 

reign with a war of conquest, and later defended his newly acquired 

territories-and with them Prussia’s new status as a major European 

power-by launching a preventive war against the alliance that 

was forming to thrust Prussia back into her old condition of feebleness and dependence. 

In fact he had no choice: if he wished to exploit Prussia’s 

political potential, he could do so only by resorting first to aggression and then to preventive war. But the new policies-the new 

concern for power and the willingness to use it-could not be easily 

reconciled with the Lutheran tradition. A dichotomy of power and 

ethics developed in Germany, in more acute form, it seems, than in 

other European societies, and despite all attempts at resolving itby Hegel, for example-it grew in intensity throughout the nineteenth century. Under the pressures of nationalism and imperialism, 

yielding to what could be called apologetically the force of circumstances, most military and political leaders were able to repress this 

conflict, with greater or lesser ease. But in every generation soldiers 

158 
could be found who suffered from the role that Germany’s position 

seemed to impose on them. In the essays on war that he wrote after 

his retirement, Beck summed up their problem in these words: 

“More than other powers, Germany (because of her geographic 

position) must expect that her very existence will be at stake in a 

major war.”’ Any and all measures would thus appear to be 

justified-and yet, Beck warned, quoting words that Groener had 

written in 1919, “Germany cannot afford once more to begin a 

war on a weak moral basis.”6 Beck reinforced this statement by 

arguing that aggression and total war were not only unethical and 

of doubtful value, but that they would brutalize the German people 

and destroy German civilization.’ 

We should not read too much into the issue of preventive war.. 

It is only one factor among many; but its very ambiguities help 

clarify further the relationship between Hitler and the German 

generals. In the 1930s, as in the nineteenth century, Germany 

found herself in the classic position of the have-not, the late-comer, 

who feels compelled to take risks and resort to extreme measures in 

order to catch up. Other established powers could afford to insist 

on higher standards of political morality since these more nearly 

coincided with their own interests. The Vehrrnacht generals’ uneasiness about aggressive and preventive war was the product of 

three forces: their own moral standards, or at least doubts, their 

lack of confidence in Germany’s military and economic strength, 

and their recognition of the effect such policies’would have on other 

states. Hitler, of ourse, dismissed these considerations. In a talk to 

the division commanders who were about to launch the Ardennes 

counteroffensive, he said: “We are in a struggle that inevitably had 

to come, sooner or later. The only question is whether we chose the 

most favorable moment to strike. I have already explained why the 

argument that we should not have launched a preventive war must 

be completely rejected. Gentlemen, every successful war in the 

history of mankind has been a preventive war.” * 

This was not true, but, as the generals knew, it did have some 

validity in German history. Once again Hitler could appeal to a 

measure of agreement between himself and the soldiers. To repeat 

an earlier point: to the extent that this agreement existed, resistance 

to Hitler was made more difficult. 

Let me conclude by summarizing in the very broadest terms 

159 
the position which the Resistance, and with it Germany, had reached 

in the late 1930s. 

The re-establishment of Germany as a major European power, 

let alone world power, was possible only by very extensive use of 

violence, carrying with it the destruction of other states, enormous 

damage to their societies, and considerable change within Germany. 

These policies could not be brought into agreement with the moral 

standards that were part of the heritage of the middle and upper 

classes from which the traditional military elite was drawn. There 

were only two possible solutions to this conflict: either all considerations of morality were rejected as irrelevant, which was the 

position Hitler took, or Germany renounced her ambition to be the 

dominant power in central and eastern Europe-a development that 

was forcibly brought about by her defeat in the Second World War. 

Both solutions-total war, or the renunciation of a cherished political ideal-were extremely disagreeable, not to say unacceptable, 

to the German generals. Consequently they remained suspended 

between two opposite poles, largely inactive, almost completely 

ineffective, until both for them, and for Germany, time had run out. 

NOTES 

1. As reported by Hitler’s Wehrmacht adjutant, who was present at the 

meeting. See Friedrich Hossbach, Zwischen Wehrmacht und Hitler, 2nd ed. 

(Gottingen, 1965), p. 188. 

2. Robert W. Tucker, The Just War (Baltimore, 1960), p. 14. 

3. This argument is brilliantly developed in Karl E. Jeismann, Das Problem 

des Praventivkrieges (Freiburg and Munich, 1957), see especially pp. 7-14, 

26-31. 

4. Martin Luther, “Ob Kriegsleut auch in seligem Stande sein konnen,” 

cited in Jeismann, p. 27. 

5. Ludwig Beck, Studien, ed. Hans Speidel (Stuttgart, 1955), p. 137. See 

also pp. 55-57, 60, 62, 123, and 251. 

6. Ibid., p. 109. 

7. Ibid., pp. 252-258. 

8. Adolf Heusinger, Befehl im Widerstreit (Tubingen and Stuttgart, 1950), 

p. 373. 

160 
THE MILITARY VIEW: 

COMMENTS BY SIX GERMAN GENERALS 

GENERAL WALTER WARLIMONT 

My comments concerning the events of October-November 

1939, which Professor Deutsch describes at length in his most 

interesting paper, will have to be limited to such information as I 

obtained in the course of my duties as a member of the German 

Armed Forces High Command (Oberkornrnando der WehrrnachtOKW) during this period. I must admit at the outset that I was 

totally unaware of any plans among the senior officer corps-the 

commanding generals, the Commander in Chief of the Army, and 

the Chief of the Generalstab-to overthrow Hitler and the Nazi 

regime in the event the planned West offensive was to be executed 

in the fall of 1939. On the other hand, I was aware of opposition 

among the army leadership against the proposed initiation of an 

offensive on the Western front at this time (October-November 

1939). This opposition was based on their assessment of the military situation which, in their opinion, militated against such a 

move. I have described these events in greater detail previously 

and feel that I can add little to it.’ 

Turning to Professor Deutsch’s paper, I would like to point 

out that before one attempts to pass judgment on the German 

military leaders involved in the events of October-November 1939, 

it is well to recognize that they did not represent a cohesive group, 

but rather various groupings with different motivations for their 

opposition to Hitler’s war plans at this time. With the exception of 

Colonel Oster, none of the military personalities involved belonged 

to any of the civilian resistance groups already in existence, and 

what Professor Deutsch calls the “military opposition” to Hitler in 

October-November 1939 was mainly an attempt on the part of a 

Translated and edited by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

161 
number of military leaders to defend the military interest and 

exercise their professional responsibilities in opposition to what 

they considered an adventurous military plan. Their “opposition” 

was primarily based on what they considered to be a sound militaryprofessional “estimate of the situation,” which differed greatly 

from that made by Hitler. The military leaders who argued against 

Hitler’s plan to initiate hostilities in the West in the fall of 1939 

did so because they viewed the plan as an adventurous undertaking. 

fraught with the dangers of possible defeat, because of the insufficient state of preparedness of the German armed forces at the 

time. It is possible that some of them may also have had second 

thoughts concerning the possible consequences of Hitler’s over-all 

military (and foreign) policies and their ultimate effect on the 

German nation, yet only a few of the senior commanders, General 

Halder, for example, seem to have had any connection with or 

knowledge of the more far-reaching intentions of the civilian antiHitler resistance groups, i.e., the circles around Goerdeler and 

Beck. It is therefore possible to distinguish, among the military 

leaders who were opposing Hitler’s military plan in the fall of 

1939, at least three separate categories, each pursuing different 

aims and united only in their common opposition to any initiation 

of a general German offensive in the West at this time. 

The first category-very few in number and consisting generally of lower ranking staff officers-had been associated with 

civilian resistance groups before 1939, and their members were 

now using their military positions in an attempt to enlarge the 

circle of anti-Hitler conspirators, particularly by trying to win 

over members of the higher, active-duty military leadership for 

their cause and its aims. The only officer known to me who belonged 

to this category was Colonel Oster; General Beck, at least at this 

time, cannot be considered as belonging to this category, even in a 

limited sense. The primary aim of men like Oster was the overthrow of Hitler and the Nazi regime, not just the prevention of the 

planned German fall offensive, for these men, more so than those 

belonging to the other categories, foresaw the dangers and the 

ultimate result that Hitler’s plan and policies portended for the 

German nation. 

The second category corisisted of those military officers who, 

although not part of either the Oster Circle or the civilian resistance 

group, had contact with both groups and their leaders, as evidenced 

162 
by the association among Halder, Oster, and Beck. Members of the 

second group were among the top leaders of the army hierarchy and 

thus in a position to oppose openly both Hitler’s war plans and 

policies as well as the planned fall offensive. Any secret political 

goals this group may have had (or wanted to pursue) were, in my 

opinion, purely secondary and in most instances not very clearly 

defined. General Halder can be seen as the prototype of this group, 

which also included Admiral Canaris and, although to a much lesser 

extent, General von Brauchitsch, the Commander in Chief of the 

Army. 

The last, and by far the largest, category consisted of those 

generals and General Staff officers who opposed Hitler’s immediate 

war plans based on purely military reasoning. On this basis alone, 

they were against the start of a German offensive in the West at this 

time. Some, though by no mdans all, were also personally concerned 

about the consequences that Hitler’s proposed military plans would 

have for the German people and nation, since they believed Hitler’s 

actions could lead to an unnecessary expansion of the existing 

military conflict and thereby to another World War. In my opinion, 

most of the commanding generals of the army, particularly those 

commanding the three Army Groups in the West, such as Generaloberst von Leeb, and many of the Army commanders, such as 

General von Reichenau, were included in this category. Even General Keitel, the Chief of the OKW, was opposed to the planned 

offensive. Colonel Jodl, on the other hand, did not take any position 

and remained silent, at least in the conversations I had with him on 

this matter. However, these generals did not view their open opposition to the Hitler-endorsed and OKW-planned fall offensive in the 

West as an act of opposition towards Hitler and the Nazi regime, 

but rather as an exercise of their prerogative as members of the 

military profession. That is they voiced their opinions, based on 

their professional expertise, in respect to a military situation affecting the nation’s security. T’hey considered it their right and duty 

to protest what they considered Hitler’s interference with the functions of the military professionals by forcing them to accept decisions which they as professionals considered mistakes. However, 

at no time did they look upon their protests as part of a larger effort 

or plan to overthrow (or even oppose) Hitler and the Nazi government, that is the political and national leadership. In fact, it seems 

that most of them were completely unaware of such possible coup 

163 
d’ettat plans as contemplated by General Halder and those closely 

associated with him, in the event that Hitler insisted on the implementation and execution of the fall offensive. Their actions could 

be compared with similar actions taken by British military leaders 

during World War I1 against some of Churchill’s military decisions. 

Unfortunately, these same generals, at least those who had not been 

sent into early retirement by Hitler in the early years of the war, 

later on made less and less use of their professional rights and 

duties in respect to Hitler’s military decisions and the direction of 

the war, particularly at the time when the ultimate consequences of 

these policies for the German people and nation had become clearly 

apparent. In fact, with the sole exception of General von Stulpnagel, 

not one of the generals who participated in the events of OctoberNovember 1939 can be found among the ranks of the military 

opposition to Hitler after 1939 or among the participants of the 

abortive 20 July 1944 plot. For this reason, I cannot agree with 

Professor Deutsch’s thesis that in the autumn of 1939 the military 

leadership was involved in a “conspiracy against Hitler” aimed at 

overthrowing him and the Nazi regime. 

In another instance, Professor Deutsch compares the actions 

and attitudes of the German military leadership at the time of the 

Czechoslovakian crisis (1938) with those prior to the attack on 

Poland (1939), suggesting, in support of his thesis, that a military 

opposition to Hitler already existed in both instances. In my opinion, one cannot compare the two situations since they differ greatly. 

In the Czechoslovakian situation, the military leadership voiced 

caution and concern over a possible military conflict, based solely 

on military considerations, namely the state of readiness of the 

armed forces. Thus, they refused to follow Hitler’s plans of action 

which in their opinion were based on an adventurous and dangerous 

national military and foreign policy. In the opinion of the military 

leadership, Czechoslovakia, particularly after the accomplishment 

of the Austrian Anschluss, no longer represented a strategic (military) threat to Germany, eliminating any need to solve the Czech 

Question by military means. On the other hand, Poland presented 

an entirely different situation, since she had always been regarded, 

particularly by the German military leadership, as Germany’s main 

military threat and natural enemy from 1918 on. Polish hostility 

toward Germany, beginning in 1918, and her refusal to normalize 

relations between the two countries served to reinforce this antag- 
onism among the military leadership. In addition, most of the 

officers had served at one time or another in the East Prussian 

Military District where the loss of Danzig and the Polish Corridor 

to Poland after World War I served as a most vivid reminder of 

German-Polish enmity. Any cautions and possible objections voiced 

on the part of the military toward Hitler’s plan to attack Poland 

were based solely on the uncertainty over possible Soviet military 

reaction (removed by the August 1939 Russo-German treaty) and 

that of Poland’s Western allies, France and England. No szbstantive 

objections were voiced by the military leadership against Hitler’s 

decision to attack Poland, to force a revision of the Versailles 

Treaty, and to recover the lost territories. On the other hand, the 

military leadership did not at any time consider it absolutely 

necessary or even desirable that the Polish Question be solved by 

military means alone. 

Lastly, I would like to comment briefly on one of the personalities involved in the October-November 1939 episode, namely 

General von Reichenau. I cannot agree with Professor Deutsch’s 

portrayal of the general, which to me seems far too one-sided and 

tends to create a false image. Although I was never in close personal contact with Reichenau, I knew him for many years and 

served under him at various times. Already as a young Guards 

officer before World War I, he was regarded as unusual by his 

fellow officers, since he insisted in participating in such public 

sports as soccer, which at that time was considered an activity 

unsuitable for a member of the Imperial Officer Corps. Throughout 

his life Reichenau maintained this habit of doing things which were 

frowned upon by his fellow officers or considered by them as 

detrimental to the image of the military profession. His actions 

in this respect were not guided by any desire to attract attention, 

but rather represented a personal and individual effort to break 

down the social isolation of the German officer corps and embue it 

with a more modern social philosophy (Gesellschuftspolitik), which 

would serve to integrate it more closely into society at large. This 

is not to say that Reichenau was less conservative or aristocratic 

than his fellow officers, but he recognized that by its self-enforced, 

extreme social isolation, the Reichswehr officer corps had removed 

itself from the mainstream of German society during the 1920s. 

This same tendency to go his own way became equally ap165 
parent in the conduct of his military duties. He refused to obey the 

many unwritten rules by which any military institution lives, and I 

suspect he often disregarded the written regulations as well. He 

went his own way, more concerned with infusing new ideas and 

innovations into the military system-often acting impulsively in 

this respect-rather than imitating the tried and .true traditional 

methods of the past. The General Staff training exercises (Generdstubsreisen) which he conducted (and in which I participated) 

differed greatly from the usual type of such exercises because he 

used completely different and modern methods of instruction. These 

personal characteristics earned him a dubious reputation among 

his fellow officers. His superiors looked upon him with a high 

degree of suspicion as to his earnestness and professionalism, although clearly recognizing his outstanding military capabilities and 

qualifications. This, together with his early and openly announced 

endorsement of many of the ideas of the rising Nazi Party, accounted for the opposition of even such officers as General Keitel 

and Colonel Jodl to his proposed nomination as Commander in 

Chief of the Army by Hitler in January 1938, following the 

BlombergFritsch crisis. 

Yet I believe that exactly these traits of Reichenau, that is his 

opposition to the social isolation of the officer corps and its inherent 

traditionalism, were in large part responsible for his attraction to 

National Socialist ideology, particularly in its early forms. Later, 

when he began to recognize more clearly the nature and aim of 

the Nazi movement, he began to assume a more detached role, 

cautioning against some of the manifestations of the movement, 

particularly in his association with Field Marshal von Blomberg, 

his superior, who was also favorably inclined toward National 

Socialism. 

What makes Reichenau as a person so fascinating to me-and, 

I am sure, also to others-is that if one views (with hindsight) the 

period of the 1930s in Germany, he seems to have been the only 

general officer among the military leadership who possessed a high 

degree of political awareness. He certainly seems to have been the 

only one among his fellow generals who would have been able to 

counter the intentions of the military and foreign policies of Hitler 

as well as Himmler-with whom he supposedly had a close personal 

relationship-and deal with them on equal terms. Hitler appreciated Reichenau’s characteristics as long as they served his purpose, 

166 
namely to tie (and subordinate) the officer corps more closely to 

the Nazi state. However, I also believe that at the same time he was 

afraid of Reichenau because of the latter’s political acumen and 

capabilities, which, for example, were illustrated during the Russian campaign when Reichenau demanded that Hitler institute an 

administration based on military rather than political aims in the 

German-occupied territories in the East. Reichenau’s early connection with the Nazi Party, which began during the time of his assignment to the East Prussian Military District in the late 19209, must 

also be viewed within the context of certain national military 

requirements. The need (by the military) to garner all possible 

resources for the defense of this exposed province, threatened by 

Polish intransigency and aggressive designs, may have led him to 

seek contact with the Nazi Party both in East Prussia and on a 

national level, in order to win new and needed support for this 

purpose. His outspoken opposition to Hitler’s war plans in the 

autumn of 1939, particularly his condemnation of the intended 

border violation of Belgium and the Netherlands, an integral part 

of the planned offensive, was, in my opinion, based on purely 

political considerations. As his remarks during the 22 August 1939 

Berghof Conference indicated, he opposed war as such, and if this 

could not be avoided, then he hoped at least to prevent the expansion of the conflict into a new World War. That Hitler was 

unwilling to accept such views even from Reichenau is clearly 

shown by the fact that their relationship began to cool soon thereafter, particularly after 1940, as Hitler began to dissociate himself 

more and more from him. On the other hand, none of the other 

generals would have been able even to voice such opposing views 

as Reichenau did in front of Hitler in autumn of 1939. 

NOTES 

1. Walter Warlimont, Inside Hider’s Headquarters, 1939-1 945, translated 

by R. H. Barry (New York, 19M), pp. 41-65. 

167 
GENERAL LEO FREIHERR GEYR von SCHWEPPENBURG 

I have read Professor Deutsch‘s detailed and extensive paper 

with great pleasure. However, after considerable study of the cited 

sources I have become convinced that his thesis suffers (and is 

bound to suffer) in its historical accuracy since historians are often 

unable to determine the truthfulness of the source materials. Even 

today, when younger members of the former German General Staff 

describe these historical events based on their own experiences, their 

knowledge and interpretation of the personalities who participated 

in the events and the motives prompting their action cannot be as 

close to the truth as those which come from contemporaries who 

were an integral part of the circle of leading military figures under 

discussion. 

Turning specifically to Professor Deutsch’s remarks concerning 

the October-November 1939 events, I must admit that I was not 

aware of any plans on the part of the military leadership to overthrow Hitler at that time. Although I myself was ill during this 

period, I had been informed that conferences were taking place 

among military leaders concerning proposals by the Armed Forces 

High Command (Oberkomrnando der Wehrmacht-OKW) with 

respect to offensive operations in the West, and I knew that a large 

part of the Generalitiit opposed these planned operations. However, 

upon my return to duty in December 1939, as Commanding General 

of the 3d Armored Division, I participated in a conference with 

other division commanders at Dusseldorf under the chairmanship 

of our Commanding General, General Hopner, who was executed in 

1944 for participation in the 20th of July plot against Hitler. The 

purpose of this meeting seemed to be not to ascertain the attitudes 

of the division commanders toward the planned OKW offensive but 

rather their political attitude toward it and toward Hitler. I am 

convinced that General HSpner himself opposed Hitler’s (and the 

OKW’s) plan for an offensive in the West. However, since the 

German military leadership by this time was already divided into 

two groups, one which believed strongly in Hitler and his military 

Translated and edited by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

168 
genius and one which considered the planned West offensive politically as a mad undertaking, no one could trust his fellow officers 

with respect to their political attitudes and orientation. 

I must admit that I never heard of any attempts on the part 

of General von Reichenau to stop Hitler’s plans for an offensive in 

the West. Based on my intimate knowledge of Reichenau as a 

person, I cannot believe that he was seriously concerned with such 

an attempt, i.e., one of actual opposition to Hitler. 

Both Generals von Reichenau and Heinrich von Stulpnagel 

were old acquaintances of mine. We had met as lieutenants and had 

been classmates at the War Academy (Kriegsakademie) from 1911 

to 1914; Stulpnagel was actually my closest friend in my own age 

group on the General Staff. He and Reichenau belonged to the same 

seminar group at the War Academy, while I was assigned to a 

different group. Reichenau was already known at this time as an 

accomplished athlete, particularly in boxing, and he remained 

until his death a true fighter. Stulpnagel, on the other hand, was 

in my opinion one of the most outstanding military personalities, 

both in the Reichswehr and later on in the Wehrmacht. He served 

as Chief of the Wehrmacht’s Foreign Liaison Division from 1933- 

1936 and was very conversant with British affairs, for which he 

had developed an interest during his studies at the War Academy 

before World War I. During the 1930s both he and General Ludwig 

Beck (and I, as their spokesman as German Military Attache in 

London) fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the British General Staff 

to keep the peace in Europe, as long as Sir John Dill and Sir 

Bernard Paget were left in control.’ 

Before General von Fritsch took over as Commander in Chief 

of the Wehrmacht in 1934, Reichenau had assumed control over 

the military attaches for a short period of time in 1933, based on 

his position as Chief of Staff to General von Blomberg. During a 

conference called by Reichenau in 1933, it became apparent that 

all the military attaches were more or less opposed to him, mainly 

because he was an avowed National Socialist sympathizer. As a 

military leader Reichenau showed energy and initiative ; however, 

Stiilpnagel was certainly his superior, both as a thinker and as a 

human being. Though he had only a limited knowledge of England, 

Reichenau thought himself an expert on that country, primarily 

169 
because he spoke English and had translated several of Liddell 

Hart’s books during the early 1930s. 

1 do not believe in the validity of the statement that Reichenau 

protested very strongly against the planned West offensive in the 

autumn of 1939. On what evidence this statement is based, I do 

not know. However, I personally had a vehement argument with 

Reichenau only a few days before the outbreak of the war in 

August 1939. Since we had been fellow students at the War Academy, we were not in the habit of mincing words. General von 

Stulpnagel had already told me that he too had had repeated arguments with Reichenau over political issues which had progressed to 

the point where they faced each other with clenched fists. In my 

encounter with Reichenau, which took place approximately tm days 

before the outbreak of the war, Reichenau asked me: “DO you still 

believe that the British will fight?” I replied in the affirmative and 

gave him my reasons for this opinion. Reichenau then said: “You 

see, Geyr, you are the man who has indoctrinated (aufoktroiert) 

Fritsch and Beck with these opinions. You are responsible for the 

position the army finds itself in today vis-A-vis Hitler.” * 

A few days prior to this incident I had attended the meeting 

at which the Commander in Chief of the Army, General von 

Brauchitsch, announced the planned attack against Poland to all 

Commanding Generals; I represented the Commanding General of 

the XIV Armored Corps, who was on leave, at this occasion. During 

a garden party which took place afterwards, I was standing near 

Brauchitsch and Reichenau and heard the latter, who had just 

returned from London, where he had participated in a meeting of 

the International Olympic Committee, confirming von Brauchitsch’s 

opinion that England most certainly would not fight.* 

I also do not believe that Reichenau later on in October 1939 

went to any great length to warn against the violation of Belgian 

and Dutch neutrality in connection with the planned OKW West 

offensive. After I again assumed command of my 3d Armored 

Division in December 1939, I was given my operational orders with 

respect to the Western offensive, which consisted of breaking 

through the Maastricht appendix into Belgium. Immediately after 

receiving these orders, I went to my higher headquarters, 6th 

Army, which was commanded by Reichenau. Unfortunately he was 

not present and I could only speak with the Chief of Staff, Paulus, 

170 
whom I knew well, and his Deputy Chief of Operations, General 

von Bechtolsheim, who had been my successor as military attach6 

in London. I made the following statement to them: “What I have 

been ordered to do is an abominable act (Schweinerei). For many 

years I had the official mission to win the confidence of the Belgians 

and to reassure the Dutch.4 Now you are asking that I, as the first 

one, shall invade their territories with my armored division, and as 

a soldier in war I have no choice but to obey!” Paulus, who was a 

very decent person, remained completely silent. However, another 

officer, who had been Deputy Chief of Staff at armored corps level, 

said only: “An English officer would not have such doubts.” Shortly 

afterwards I was transferred to the command of an infantry corps 

in the southern and quiet part of the Western front. 

Personally I considered any offensive action against the Western powers as a further step in the wrong direction for Germany, 

for I had returned from Great Britain in 1937 with the conviction, 

constantly reflected in my dispatches (ill-received in Berlin), that 

the United States would never stand by idly and see England 

defeated without intervening.’ (The files of my reports are still 

available today. ) I remember telling my French colleague, General 

Voruz, in 1935 as we returned from the rather dull British fall 

maneuvers, that “Your Napoleon has taken a terrible revenge on 

Prussianism by inculcating it with the concept that battles won 

represent the only decisive element in war.” 

Later, after my return to Berlin, I proceeded immediately, 

based on my personal estimate of Anglo-Saxon air and naval 

power,’ to make such preparations for my family as I considered 

necessary in order to spare them from the results of what I expected 

to be a German defeat. My decision was not based on historical 

memories, but purely on the practical experiences and observations 

which I had gained during my years as military attach6 in England. 

It is my personal opinion that the planned coup &&at of General Halder and others could not have succeeded. Neither Halder 

nor Brauchitsch, just as Fritsch and Beck before them, could have 

used any part of the army to intervene in domestic affairs, particularly in the face of Hitler’s steadily growing foreign policy 

successes from 1934 on. Had they attempted to do this the memories 

of the “Kapp-Luttwitz Putsch” of 1920* would certainly have been 

reawakened among the great majority of the German people. The 

171 
result would not only have been a complete failure of such a coup, 

but also would have brought on a civil war due to the attitudes of 

the German people, the army, and the other services. This, in my 

opinion, would have been the outcome of any plans contemplated 

by General Halder and also reflects my own position with respect to 

them. Halder’s plans were dreams, justified no doubt, but incapable 

of execution in reality. After the close of the Polish campaign, my 

good and faithful friend and colleague, General Heinrich von 

Stiilpnagel, approached me once more and asked me to participate 

with my division in the elimination of Hitler and his association 

of gangsters. I knew the division I commanded only too well and 

therefore had no choice but to turn him down. My decision was 

greatly influenced by the fact that Hitler had personally visited 

the division during the Polish campaign on the terrible battlefield 

on the Vistula and thanked us for our accomplishments.’ Under 

these circumstances, I knew the division would not follow me into 

such an undertaking as a coup d’6tat against Hitler; my unit commanders, the regimental and battalion officers, would not have 

participated. The assuinption, often voiced since, that they would 

have followed any order issued by the higher military leadership 

rests on a mistaken premise. Automatic subordination and obedience 

to an order issued by the higher command was no longer apparent 

nor predictable in the Wehrrnacht. From my own experience I can 

say the following. After the catastrophic German defeat and the 

end of my imprisonment, I questioned a number of officers of my 

3d Armored Division, who had survived war and imprisonment. All 

told I questioned twelve officers with ranks between major and 

colonel, who had served under me in the Polish and Russian 

campaigns, from Moscow to Baku and the Caspian Sea. They were 

all men with whom one “could have kidnaped the devil’s grandmother right out of hell.” I asked them specifically: “Would you 

have obeyed an order from me in 1939 to clean out the Reich 

Chancellery with Hitler in it?” Ten, without hesitation, replied, 

“No, Herr General, that we would not have done!” One, an excellent officer and Knight’s Cross holder, stated that this would have 

“In March 1920 Free Corps and military units stationed in and around 

Berlin, led by General von Luttwitz, attempted to overthrow the civilian 

government of the Weimar Republic. Dr. Kapp, a right wing civil servant, 

was named President of the new government, proclaimed by the mutinous 

troops. [Ed. note 3 

172 
put him into a conflict between his conscience and his military 

oath; only one of the twelve replied in the affirmative. Since I had 

known this officer and my division during two peacetime years 

before the outbreak of the war, I felt I could ask him the following 

question: “Would the commanding officer of the 5th Company of 

your battalion have followed such an order?” He replied in the 

negative . 

Dr. Hjalmar Schacht, the former President of the Reichsbank, 

also approached me during this time (October 1939) to consider 

such an undertaking, since my division was stationed in Berlin.’ 

In my opinion, this would have been a hopeless endeavor then, 

especially since my first General Staff officer, my adjutant, as well 

as my immediate superior, General Guderian, and his Chief of 

Staff, Paulus, were all confirmed National Socialists. It must also 

be remembered that at this time the criminal nature of Hitler and 

his intentions were still unknown throughout the army. I was only 

aware of these, since I had not had to live within the “Chinese 

Propaganda Wall” of Germany during this time due to my long 

assignment in London. For this reason it would have been very 

doubtful to say how such military leaders as von Leeb, von Bock, 

and von Brauchitsch would have reacted to such a proposal. Furthermore, Field Marshal von Leeb, the most intelligent among 

them, had already been retired from the army in February 1938, 

at the time General von Fritsch was removed from the army. Only 

because he was such an outstanding general and military thinker 

had von Leeb been recalled in 1939. Later on in 1942, when he 

refused to condone Hitler’s and the Ss’s criminal activities at the 

Leningrad front, he was removed from command again. In retrospect I believe that the mass of tile German army would not have 

acted against Hitler-not to mention the air force, the navy, and 

the strong Prussian police units, which were under the complete 

control of Goering. 

I was acquainted with General Halder due to my service on 

the General Staff. In rank he was approximately one year ahead of 

me. My personal judgment of his character is completely positive. 

His predecessor, General Beck, had been the perfect example of the 

“Moltke” type of General Staff officer, which the honest and 

eminently diligent Halder was not. The two most intelligent officers, 

according to my judgment, whom I met during 43 years of active 

173 
military service were General Ludwig Beck and Sir John Dill. 

Halder did not have the same ability to understand foreign policy 

issues as did Beck, but then Beck was a singular exception in this 

respect among the German military leadership. Beck's conceptions 

were global in nature and he even could be ranked in this respect 

above the otherwise outstanding Count von Schlieffen. Halder was 

extraordinarily religious. Being a Protestant he was less endangered 

in this respect by the hostile attitude towards religion of Hitler and 

the National Socialists than a Catholic would have been. Practicing 

Catholics, as for example Field Marshal von Leeb, General Dollmann, Commander of the 7th Army during the 1944 invasion, 

or myself, were only left in higher command positions in the armed 

forces if they were still needed and proved useful. 

It should also be realized that within the officer corps of the 

Wehrrnacht generation problems did exist. These of course will 

always be present within any officer corps of any nation, just as they 

exist today in the new West German Armed Forces, the Bundeswehr. 

However, I believe that with respect to the military opposition 

against Hitler they play an important role. The older generation of 

officers, those who had experienced the cleanliness of the Imperial 

Army and the Reichswehr, did not lightly overlook the criminal 

side of Hitler and the Nazi movement. This, however, was certainly 

not the case with most of the younger officers, and at the beginning 

of the Third Reich applied also to the younger generation of General Staff officers. The younger generation was blinded by Hitler's 

foreign policy successes until 1939 and particularly by the military 

victory over Poland. Another important aspect was the status of 

officer education after 1934, since it certainly had a decisive impact 

on the army and its attitudes. Both Generals Fritsch and Beck 

strongly opposed the too rapid expansion of the Wehrrnacht after 

1934, particularly in regard to the officer corps. They were concerned that a too raid expansion would lead to the elimination of a 

planned and meaningful education of the officer corps with respect 

to what an officer-who, according to George Washington, should 

be a gentleman-must do and cannot do. After 1935 it became 

standard practice that as soon as a new group of officers had received their training, they were immediately assigned to newly 

formed line units. A thorough education of the officers in the duties 

of their profession was therefore not possible. 

174 
NOTES 

1. See Leo Freiherr Geyr von Schweppenburg, Erinnerungen eines 

Militarattachks, London 1933-1937 (Stuttgart, 1949) , pp. 65-79, 92-111. 

2. Ibid., p. 171. 

3. Ibid. 

4. Ibid., pp. 126-146, 156-163. 

5. Ibid., p. 169. 

6. Ibid., pp. 50.64. 

7. Leo Freiherr Geyr von Schweppenburg, “Meetings with Hitler,” An 

Cosantoir, XXVII (January, 1967), 10-11. 

8. See my testimony at the denazification trial of Dr. Schacht, Protokoll 

der Berufsverhandlung gegen Dr. Hjalmar Schacht, 2 August 1948-1 September 1948, 2 vot. Mimeo. (Ludwigsburg, 1948), Vol. I, pp. 246-248. 

GENERAL HASSO von MANTEUFFEL 

At the outset I must admit that I never knew anything concerning a military opposition (or even a plot) against Hitler until 

the events of 20 July 1944 made this public knowledge. But then I 

was still a major in 1939 and thus had little opportunity of contact 

with the higher military leadership. It was not until the last years 

of World War 11, when I was made Commanding General of the 

Grossdeutschland Division in January 1944, that I came into continuous and direct contact with the national leadership, both military and political, being given the right to report directly to Hitler 

any time I wished to do so. At the Fuhrerhauptquartier I became 

exposed-willingly or unwillingly-to the implications of political 

events, their causes, background, and consequences, and their effect 

on the military situation. I also witnessed for the first time the 

conflicts which existed between the political and military advisors 

of Hitler. 

Before addressing myself to Professor Deutsch‘s paper and the 

most interesting comments of Mr. von Luttichau, a few words about 

Translated and edited by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

175 
the attitudes toward politics and its role in the professional education of myself (and most of my fellow officers) may be appropriate 

since, at least in my opinion, this has a direct bearing on the 

subject matter. I also would like to point out that my comments 

on Professor Deutsch’s paper are not based on hindsight or the 

knowledge I acquired after the war, when the archives were opened, 

about the true nature of events in Germany during the period 

1933-1945. On the contrary, I have tried to describe my reaction 

to events as I saw and judged them at the time they were happening. 

In the 100,000-man army of the Weimar Republic (1919- 

1932), regular career officers such as myself were kept completely 

“unpolitical” with respect to party politics in line with the educational policies of General von Seeckt. Because of this the Reichswehr 

and particularly its officer corps were isolated from the political 

environment of the rest of society. Personal political opinions or 

ideas that could possibly have led to discussion of such matters 

during officers’ calls, meetings at the officers’ mess, or at the 

dining-in’s (Herrenabende) were unwelcome. General Groener’s 

demand that officers stay away from any association with politics 

reinforced this situation. As officers we were neither informed of 

domestic or foreign policy events nor were the background and 

causes of these events discussed or explained to us by our senior 

officers or the commanders. One acquired knowledge of such matters, if interested at all, from reading the daily newspapers of the 

various political “colorations” or from discussions in the various 

associations and clubs to which one belonged, all of which, however, 

had one-sided political orientations. To have contact with so-called 

opposition circles, such as Social Democrats, was not considered 

proper for an officer. A political or civic education for the officer 

corps did not exist, certainly not in the regiments in which I served 

as a young officer during these years. At the mandatory officer’s calls 

directed by the regimental commander, we heard no talks on 

politics by our superiors prior to 1932, although these officers’ 

calls were designed to serve as a medium for the education and 

training of the officer corps. 

I might mention in this context that during the 1920s I served 

first as regimental adjutant, later company (Esskadron) commander 

of a cavalry regiment stationed at Rathenow and from 1930 until 

1933 as company commander in another cavalry regiment stationed 

176 
in Bamberg (Bavaria). In 1934 I was transferred to the 2d Tank 

Division at Eisenach as staff officer (major) to help organize 

and train this new division. At Eisenach we younger officers 

had neither the time nor the opportunity to inform ourselves of 

what was happening in the political arena, being kept fully occupied 

by our military duties. Only when I was transferred to the Tank 

Warfare School at Wuensdorf near Berlin in 1936, and particularly 

after being posted to the War Ministry (Reichskriegsministerium) 

in Berlin in 1937, did I hear more about political events, both 

during duty hours as well as during the course of social (offduty) activities. In the small and distant garrison towns, such as 

Rathenow, Bamberg, or Eisenach, this had not been the case at all 

and one had little or no opportunity to see or speak with members 

of the higher military leadership (Generalitiit). In February 1939, 

I left the War Ministry and became commander of the academic 

staff at the Tank Warfare School No. 2 at Potsdam-Krampnitz, 

where I was responsible for the education and training of armored 

warfare officers. On 31 May 1941, I was transferred to the field 

army (Feldarmee). 

Turning to the events of October-November 1939, I never knew 

that there was opposition among the higher military circles against 

the planned OKW West offensive. But then I was never assigned to 

the General Staff and had already left the War Ministry by this 

time. During my tour of duty at the Ministry, I had been assigned 

to the Allgemeine Heeresamt, which was then commanded by General Fromm. The Allgemeine Heeresamt was the equivalent of the 

former Imperial War Ministry, but organizationally (after 1938) 

it belonged to the Army High Command (Oberkommando des 

Heeres-OKH). My specific duties were that of a Branch Chief 

in the Division for Armored Warfare (Znspektion fur Panzertruppen), where I was chiefly responsible for manpower and equipment 

requirements for the newly created motorized and armored units. 

While I had little or no occasion during my tour of duty to speak 

with any of the generals referred to by Professor Deutsch in his 

paper, these officers were all “known” to me since they had served 

in the Reichswehr and its 4,000-man officer corps. Some, such as 

Generals von Rundstedt, von Brauchitsch, Freiherr von Fritsch, and 

von Bock, had been my immediate superiors. However, if and 

when a junior officer like myself had an opportunity to talk to 

them, the conversation usually covered such topics as military 

177 
matters, sports, or personal affairs. Such “conversations” were not 

designed to give any indications of the political attitudes of the 

generals, particularly with respect to their feelings toward Hitler 

and the Nazi movement. I never talked with Generals von Reichenau, 

yon Stiilpnagel, or Ritter von Leeb, since there was no occasion for 

any official contact. General Halder I hardly saw at all during my 

two years at OKH; I never spoke to him. Any conversations I had 

with any of the other generals mentioned pertained only to specific 

military matters in connection with my assigned position. Mention 

of the political or military-political situation or contemplated military actions connected with General Halder’s plans were never part 

of such conversations. Nor did I ever hear of such plans through 

other sources. 

Personally I had the highest esteem for General Freiherr von 

Fritsch and General von Rundstedt, both in terms of their military 

leadership qualifications and as individuals. Within the army and 

the officer corps, both were regarded with a feeling of complete 

assurance and dependability, since their firm stand vis-h-vis Hitler 

and the increasingly evident machinations against the army emanating from the various Nazi party organizations and their ruling 

clique of “mediocre” personalities (Minderwertigen) was a known 

fact. On the other hand, Generals Keitel and Jodl were generally 

regarded within the officer corps as men who stood closer to Hitler 

than most of the other generals. Both seemed to be completely 

under Hitler’s spell and followed his ideas and directions with 

respect to military-political questions; at least this seemed to be 

the opinion of most of the officers. 

Although I am in no position to comment on Professor 

Deutsch‘s account with respect to any existing military opposition 

groups during the October-November 1939 period, based on personal knowledge or involvement, I can state with absolute certainty 

that General Halder was practically unknown within the army and 

among the line officers (who made up the bulk of the officer corps). 

Only among Bavarians and General Staff officers was his name 

known. In order to put his contemplated plans into effect, General 

Halder would have required first of all the support of the Commander in Chief of the Army as well as the numerous commanders 

of all ranks, for in 1938-1939 the line units were firmly under 

the control of their regimental and unit commanders. Thus, it would 

178 
have been necessary to thoroughly prepare all of the generals with 

respect to what he, Halder, and his group intended to do. One 

could not have expected the Commanding Generals and the army as 

a whole to have followed blindly the orders of the new “rulers” 

(Machthubern), which would have included the act of breaking 

their oath of loyalty. Without such preparation and enlightenment 

of the army, a coup #&at from above could never have succeeded. 

As I try to place myself into the situation as it existed in 1938 and 

1939, I feel that a basic prerequisite for any coup would have been 

a clear realization on the part of both the army and the German 

people that their chosen leaders-Hitler and the Nazi Party-were 

not fulfilling their tasks properly but were instead misusing their 

mandate from the people by working toward the detriment of both 

people and nation. The existence of irrefutable proof would have 

been the only means to achieve this, since during 1938 and 1939 

Hitler stood at the zenith of his power in the eyes of both people 

and army and had the unquestioned esteem and loyalty of the entire 

nation. On the other hand, within the officer corps confidence in the 

military leadership was beginning to erode, since it was generally 

felt that Hitler had been able to “streamroller” the Generalittit in 

February 1938, at the time of the dismissal of General von Fritsch 

and a large number of other outstanding generals. Many of the 

officers, including myself, felt that Hitler, with the aid of Keitel and 

his informants in the army, was in a position to do with the army 

as he pleased. It must also be recognized that by 1938-1939 the 

bulk of the draftees and a large percentage of the recalled and 

newly commissioned officers of the line units had come out of the 

various Nazi Party organizations and the Hitler Youth. These 

people were not going to follow any coup d’ktat plans blindly under 

any circumstance. The Berlin-Potsdam garrisons, upon which Generald Halder “thought” he could depend, in case he were to put 

his plans into effect, represented only a very small part of the army. 

Any participation by the navy and the air force in Halder’s plans 

was completely out of the question at this time. It is my belief that 

Halder’s plans, as outlined by Professor Deutsch, indicated an 

overestimation of not only his own personal stature and his official 

position, but a miscalculation as well of the position and importance 

of “his” General Staff, since the latter did not possess any power of 

command (Befehls und Kommandogewalt) over any army unit. 

Furthermore, it was Hitler, not Halder, who could count on the 

179 
unquestioned loyalty of the bulk of the army and, more importantly, that of the German people. 

I also feel that Halder’s plans could not have been put into 

operation at the time, certainly not without the full agreement and 

cooperation of the Commander in Chief of the Army, General von 

Brauchitsch. But even if this had been the case, neither the army nor 

the officer corps would have been ready to assist their Commander 

in Chief in any coup d’ttat plans for he, and General Halder in his 

name, possessed command authority over the army only with respect to military matters. Both generals lacked the absolutely 

required political basis and popularity for such an action. In addition, the Commander in Chief of the Army represented (and commanded) only one branch of the military services. A revolutionary 

act on his part would have immediately destroyed the unity of the 

armed forces, since participation by the navy and the air force was 

out of the question. Lastly, it had been impossible since the events 

of February 1938 ta effect a united stand among the generals. 

Under the prevailing circumstances it was impossible to obtain 

agreement by all, or for that matter even a majority, of the general 

officers for such an undertaking. The dismissal of Fritsch and the 

other highly qualified generals, many of whom had been well known 

within the army, had split the officer corps. Nor did the officer corps 

as a group possess the necessary insight to recognize that it had a 

duty to interpose itself against any unconstitutional actions by the 

political leadership. For example, it was not generally recognized 

or understood that the events of 30 June 1934 (the Roehm Affair) 

had in fact represented an unconstitutional act (Rechtsbruch) on 

the part of Hitler and the Party. The officer corps, as well as the 

public at large, viewed these events as unavoidable, legitimate 

actions by the government, since this was the official explanation 

given to both parliament (Reichstag) and the public. In my opinion, 

confidence in any general who was to lead the coup d’dtut, as for 

example Halder, was lacking. The army would not have believed 

that any one of the generals was honest in whatever he would have 

attempted to do, particularly since both the generals and the officer 

corps, due to Nazi propaganda and indoctrination, no longer possessed the high degree of popular prestige and confidence among the 

German people, which they had had prior to 1933. Neither would 

the vast majority of the population have endorsed such an attempt 

on the part of the military, but would in all probability-as far as 

180 
I am concerned, this is a certainty-have actively opposed such an 

attempt, particularly since the success of such an operation would 

have seemed rather doubtful in view of the strong and militant 

capability which existed within the para-military organizations of 

the Nazi Party, i.e., the S. A. (Storm Troops) and the S. S. 

The so-called failure of the military leadership since 1933 

(failure to protest against actions by Hitler and the Party at various 

critical moments after 1933) had brought forth a fear within the 

officer corps that Hitler was steadfastly pursuing his aim to 

strengthen his position vis-A-vis the military in order to “coordinate” (gleichschalten) the army, as he had done with all other 

national institutions. It was clear to us that the events of February 

1938 marked the turning point in the relation between Hitler and 

the political leadership of the nation on the one hand, and the army 

on the other. This became even more evident as the leaders of the 

Nazi Party at all levels assumed an increasingly challenging attitude towards the officer corps. At the same time we were aware 

that the Nazi Party leadership, particularly at the lower levels, 

represented a ruling clique of inferior individuals who by pushing 

themselves into the foreground after 1933 had achieved their 

present position of leadership. Particularly in the smaller garrisons, 

everyone, including the members of the officer corps, was completely 

aware of who these people, the “little Hitlers,” were, their background and reputation. Their increasingly more open attempts to 

achieve greater “political coordination” of the army, i.e., bring the 

army into line with the aims of the Nazi Party, resulted in strong 

opposition by the officer corps which often led to open conflict 

between the local party and army leadership. All in all, this increased the continuing erosion of confidence in the military leadership. After February 1938 the army lacked a professional military 

leadership echelon that could represent its requirements and interests with sufficient authority vis-&-vis the Chief of State. Furthermore, as a result of the introduction of compulsory military service 

in 1935, the army was being inundated with officers, NCOs, and 

enlisted men, all of whom in civilian life had been members of the 

various political organizations of the Nazi Party. The vast majority 

of both enlisted men and NCOs was firmly wedded to the Hitler 

movement. Many of the younger officers were imbued with National 

Socialist philosophy, although the middle-aged group of officers 

(from the rank of captain on up and over 35 years) generally had 

181 
a critical, sometimes very critical, attitude toward the Nazi movement. On the other hand, the confidence of both enlisted men and 

NCOs in their officers remained firm, since it was based on the 

absolute and certain conviction that\ the officers would not order 

their men to do anything that would either be obviously criminal 

in nature or directed against the nation’s welfare. 

Although I never knew anything about General von Reichenau’s 

plans (and his motives) to postpone the planned OKW West offensive, I personally thought that the army was neither ready nor 

capable at that time (autumn 1939) to effectively confront France 

and her allies, mainly because of the quick pace of German rearmament since 1935, and particularly the repeated reorganizations 

of the line units. I simply felt that Germany was not ready for war. 

My personal assessment of the military-political situation at this 

time was also influenced by memories of the First World War, since 

I was sure that any violation of neutral territory (Belgium or the 

Netherlands, or both) would bring England and in all probability 

the United States onto the scene. This in turn would mean the 

beginning of another world war. Lastly, I considered that the time 

was wrong for a military confrontation in 1939. I was strengthened 

in this assessment by my awareness from official documents that 

our raw material resources base was insufficient and that our allies 

were not at all prepared for war. General Thomas, Chief of the 

OKW War Economy and Armament Division (Vehrwirtschufts-und 

Riistungsstab), whom I knew personally since he had been the 

senior General Staff officer of my division during World War I, 

had also told me on several occasions that we were unprepared to 

fight a major war. 

The possibility that the war could expand gave rise to many 

discussions within the officer corps. Generally it was agreed that 

almost assuredly England would come to the assistance of France 

and that, insofar as we were able to judge the political situation, 

the United States would also come to the assistance of France, 

directly or indirectly. We had heard Roosevelt’s speeches and felt 

that he would use the persecution of the Jews as a legitimate reason 

to follow up his previous “warnings” to Hitler with actual deeds. 

Whether American support would take the form of armament and 

raw materials aid or possibly even result in sending troops to 

France was a matter of lively discussion at the time. 

182 
Although my comments contain no new or startling information 

concerning the events described by Professor Deutsch, the views of 

a line officer may serve to shed some insight on the thinking that 

prevailed within the officer corps during that time. In this context 

it should be recognized that the vast majority of officers associated 

with the military opposition to Hitler, from 1938 to 1944, were 

either General Staff officers or had served on the General Staff; few, 

if any, line officers were among its participants. 

FIELD MARSHAL ERICH von MANSTEIN 

Professor Deutsch‘s paper contains, along with much that is 

correct, a number of biased judgements concerning the role of 

the German military leadership during the period 1933 to 1939, 

particularly with respect to some of the individuals involved. 

Moreover, he bases these largely on certain source materials, i.e., 

diaries, which are not available to me and whose trustworthiness 

as historical evidence seems, at least to me, questionable. 

A coup d’ktut by the military, which would have had to include 

the removal of not only Hitler but also of Goering, Himmler, 

Goebbels, Ley, and the majority of the Gauleiters (provincial Nazi 

Party chiefs), never really had a chance of success during the 

period 1933 to 1939. In fact only during the final phase of the 

war, when at last parts of the population and the army had lost 

their confidence in Hitler, could such an undertaking have counted 

on at least a reasonable chance of success. Professor Deutsch speaks 

of the number of “missed opportunities” on the part of the generals 

to remove Hitler and thereby change the course of events in Germany between 1933 and 1939. Let me comment on some of these 

briefly. 

On 30 June 1934, when Generals von Schleicher and von 

Bredow were murdered, a military coup d’ktut was impossible, 

because both the people and the army were relieved that Hitler by 

his action had prevented the danger of a “second” revolution, the 

threatened Putsch by the S.A. (Storm Troopers). Although Captain 

Translated and edited by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

183 
Roehm, Chief of the S.A., had not exactly planned to implement 

this revolution on the 30th of June, it was evident that it had to 

come, and soon, a realization which hung like a nightmare over the 

German people. At this time I was Chief of Staff of the Berlin 

Military District (Wehrkreiskommando) and received through my 

office a great deal of information, all of which indicated that a 

Putsch by the S.A. was definitely in the making. 

After the murders of Generals von Schleicher and von Bredow, 

I personally asked my commanding general, the later Field Marshal 

von Witzleben, to demand an investigation of the case from General 

von Fritsch. Fritsch did in fact bring this matter up with the War 

Minister, General von Blomberg, who told him that Hitler had 

promised to furnish him documentary proof that Schleicher had 

been engaged in a conspiracy with the French ambassador. To my 

knowledge neither Blomberg nor Fritsch ever received such documents from Hitler. The declaration of honor which Field Marshal 

von Mackensen later enunciated for both generals before the 

Schlieffen Society was the only thing which could be achieved at 

the time. In this context it should be recognized that open rebellion 

by the army in this matter was impossible, particularly after 

Hindenburg, apparently falsely informed by Hitler, endorsed the 

latter’s actions of 30 June 1934. Even more decisive at this time 

was the universal relief of both people and army that Hitler by his 

act of violence had thwarted the danger of a second revolution. 

Lastly, the oath of loyalty to the Commander in Chief bound the 

army to Hindenburg, who by endorsing Hitler’s actions removed 

any possibility of military intervention after the events had taken 

place. 

Turning to the next instance of “missed opportunities,” it is 

my opinion that Hitler on 4 February 1938 took the commanding 

generals completely by surprise when he informed them of the 

so-called Fritsch affair. Due to the secrecy surrounding the entire 

affair up to this point, for which Fritsch himself was responsible 

since he had asked to have it kept quiet, only Hitler, Goering, 

General Beck, Colonel Hossbach, and naturally Himmler, were 

aware of what was going on. None of the generals had any knowledge of the accusations raised against Fritsch. Thus, when at the 

meeting of 4 February 1938 the charges and the so-called evidence 

against Fritsch were presented to them-the legal document was 

read in full-they were in no position, although none of them 

1844 
believed the accusations, to immediately refute them. Unfortunately 

Fritsch had by this time already submitted his resignation and 

demanded an investigation of the charges against him. Should the 

generals have initiated a coup d’ktut in order to prevent the investigation? Had they done so, they would have found themselves 

immediately opposed by the people, the Luftwufe and the S.S. 

In this connection it must also be borne in mind that after the 

introduction of universal military conscription, the army was no 

longer an absolutely dependable instrument in the hands of the 

military leadership, as it had been for instance during the Reichswehr period. The younger generation within the army was already 

a product of the schools of the Hitler Youth and the Nazi Party. 

At this point I would like to insert a comment with respect to 

Professor Deutsch‘s statement that the vastly accelerated program 

of promotions after 1934 contributed to keeping the army satisfied, 

thereby allowing Hitler to pursue his domestic revolution. I myself 

was promoted to Colonel, Major General, and Lieutenant General 

during the period 1933 to 1939. These promotions did not come 

any faster than would have been the case during the Reichswehr 

period, and I would have been posted to the same positions in the 

army regardless of the events which occurred after 1933. My 

later promotions during the war to the rank of Generaloberst 

(Colonel-General) and Field Marshal were based on my battlefield 

record, a normal occurence in any army. Perhaps my promotion to 

General of the Infantry in 1940 may have come a little faster than 

otherwise, but it was due partially to the wartime expansion of the 

army. 

General Halder’s plan in 1938 to arrest Hitler and possibly 

put him on trial should he insist on initiating an attack against 

Czechoslovakia was not known to me at the time. I only learned of 

it after the war during the Nuremberg Trials. It is possible that 

Halder obtained the consent and assistance for his plan of the commanding general in Berlin, General von Witzleben, as well as that 

of the commanders of the infantry division stationed near Berlin 

and other close-by armored divisions. I seriously doubt, however, 

that the troops would have followed their leaders should they have 

tried to implement the contemplated action. It is easy to imagine 

how Hitler would have defended himself before a tribunal and most 

certainly would have placed the guilt for having prevented a favor185 
able (German) solution of the Sudeten Question on the army. 

Moreover, it seems somewhat absurd to expect soldiers to carry out 

a coup d‘ttat in order not to have to fight! Actually the Munich 

Conference made any planned intervention illusory, but on the 

other hand, it immensely increased Hitler’s prestige; and as a 

result it was generally assumed in 1939 that Hitler would be able 

to achieve his objectives in the Polish Question without having to 

go to war. This assumption was further strengthened among the 

military leadership by his cancellation of the order to attack during 

the last days of August 1939. 

With respect to Professor Deutsch‘s account of the continuation 

of a military conspiracy during the winter of 1939-1940, I know 

nothing, although I was at that time Chief of Staff to General von 

Rundstedt. I am also unaware of any conversations which General 

von Stulpnagel is supposed to have had with the three Army Group 

commanders, namely von Rundstedt, von Bock, and von Leeb, 

during this time. If General Halder actually continued to pursue 

his plans for a coup d’ttut and attempted to get General von 

Brauchitsch to go along with it, the knowledge of such plans must 

have been confined to a most select group within the Army High 

Command (OKH). However, the position and attitudes of the 

younger members of the officer corps with respect to any such plans 

still remains in my opinion the largest question mark and the factor 

upon which the entire success of such an operation depended. 

I cannot go along with Professor Deutsch‘s inference that the 

atrocities in Poland played a role in strengthening any military 

opposition to Hitler in the autumn of 1939, since these were not 

generally known among the leaders of the Western front. Within 

my own Army Group Command we had only learned that General 

Blaskowitz had taken steps against criminal acts of the SS in 

Poland and as a result had been removed from his position as 

Commander in Chief of the German occupation forces. 

As far as the attitudes of the three commanding generals of 

the Western Army Groups toward a coup d’ttat are concerned, it 

should be realized that they and their troops were tied to their 

military positions facing French and British forces. Furthermore, 

in the event of a coup d’ttat there would not have been any need for 

them. For in my opinion, it would have been necessary to carry out 

such a plan with only a few, but dependable, divisions in Berlin, 

186 
while the task of the armies standing on the Western Front would 

have been to prevent any intervention by either the French or the 

British. Under such circumstances a successful coup d’6tut under 

the leadership of the Commander in Chief of the Army would not 

have jeopardized the unity of the armed forces. But the question 

still remains: could one have found dependable divisions for such 

an attempt? 

The events during the winter of 1939-1940, which led to the 

conflict between Hitler and OKH, centered around the timing of the 

Western offensive. OKH was correct in its opinion, in which it was 

fully supported by the commanding generals of the three Army 

Groups and many of their subordinate army commanders, that an 

offensive during the late autumn period or during the winter months 

would not have a chance to succeed. The main trumps of the 

Wehrmucht, the armored units and the Luftwuffe, would have been 

unable to exert their full effect during this time of the year, while 

the newly formed divisions were still not sufficiently trained and 

built up to engage, in either autumn 1939 or winter 1940, in an 

offensive, the purpose of which was to achieve a military decision. 

It was this matter which led to the break between Hitler and 

Brauchitsch.’ Fortunately the weather made sure that the offensive 

could not begin before the early spring months! 

It can be assumed that both Brauchitsch and Halder hoped by 

a postponement of the offensive to create opportunities for a peace 

settlement. But while on the one hand Hitler was not ready to 

agree to an acceptable peace, England, on the other hand, would 

have demanded the complete restoration of Poland as a primary 

pre-condition for any peace negotiations, a condition which Hitler 

could not fulfill, since half of Poland was by this time already in 

Soviet hands. 

Professor Deutsch relates that General Halder began to change 

his mind with respect to his previous plans to overthrow Hitler after 

November 1939. In this context I believe it is fair to say that 

neither the Army High Command nor Hitler anticipated the possibility of a quick defeat of France. For this reason the first operations plan had as its objective only the defeat of as many of the 

French-British forces in Belgium as possible and the conquest of 

part of the French northern coast as a basis for continued operations 

against England. Only the continually proposed (and later on 

187 
accepted) operations plan of Army Group A (von Rundstedt), 

which later became known under the nickname “Scythe Stroke,” 

led to the complete defeat of France.’ 

One cannot speak of a deterioration in the relationship between 

the resistance groups and the Generalitat, since such relations 

existed possibly with some generals but certainly not with the 

Generalitat at large. 

In this connection I find it hard to believe, as will anyone who 

knew General Beck, that he would ally himself with a man like 

Oster. Under no circumstances would General Beck have condoned 

an act of Landewerrat (national treason), which Oster committed 

by informing the enemy of the timetable for the planned Western 

offensive. 

With reference to Hitler’s remarks to General Halder at the 

time of their first meeting, as cited by Professor Deutsch, I feel that 

if these are true, General Halder should have immediately declared 

that under such conditions he would not be able to serve as Chief of 

the General Staff. 

The alleged remark of General von Rundstedt, (“If I draw 

this sword, it will break in my hand”), seems to me to be improbable. Although General von Rundstedt had a habit of expressing himself often in a rather drastic manner, he never used this 

form of pathetic expression to convey his thoughts. 

Let me conclude by saying that in my opinion the decisive 

factor remains, for reasons which I have tried to illuminate above, 

that the Generalitut never had a chance to stage a successful coup 

d’e‘tat, except perhaps during the last few months of the war. 

NOTES 

1. See Field Marshal Erich von Manstein, Lost Victories, edited and translated by Anthony G. Powell (Chicago, 1958), pp. 75-79, 83-87. 

2. For a more detailed account of the events surrounding the development 

of the final operations plan for the Western Offensive and the invasion of 

France, see ibid., pp. 94-126. 

188 
GENERAL FRANZ HALDER 

The theme of Professor Deutsch‘s paper is indeed one which 

tempts and stimulates great interest among the general public, 

mainly because of the secrets which still remain concerning many 

of the associations of the military resistance movement, just as this 

is the case with most questions concerning the operations of the 

German Abwehr before and during the war. But the subject remains 

one of the most difficult to investigate and describe. These difficulties, in my opinion, concern two major aspects of the topic. First 

of all, the active resistance of a military leader against the political 

power of the state is something quite shocking in German history 

and contrary to German military tradition. For this reason such a 

phenomenon could not receive a just evaluation from Germans, and 

certainly one cannot expect this to occur abroad. Anyone who himself participated in the resistance movement knows that it is impossible to approach such an analysis and description with only 

general conceptions concerning the social and political position of 

the officer corps during that time. The reasons which drove those 

individuals, who were the driving force in the military resistance, 

are so varied that one cannot progress with general catchwords but 

only with personal knowledge of those who decisively influenced the 

military resistance movement. This knowledge was not available to 

Professor Deutsch, nor can it be replaced by questioning “third 

persons.” 

Anyone who personally knew the leading or most active individuals of the military resistance does not need the ability to 

analyze them psychologically to know that the majority of them 

were certainly not what one would call normal or average. Aside 

from their military professional capabilities and accomplishments, 

these men were frequently avowed fanatics. The inner urge to 

oppose the authority of the state actively and thereby to intervene 

in the fate of the nation presupposed an inner high tension, which 

with some degenerated into an “idCe fixe.” Thus, they failed to see 

(or perhaps refused to see) the difficulties and dangers connected 

Translated by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

189 
with the implementation of the final objective, not only with respect 

to the military actions but, more importantly, with respect to the 

nation as a whole. This had little to do with the courage to act and 

in many instances, which I still drastically recall, verged on the 

area of psychopathology. The second major aspect, one which the 

author acknowledges himself, is the lack of trustworthy sources and 

documentation. It lies in the nature of the subject,.namely a conspiracy, that in a dictatorship such extremely dangerous thoughts 

are generally not made a matter of record; thus documents are 

lacking. Rather such thoughts were discussed verbally, at times 

even to the point of reaching binding agreements. But in such 

verbal discussion the danger of partial or even complete misunderstandings often occurs, which is magnified when the “spoken word” 

is passed on to third parties. This has been the case in the personal 

notes and diaries which have appeared since the war and which 

will probably appear in still larger quantities in the future. 

In this context a difference which is based on the individual 

personality can be noticed. General Beck, the main figure of the 

resistance against Hitler, sought an exchange of ideas with likeminded persons, including those who did not belong to the military 

circles. Beck had the inner urge, possibly because of a need for 

his own clarification, to put his thoughts on paper. Due to his 

particular historical inclination, he was in the habit of recording 

for himself the content of the more important discussions and 

conferences, in order to show future historians the specific process 

of development. It is known that these collected notes by General 

Beck, together with letters and other materials, fell into the hands 

of the Gestapo at the time of his arrest. Beck’s records of our 

conversations were read to me for hours, word for word, during 

my imprisonment by the Gestapo, and their existence did not exactly 

make my situation any easier. I do not know whether Beck’s collection of records survived the collapse of the Third Reich or was 

destroyed by the Gestapo along with countless other documents. 

For this reason, I do not know whether these documents, entirely 

or in part, were available to the author. In any case they have found 

a response within the circle with whom Beck used to exchange his 

ideas, and in this manner they have found their way in varying 

degrees into the notes and records of others. Since then, they to 

some extent have become available to researchers and have been 

used in recent publications. 

190 
The other circle of the military resistance against Hitler, which 

had its focal point in my own person, avoided any written records. 

Only in such singular and urgent instances, as for example during 

the winter of 1939-40 when it became necessary to have written 

records for the implementation of practical actions, since these 

included several different forces, did I allow these to be made. For 

this reason, there is much less actual source material available from 

this circle of resistance; most of it consists more of “rumors” and 

assumptions. 

This difference in available documentation cannot be without 

effect on the researcher. As a result, the information from sources 

associated with the Beck circle shows up much more clearly and 

distinctly in Professor Deutsch’s paper than information concerning 

the small resistance group within the OKH, centered around myself. 

This difference will probably continue to exist in the future, and 

for this reason places the figure of General Beck into the foreground of any discussion concerning the military resistance to 

Hitler, in a manner which will assign greater personal influence to 

this outstanding individual than he, in my opinion, actually had. 

Similar circumstances pertain to Admiral Canaris, who knew how 

to surround himself always with a cloak of strictest secrecy and 

who used the less careful, and frequently even careless, General 

Oster as his tool. 

Historiography can only overcome the difficulties with respect 

to the lack of information concerning the military resistance by 

the most thorough and critical analysis of the available source 

material. Perhaps the currently available sources are not sufficient 

for such an analysis. At any rate, I cannot help but feel that Professor Deutsch’s paper has not reached the maximum in this respect 

and for this reason is much too much influenced by the more readily 

available source materials from the Beck circle. This explains why 

I, as a participant in the events described in the paper, regard it 

in part one-sided. 

The second major area of difficulty which had to be taken into 

account in the opposition against Hitler lies in the mentality of the 

German soldierly spirit at that time in the Reichswehr. It lacked 

uniformity. Military discipline was considered the primary task 

within the Reichswehr, and military training was conducted in a 

most effective and successful manner. However, an alignment or 

191 
even coordination of political thinking was not possible within the 

Reichswehr because of the influence of General von Seeckt, who by 

necessity kept it away from politics. The German ofker, as a 

member of German society at large, was certainly at all times 

interested in the political questions of the day; in his historical and 

ideological views he certainly was not removed from the influences 

of his social stratum. Furthermore, the German officer certainly 

had his own personal political ideas, although these were not openly 

discussed within the officer corps during Seeckt’s tenure and, therefore, could not be discussed and refined within the officer corps. 

The Reichswehr, established by the former leadership of the Imperial Army, was generally conservative and tradition-bound in 

outlook. Individually, however, the officer corps’ opinions about 

political questions varied greatly. This difference, which was often 

covered by the catchword “the officer corps,” became predominant 

at that moment at which a purely personal decision “for” or 

“against” the ideas of Adolf Hitler had to be made by the individual officer. I might mention in passing that in this respect the 

differences in thinking between the North German and the South 

German contingents, which played a not insignificant role, have 

been largely left unnoticed. 

The same pertains to the so very often misused and wrongly 

applied term of “the generals” (Genernlitiit) . Great wars have a 

tendency to level matters. The characteristic figures of the Prussian 

generals, so well known from history, had disappeared. The 

Reichswehr, with respect to its training accomplishment, was an 

admirable institution, in which, however, one could not notice any 

molding influence in political matters by the top military leadership. The officer corps, exposed to the external influences of the 

postwar period after 1918, was a professional community without 

a binding internal political core. Certainly the authority of the 

military superiors and discipline bound the officer corps together 

in such a manner that it was impossible from the outside to notice 

the internal differences. However, at the moment when the officer 

was faced with the idea of becoming actively engaged against the 

legal political leadership, an idea so contrary and shocking to his 

world of ideas, these differences emerged decisively. A unification 

of the officer corps, beyond the use of the drastic method of the 

command power, was not possible; this was clearly recognized by 

all army leaders, and for this reason they were extremely cautious 

192 
in their attempts to influence their troops against Hitler. Let me also 

mention in passing that the collective term of “the generals” (as 

used in the paper) combines a very large number of persons who 

did not exercise any power, but were in administrative positions 

and, therefore, unable to exercise any influence on the troops. 

Professor Deutsch’s statement that with time the influence of Nationalist Socialist propaganda among the younger officers increased 

and even reached into the middle-range leadership echelon is correct. This became even more evident when, after the Polish campaign, general mobilization was implemented and the many newly 

formed divisions were filled up with young National Socialists. 

For this reason one must be very careful in applying “common 

conceptions” to the generals as a group. It is my personal opinion 

that the traditional subordination of the military to the responsible 

commander-in-chief of the armed forces (Hitler) prohibited the 

generals from taking any steps which could have been considered 

as an open refusal on their part to obey his orders. This would 

have been the case, even if General von Brauchitsch himself would 

have asked them to do so, for through many generations, particularly under the monarchy, a firm bond of trust between the 

national leadership and the top military leadership had been established. The idea of a revolt by the commanding generals against 

the national leadership was absolutely unthinkable. This is particularly applicable to the period before World War 11, since at this 

time any existing controversy or disagreement between the military 

and the civilian leaderships hardly pertained to military questions 

but concerned largely political matters; and politics had always 

been the responsibility of the national civilian leadership group! 

In this context, I will admit that General vim Brauchitsch was 

perhaps not a strong enough personality and therefore not capable 

of actually leading a generals’ revolt. However, I personally fully 

understand why he, who was a very intelligent and sensitive individual and who knew Hitler and his demagogic capabilities, did 

not think that he had the strength to lead the generals into an open 

confrontation with the political leadership. In the past, Hitler had 

proved often enough that he could silence any opposition on the 

part of the generals through the power of his personality and his 

demagogy. Brauchitsch had to take this into consideration even had 

he been able to get together the majority of the commanding 

193 
generals for such a confrontation with Hitler, which I personally 

doubt. 

Let me say a few words about Beck and his relationship with 

the generals after his resignation in 1938. The arguments, by this 

time well known, between Beck and von Brauchitsch undermined 

Beck’s position among the generals’ group. In these discussions 

with von Brauchitsch, Beck unfortunately did not always abide by 

the common forms of military conduct accorded to a superior, 

especially since he attacked von Brauchitsch, who was after all the 

commander of the army, in a rather tactless manner among larger 

circles of the Generalitiit. Thus, if after his resignation, his former 

colleagues did not make his home the center of any common efforts 

for the overthrow of Hitler, it was certainly not because of any 

cowardly fear of Hitler on their part, but rather the general feeling 

that Beck‘s method of opposing Hitler was without effect. In addition, they considered his methods decidedly detrimental to the 

reputation of the military leadership and the officer corps. Naturally 

Beck was being watched after his retirement, but apparently those 

who visited him were not taken seriously by the Gestapo-perhaps 

rightly so! 

The author is apparently unaware that the psychological situation in Germany with respect to an armed conflict with Poland 

was entirely different from that prevailing in 1938 when Hitler 

threatened a military attack against Czechoslovakia. German national feelings toward Czechoslovakia were approximately the same 

as those toward Belgium and Denmark; a popular animosity against 

Czechoslovakia did not exist. The military action which Hitler 

threatened to take in 1938 would, if executed, have been regarded 

by most Germans as an act of wanton aggression. Since existing 

international military alliances would have brought about French 

military intervention in this case, the German people resolutely 

rejected any military action against Czechoslovakia. 

Poland, however, was a different case. The conflict between 

Poland and Prussia is historically very old ; contemporary national 

antagonisms also entered into this relationship. Above all, Prussia 

was unable to accept the loss of large and valuable pieces of 

territory, settled by Germans for many centuries, which it had been 

forced to cede to Poland under the Versailles Peace Treaty. Particularly in northeastern Germany animosity against Poland existed 

194 
openly and the idea of military revenge, while perhaps not exactly 

popular, was certainly not unsympathetic to large circles of the 

upper classes in Germany. Thus, while the German people would 

have opposed a German-initiated attack against Czechoslovakia, 

this did not hold true in the case of Poland. 

With respect to Poland, any public opposition to war was 

largely shrouded by historical resentments. Since the officer corps, 

as part of the nation, mirrored its feelings, the idea of a war 

against Poland was not unpopular at all among the military leadership. An important role in such considerations was the feeling of 

certain military superiority over Poland. 

The description of the events in the fall of 1939 is correct 

insofar as there was indeed a general rejection of any kind of war 

of aggression against the Western powers which would disregard 

the status of neutral nations. This was due to a number of reasons. 

As far as the field commanders were concerned, an important 

reason was the rather noticeable shortcoming in the structure and 

training of the army which had shown up during the Polish campaign. The military leadership, all of whom were veterans of 

World War I, became quite aware of the amount of work still 

required to have the army reach the same level of proficiency 

which they themselves had seen and experienced during World 

War I. To accomplish this, time was required. A fall offensive with 

the new divisions, which had been called up after the end of the 

Polish campaign and which were still in the process of being 

formed, seemed to them extremely risky. In addition, the divisions 

transferred from Poland to the Western front had shown in several 

instances some unpleasant signs of an antiwar attitude; these troops, 

who had returned sound and safe from Poland, had had enough 

war. The malicious catchword of “the generals’ campaign” (for 

the planned West offensive) circulated throughout the army and 

became of considerable concern to all command agencies. In addition, a war of aggression against France and England was generally 

unpopular within the officer corps, which still remembered the 

events of World War I. In particular the officers were afraid that 

any German offensive would be stopped again half-way, thereby 

bringing once again the danger of a new trench war. These thoughts 

were shared by the commanders and staffs of the various Army 

Groups, and resulted in the memoranda sent to the OKH, as mentioned by the author, where their thoughts found general agreement. 

195 
For these reasons, and convinced that it was strategically more 

advantageous to let the Western powers initiate the attack and seek 

a German decision in a counteroffensive, Brauchitsch did his utmost 

to deter Hitler from initiating a fall offensive in 1939. The negative 

results of his attempts in this respect are known. 

That during the resulting tensions between OKH and OKW, 

which lasted for several weeks in the fall of 1939, the ideas of an 

overthrow of the Hitler regime came to the fore again and were in 

fact intensified, is only to be expected. However, in contrast to 

those among the military resistance group who pressed relentlessly 

and without restraint for a decision (including the Major Grosscurth mentioned by the author), I had to consider not only all 

possibilities concerning the execution of such an undertaking but 

also its consequences. Perhaps it would have been possible to 

capture Hitler’s headquarters with several armored divisions, but 

what next? Such an action, by the way, could only have been 

carried out within the narrow area of operational command assigned to OKH, and the troops to be used for this purpose would 

have had to be deceived as to the true purpose of their action. It 

was impossible to perceive what the consequences of such a deception would have had on the cohesion of the army. Most importantly, 

however, the field command agency (Feld-Kommandostelle) of the 

OKH, namely the General Staff, had hardly any influence over the 

vast German home territory which was under the control of the 

Home Army. Since this area had to be considered loyal to Hitler, 

due to the influence of the party, the SA, and the SS, the outbreak 

of civil war was therefore a foregone conclusion. It must also be 

realized that at this time the combined French and British armies 

had completely deployed and were stationed opposite our Western 

front ready to go into action at any time. In 1945, as a prisoner of 

war, I talked with leading Allied generals on this matter. I asked 

them what they would have done if a civil war had broken out in 

Germany in 1939. They smiled and replied, “You, as a professional 

soldier, can figure that out yourself. . . .” 

Brauchitsch, whom I sounded out concerning my ideas for a 

possible overthrow of Hitler, shared my belief that the risk was too 

great and that we should try to delay the date for the West offensive, 

which Hitler was determined to initiate, at least until spring 1940. 

This was finally accomplished. 

196 
The idea (mentioned by the author) to eliminate Brauchitsch 

from the plans to overthrow Hitler and issue the necessary orders 

in his name, an action desired by those who were most active in the 

military resistance, I refused to condone. Decisive for this decision 

was the fact that my personal loyalty to General von Brauchitsch, 

my commander, appeared to exclude such a step for me, Another 

factor was that no one could force the Army Groups and army 

commanders to follow any orders issued by the Chief of the General 

Staff under his own authority. It was common knowledge that my 

office did not have any authority to issue such orders. Thus, it would 

have depended on the judgment of the troop commanders, if and 

how far they were going to follow such orders. 

I personally have proof that my Bavarian origin would have 

caused at least a silent opposition among the commanders, who in 

many instances came from the old Prussian military families; and 

for this reason, it would have made doubtful the direct implementation of any orders issued by me. 

Lastly, let me explain my conduct on November 5, 1939, during the argument between Hitler and Brauchitsch. Hitler threatened 

Brauchitsch during their private discussion that he would find means 

to eradicate the “spirit of Zossen.” This remark to Brauchitsch 

underscored the warning which I had received several days before 

from my confidants in the OKW. They had told me that Hitler 

apparently had received information concerning the conspiracy 

plans in the Army High Command (OKH) and the individuals 

involved. Since I was aware that in the Third Reich “all walls had 

ears” and nothing could remain hidden from the dictator for very 

long, especially if it threatened his position, I took the threat Hitler 

made to Brauchitsch very seriously. Since I knew the resistance 

group in the OKH was feverishly working on plans to overthrow 

Hitler and I had been informed that written records were being 

kept, I ordered these immediately destroyed. This was not at all 

a “panic” reaction but just prudence! One of my closest associates 

retained copies of the most important of these papers. Some years 

later, when these were found by the Gestapo, nothing remained for 

him to do but to commit suicide. This may serve as proof of the 

danger which occured when one kept written records and at the 

same time as justification of my order for their destruction. 

197 
All these relationships must be known in order to evaluate 

without prejudice the individual actions of the decisive personalities 

within the resistance movement against Hitler. I personally believe 

that the time for this has as yet not come, although I do not overlook the fact that lately, particularly in Germany, several beginnings have been made by research institutions. These have gone 

far deeper in their analysis of the subject than that achieved by 

previous authors. 

In summary, it is my personal impression of Professor 

Deutsch’s paper that it is marked by a limited penetration (in 

depth) of the subject. In addition, it shows personal sympathies and 

antipathies, which are at times surprisingly evident, which probably 

have their basis for the most part in the limitation and one-sidedness 

of the available source materials. Certainly it is the established 

right of the historian to express his judgments, based on the available sources, although he must count on the fact that more thorough 

research may not completely agree with his judgment. However, it 

is to be welcomed that a recognized historian has involved himself 

with these questions at all. 

In conclusion, I would like to caution anyone against drawing 

conclusions and projections for the present from the existing and 

still incomplete pictures of the military resistance against Hitler. 

Our present time, which is moving away more and more from the 

Frederician tradition of absolute obedience, and the increasing 

imperilment of the concept of authority in all areas, will create 

in the future, if similar tensions between armed forces and political 

leadership arise, new conditions and its own norms, which only 

a clairvoyant leadership, united closely with its troops, will be 

able to withstand. 

The responsibility for the information concerning General von 

Reichenau and his supposedly heroic fight against Hitler, I must 

leave to the author. I did not hear anything about it during the fall 

of 1939 or even later on. 

198 
GENERAL ADOLF HEUSINGER 

Professor Deutsch has made an extremely worthwhile contribution to the difficult subject of the role of the military in Nazi 

Germany. I find myself in agreement with him concerning the 

major points of his thesis. Yet, in my opinion, it is almost impossible for others, particularly non-Germans, fully to understand 

the situation that existed in Germany during the period 1933 to 

1939. Only those who were in Germany and lived through those 

times can actually understand all facets of the situation. For this 

reason I consider Dr. von Luttichau’s commentary outstanding and 

most appropriate in every respect. In fact, I have not read anything 

that is better or more to the point concerning the problems of the 

military opposition and the position of the officer corps and other 

civilian resistance groups. 

With respect to Professor Deutsch’s detailed analysis of the 

role of the military under Hitler, I can only add a few remarks. 

First, I do not agree with his rather negative judgment of the role 

played by the Reichswehr during the Weimar Republic. In my 

opinion the cause for the aloofness of the Reichswehr during these 

years was the direct result of the inability of the political (civilian) 

leadership to establish a valid relationship to the military. This is 

particularly true of the leadership echelons of the Social Democratic 

Party. Kurt Schumacher, a member of the Social Democratic Party 

during the Weimar Republic and after 1945 the chairman of the 

party in West Germany, confirmed this to me on several occasions 

since 1945. Because of this lack of mutual confidence and trust, the 

Reichswehr was pushed into a position of isolation within society. 

At the same time, the military leaders were aware of the potential 

threat of Hitler and the Nazi movement and considered this in a 

much more serious vein than Professor Deutsch intimates. They 

warned against the threat of Hitler to the Republic as part of their 

responsibility for the internal security of the state. I am referring 

in his context specifically to the discussions between Reichspraesident Hindenburg and General von Hammerstein in January 

Translated by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

199 
1933, in which the latter strongly advocated the official outlawing 

of the Nazi movement. On the other hand, I fully agree with Professor Deutsch‘s statement that the Reichwehr and its leadership 

hoped and believed that they would be able to control and contain 

Hitler. 

I am unaware that Hitler already considered the possibility 

of an international conflict in 1936, particularly after the introduction of German rearmament. I would like to know the sources 

upon which Professor Deutsch bases this statement. I must disagree 

with Professor Deutsch‘s characterization of General Jodl as “a 

cold and ambitious individual” and Colonel Schmundt as “an 

alcoholic.” These are very harsh generalizations, and as far as 

Jodl is concerned, incorrect. I personally knew Jodl since 1932 

and am probably in a better position to judge him as a person. 

Schmundt was not an alcoholic; on the other hand, he was completely under the power of Hitler, whom he revered. I had my first 

disagreement with Schmundt on this subject in 1938, when he 

called Hitler the greatest military leader, one whom we, the military, did not want to acknowledge as such. Professor Deutsch’s 

assertion that Hitler contemplated making General Beck Fritsch’s 

successor in February 1938 is unknown to me. I don’t believe that 

this is true. Equally new (and unbelievable) to me is Professor 

Deutsch‘s statement that Beck refused this appointment. I was one 

of Beck’s closest associates during this time and would certainly 

have known about it. 

With respect to the planned fall offensive (October 1939), 

the general nonconcurrence of the military leadership was primarily 

based on the fact that it did not consider the army sufficiently 

prepared at this time for such an offensive task. Another, although 

secondary, reason was the general concern among the military 

leadership over the anticipated weather conditions in the area of 

planned operations during the month of November. In this context, 

I might add that General Stulpnagel’s study did not have as its 

basic premise an attack on the Maginot line; such an operational 

maneuver was not considered by anyone. Rather the study investigated the possibilities of an encirclement of the Maginot Line.’ 

Reichenau’s memorandum and his personal opposition toward 

the planned fall offensive are unknown to me. His activities in this 

respect, if true, were carried out without the knowledge of the 

200 
Army Supreme Command (OKH). I personally consider it doubtful that because of these actions he was later on not considered 

for the position of Chief of Staff. (In the spring of 1941, he was 

the commander of an army on the Russian front.) Reichenau was 

a strong leader but lacked special operational qualifications. Already in the 1920s he was favorably inclined toward Hitler and 

the National Socialist ideology. He later on recognized the dangers 

to the armed forces posed by the Nazi Party, but was unable to do 

anything about it. 

It is my opinion that after the successful conclusion of the 

Polish campaign, it would have been impossible to initiate any 

attempt to overthrow Hitler. I doubt seriously that the vast mass 

of the officer corps would have gone along with Halder’s plans. 

Only an extremely quick and decisive success of such a plan could 

have possibly brought the officer corps on his side, provided that 

Goering would have joined the undertaking. Among the military 

leaders discussed by Deutsch in this connection, I would think that 

General Ritter von Leeb would have joined only after the success of 

the plan would have become fairly obvious. However, neither would 

they have tried to prevent any of the steps planned by Halder; they 

merely would have waited to see the outcome of the attempted 

coup. Whether the military leadership could have expected the full 

support of the nation, seems questionable to me. Only if it had 

been possible to eliminate Goebbels’s “propaganda machine” could 

this have been expected. 

There is no doubt that a generation gap existed within the 

officer corps. The older officer generation remained skeptical of the 

ideology and the slogans of the Nazi Party as well as the speeches 

and utterances of the political leadership. However, the younger 

officers went along with these. It was the classic difference between 

the more cautious mood of the older generation and that of the 

younger generation, full of hopes. Many of my fellow officers and 

I myself thought and worried about the possible expansion of the 

war beyond the scope of the limited geographic areas and objectives 

before the start of the Polish campaign (August 1939). Despite 

the great and quick successes of the military operations both in 

Poland and France, such thoughts were only temporarily pushed 

into the back of our minds. 

During the period October to December 1939 I had several 

201 
conversations with Generals Brauchitsch, Halder, Stiilpnagel, and 

Jodl concerning the planned Western offensive. The theme of these 

discussions always centered on the same major points: the timing 

of the offensive and what was to be the main objective. With respect 

to the objectives, four possible solutions were considered. First, a 

main thrust through Belgium; secondly, a thrust across the Meuse 

River with a turning movement along the line Namur-Maubeuge in 

the direction of Antwerp; thirdly, a thrust in the general direction 

of Amiens and the Channel coast; lastly, variable points of thrust 

with a final decision to be made only after the infantry divisions 

had successfully crossed the Meuse River just north of Sedan. This 

last solution further depended upon the quickness with which 

the British Expeditionary Forces would advance into Belgium.2 

Another topic of discussion concerned the problems anticipated by 

the armored column in the planned offensive. In my discussions 

with Guderian, the latter voiced the most serious doubts about the 

contemplated crossing of the Meuse River.’ Jodl, on the other 

hand, characterized the contemplated crossing of the Meuse River 

along the Maginot line with these words: “If one chooses to go 

along such Schleichweg (covert means), one cannot afford to be 

caught . . .!” 

Lastly, I wish to add a few remarks about the personalities of 

some of the military leaders whom Professor Deutsch has singled 

out as major actors in the events of 1938 and 1939, based on my 

continuous and close associations with them. 

General von Brauchitsch was an individual without faults, but 

he had a “soft” nature. As a military leader he was most outstanding in questions concerning training; however, he was unsure of 

himself in operational matters and definitely inferior to Manstein 

as a strategist. Certainly not a convinced National Socialist, he 

came completely under the influence of the strong and unscrupulous 

personality of Hitler. 

Halder was an individual of a soft nature with a variety of 

interests. As a military professional he was the perfect “Chief 

of Staff” type: extremely diligent and thorough, but “without the 

flair for operations (ohne den operativen Funken).” From the beginning, he viewed the National Socialist movement with skepticism 

and soon rejected it. In operational matters he was unable, as Chief 

202 
of the General Staff, to achieve anything with Hitler, since the 

latter refused to accept Halder’s attempts to “teach” him strategy. 

By the way, the statement that Halder carried a loaded pistol with 

him when he briefed Hitler must be a fairy tale. I would be interested.to know the basis for this. 

NOTES 

1. Adolf Heusinger, Befehl im Widerstreit; Schicksalsstunden der deutscheri 

Armee 1923-1945 (Tiibingen, 1950), pp. 72-76. 

2. Ibid., pp. 77-86. 

3. Ibid., pp. 87-88. 

203 

Part IV 

AMERICAN NAVAL LEADERS IN WORLD WAR I1 

THE COMMAND PERSONALITY: SOME AMERICAN 

NAVAL OFFICERS OF WORLD WAR I1 

E. B. Potter 

The character and personality of the admiral and the general 

have always been of professional as well as popular interest. They 

are of professional interest because character and personality, as 

well as intellect and training, enter into leadership and decisionmaking. The way they enter differs somewhat as regards the tactical 

commander and the strategic commander. That is because the tactical commander, particularly at sea, must usually make his decisions 

without consultation, whereas in modem warfare the strategic commander nearly always makes his decisions in conference or as the 

result of conference. General Eisenhower went so far as to say: 

“It is my conviction that no commander could normally take an 

oath that a particular plan or conception originated within his own 

mind.” 

If the commander as a person is still worthy of professional 

attention in the study of warfare, it is important to point out that we 

may lose a clear understanding of our top World War I1 naval 

commanders, strategic and tactical, through lack of adequate, timely 

biographies, through lack or loss of biographicc sources, and through 

misconceptions or stereotyping. 

The longest biography of any American World War I1 naval 

leader is the 600,OOO-word Fleet Admiral King, “as told” by Chief 

of Naval Operations King to Walter Muir Whitehill. This book is 

subtitled “A Naval Record,” and it is exactly that. Personalities 

scarcely emerge, least of all King’s. 

In the memory of naval officers who served in World War 11, 

King was rough, tough, and brilliant; some would say mean, tough 

and brilliant. Ladislas Farago, in The Tenth Fleet, has described 

207 
this stereotype most strikingly: “Tall, gaunt and taut, with a high 

dome, piercing eyes, aquiline nose, and a firm jaw he looked 

somewhat like Hogarth’s etching of Don Quixote but he had none 

of the old knight’s fancy dreams. Hewas a supreme realist with the 

arrogance of genius. . . . He was a grim taskmaster, as hard on 

himself as others. He rarely cracked a smile and had neither time 

nor disposition for ephemeral pleasantries. He inspired respect but 

not love, and King wanted it that way.”’ Samuel Eliot Morison 

echoes that last point, saying that King “was more feared than 

loved.” 

Of King’s brilliance there can be no question. For a single 

example of his strategic insight, on 2 March 1942, when Americans 

were making a last stand on Bataan, when Java was about to fall, 

when the apparently invincible Japanese were on the march everywhere-at this grim period Admiral King laid before the startled 

Joint Chiefs of Staff a plan for an Allied offensive via the New 

Hebrides, the Solomons, and the Bismarcks. “In other words,” says 

Morison, “he anticipated the entire course of the war in the South 

Pacific to the middle of 1944.” ‘ 

As for the cold, harsh, aloof, and humorless stereotype of 

King, I accepted it without much thought, particularly since my 

own fleeting contacts with the admiral had tended to confirm it. 

Then, in 1967, I received from Ladislas Farago a letter in which 

he went into his wartime relationship with Admiral King. Wrote 

Farago: “I had every reason to love him with all the gratitude and 

devotion at my command.” This is the Farago who stated that King 

“inspired respect but not love.” Farago went on: “I found him 

more human, more accessible, and more intellectually competent 

than the starched man that emerges from his strange biography. I 

would like to see nothing more than a biography that does justice 

to him.” ’ 

On this hint I began questioning everybody I encountered who 

had been associated with Admiral King, particularly during World 

War 11. My quest culminated with long taped interviews with two of 

King’s wartime flag secretaries, retired Vice Admirals George L. 

Russell and George C. Dyer, U.S. Navy. 

My researches have confirmed that King was indeed tough, 

that he had a low boiling point, and that he was intolerant of 

208 
stupidity, inefficiency, and laziness. He hated dishonesty and pretension, despised yes-men, and had no patience with Hamlet-types. 

And he could be ruthless. On one occasion, for example, he sent one 

of his aides, a commander, to relieve a rear admiral-with orders 

that the rear admiral be out of the Navy Department by three 

o’clock that afternoon. 

I learned too that the supposedly monolithic King had a weakness. He was not at his best in judging men. As one of King’s 

associates put it, “Every great man has a blind spot and his was 

personnel.” Several cases may be cited of King’s placing the wrong 

man in the wrong spot for the wrong reason. 

I was convinced that in modern warfare a high-level decisionmaking body could not be run by fear. My investigation proved 

this theory to be correct. Once an officer gained King’s confidence 

and respect, King in his dealings with him would drop his formal 

demeanor and could be delightfully informal. He was not witty, 

but he had a sense of humor, not subtle but hearty. His relations 

with those he admitted into his intimacy were warm and friendly. 

“I notice,” I said to Admiral Dyer, “that all able people who 

served with King wound up with affection for him.” 

“Oh, tremendous affection,” said Dyer.’ 

Dyer’s relationship with Admiral King began when the United 

States entered World War 11. Dyer, then a commander, was in the 

Pacific as executive officer of the Indianapolis. Before the war was 

a month old, he was disgusted to receive orders to report to Washington for some unspecified “special duty.” On arriving he was 

crestfallen to learn that he was to be Admiral King’s flag secretary. 

When Dyer reported to King for duty, the admiral sat looking 

him over. Finally he said, “You look unhappy.” 

“I am unhappy,” replied Dyer. “I was executive officer of a 

fine cruiser in the war zone and I find myself ordered to shore duty 

in Washington. Why shouldn’t I be unhappy?” 

Another long pause. 

209 
“If I tell you why you’re here,” said King at last, “YOU may be 

just a little less unhappy. I was told by an officer for whose judgment I have great respect that if I wanted an officer who would spit 

in my eye when it was necessary to spit, I should send for you.” ‘ 

King then arose, shook hands, and said, “There’s lots of work 

to be done. Let’s get to it.” 

“I had a wonderful year with him,” says Dyer. “We had many 

terrible disputes in which he called me all kinds of names, but I 

never really had a problem. If you followed his strict rules, and if 

you produced, you had really no trouble.” 

Dyer’s first job was to arrange for office space. Studying World 

War I records and finding that Admiral Sims had had a staff of 

387, Dyer planned space for a staff of 400 for King. When he 

produced his report, King hit the overhead. He had, he said, run the 

Atlantic Fleet with a staff of 14, and he was damned if he was going 

to have a staff or more than 50 as Commander in Chief. 

At the end of the year, in accordance with King’s rotation 

policy, Dyer went back to sea. Wounded at Salerno, he spent four 

months in the naval hospital at Bethesda. On his arrival at Bethesda, 

Dyer, now a captain, received a note from King. When his wounds 

were nearly healed, he received another, in which King invited 

Dyer to pay him a call. 

“Of course,” says Dyer, “I was anxious to go down and see 

him. I was fond of him.” 

When he at length again entered King’s office, the Admiral 

watched Dyer limp toward him, new medals on his chest. Finally 

King said with a small grin, “Ah, the returning war hero!” 

“When I wrote you that invitation to call,” continued King, 

“George Russell had just laid a piece of paper on my desk and I 

wanted you to see it.” 

Dyer took the piece of paper from King. It said that King’s 

staff then numbered 416. 

We now come to Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz. I believe that 

210 
Nimitz’s personality as a wartime leader has also become a stereotype, though of a very different sort from that of Admiral King. 

The only biography of Nimitz that has appeared so far is my 

15,000-word sketch in the US. Naval Institute Proceedings of July 

1966, which was written the week following his death. 

It is a great pity that Admiral Nimitz did not write, or permit 

anyone else to write, his biography while he was alive. At one time 

he seemed inclined to let me do so, but when the Naval Institute in 

1963 formally requested his assent and assistance in writing his 

biography, recommending me as author, Nimitz declined. 

“I have long ago decided,” he wrote, “that my biography 

should be written by my four children.” 

The trouble was that neither Admiral Nimitz’s son nor any of 

his daughters felt capable of writing the biography or, at any rate, 

the sort of biography they felt their father deserved. Moreover, 

Nimitz was opposed to the publishing of any narrative of his wartime experiences while he was alive. In 1965 he tentatively agreed 

to supply me with information for such an article in a World War 

I1 memorial edition of Paris-Match. Later, however, he telephoned 

me and canceled the agreement. 

Nimitz’s reluctance derived from what I can only call his 

obsessive discretion. He was annoyed by what he called the ‘‘rushing into print” of military and. naval leaders, many reviving old 

controversies or starting new ones. Nimitz’s discretion did not inhibit his private conversations with friends. He loved to reminisce 

about his wartime experiences and could be astonishingly frank. 

When it came to making any sort of permanent record, however, Nimitz clammed up. He would commit nothing to tape and in 

his last years refused to speak on television or radio. Between 1956 

and 1965 he wrote me 89 letters, nearly all by hand, some running 

several pages. Many of the letters of course concerned the book 

Sea Power he and I were working on, but others dealt with a variety 

of subjects. All are warm and friendly, but none are of any great 

historical importance, because whenever the letters touch on wartime or official matters they become very general, revealing no 

details. 

211 
Before he died, Nimitz turned his records over to the Division 

of Naval History. These, however, are mostly official papers, revealing little of Nimitz the man. Nimitz never heard a shot fired in 

anger in any war, he never engaged in public controversy, he was 

married once-happily. Might not a biography of Nimitz written 

chiefly from official records turn out to be a bland affair-as bland, 

say, as the Whitehill biography of King? Luckily, another source 

is still available in Nimitz’s still-living friends and associates. 

Still, I wonder if Nimitz’s friends and associates are the most 

reliable of sources. It seems to me that the wartime Nimitz they are 

remembering is another stereotype. This is the Nimitz of later years, 

the sage of San Francisco Bay. To the shrine of this kindly old man, 

at Berkeley and later on Treasure Island, came large numbers of 

officers to pay homage and to talk Navy. Much of the early Nimitz 

was still there: the courtesy, the serenity, the exquisite balance of 

powers, the largeness of mind, and the natural gaiety of spirit that 

enabled him actually to enjoy his immense responsibility in World 

War 11. 

But Nimitz had ceased to reveal other characteristics that had 

marked him as a wartime leader. I refer particularly to his toughness and to his daring. “You know,” Nimitz’s driver of many years 

once said to me, “Admiral Nimitz used to be a lot more stern than 

he is now.” Said Admiral George Russell: “Admiral Nimitz was 

a lot tougher than he’s ever been given credit for.” ’ 

The truth of Admiral Russell’s observation was demonstrated 

when the typescript of my Nimitz biography was submitted to 

several officers who had served closely with Admiral Nimitz in the 

war. I had ascribed on good authority several harsh remarks to 

Nimitz. His friends to a man insisted that these be deleted, saying, “This doesn’t sound like Nimitz. I don’t believe he said it.” 

Significantly, Chester Nimitz, Jr., suggested no changes at all. 

Perhaps the son, more than others, remembered Daddy’s hard side. 

The fact is that Nimitz was not explosive but he could, and did, 

make strong men wince with his measured words. 

In thinking of the gentle old man of Nimitz’s later years, we 

tend to forget also his extraordinary daring in World War 11. On 

28 May 1942, for example, when through cryptanalysis Nimitz 

knew that the entire Japanese Navy was heading for Midway and 

212 
the Aleutians with several times the strength he could muster in 

defense-at this dire moment Nimitz recommended landing marines 

in the Guadalcanal-Tulagi area. They could, he said, make good 

their position and build an airstrip before the enemy fleet, now all 

in the North and Central Pacific, could fight its battle and redeploy 

to the South. At that time, however, Guadalcanal was in General 

MacArthur’s area of command, and MacArthur vetoed the proposal 

as too risky.” 

A second example is Nimitz’s plan for the invasion of the 

Marshall Islands in early 1944. After the shock of the heavy losses 

at Tarawa, Nimitz’s commanders recommended a cautious plan 

for taking the Marshalls in two bites-outer islands first, then 

Kwajalein, the big Japanese headquarters at the center of the 

archipelago. To their shocked surprise Nimitz proposed bypassing 

the outer islands and assaulting Kwajalein alone-an operation 

which would leave the outer islands on the American line of communications. Admiral Nimitz called a conference in which he addressed each admiral and general by name and asked his opinion 

regarding what should be their first objective. The reply of each 

and every officer was, “Outer islands.” 

After a pause Nimitz announced quietly, “Well, gentlemen, 

our next target will be Kwajalein.” l1 

Afterwards, Nimitz’s senior subordinates, Vice Admiral Raymond A. Spruance, Rear Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner, and 

Marine Major General Holland M. Smith, came to Nimitz and 

protested his decision. Nimitz heard them out and then, without 

raising his voice, said, “Sitting behind desks in the United States 

are able officers who would give their right arms to be out here 

fighting the war. If you gentlemen can’t bring yourselves to carry 

out my orders, I can arrange an exchange of duty with stateside 

officers who can. Make up your minds. You have five minutes.” 

This statement by Admiral Nimitz, which originally appeared 

in my typescript, drew such violent protests from the admiral’s 

former associates that I finally deleted it in the interests of peace 

and harmony. Nevertheless, I had considerable confidence in the 

accuracy of the quotation, since my source was Admiral Nimitz 

himself. 

213 
It goes without saying that the protesting subordinates carried 

out the assault. As it turned out, the Japanese were thinking the way 

Nimitz’s subordinates were. Convinced that the Americans would 

not dare drive for the central headquarters, they had left Kwajalein 

relatively undefended while strongly fortifying the outer islands. 

These, however, presented no serious problem, for first the carriers 

and then planes from Kwajalein and the Gilberts kept them safely 

pounded down. 

Let us now examine the reputation of a couple of officers on 

the tactical level. On this level the most readily compared officers 

are Admiral Spruance and Admiral Halsey, who alternated in command of the Central Pacific Force-known as Fifth Fleet when 

commanded by Spruance, and Third Fleet when commanded by 

Halsey. Short, readable biographies of both admirals have appeared, but neither book is in any sense definitive. 

Admirals Spruance and Halsey have been likened to Admirals 

Jellicoe and Beatty, shccessive commanders of Britain’s Grand 

Fleet in World War I. Spruance was remote, austere, methodical, 

and intellectual, and was little known to the public. Halsey was 

dashing, colorful, somewhat slapdash, salty of tongue, a popular 

hero. In battle Spruance, like Jellicoe, twice turned away from the 

enemy and in the ensuing pursuit was never able to overtake him 

to inflict maximum damage-f or which Spruance was sharply criticized. In battle Halsey, like Beatty, was tricked into pursuing a 

decoy fleet, for which he was sharply criticized. 

Spruance’s remoteness was intentional, and his explanation is 

simple, yet profound. Said he: “Personal publicity in a war can be 

a drawback because it may affect a man’s thinking. A commander 

may not have sought it; it may have been forced upon him by 

zealous subordinates or imaginative war correspondents. Once 

started, however, it is hard to keep in check. In the early days of a 

war, when little about the various commanders is known to the 

public, and some general or admiral does a good and perhaps 

spectacular job, he gets a head start in publicity. Anything he does 

thereafter tends toward greater headline value than the same thing 

done by others, following the journalistic rule that ‘Names make 

news.’ Thus his reputation snowballs, and soon, probably against 

his will, he has become a colorful figure, credited with fabulous 

214 
characteristics over and above the competence in war command for 

which he has been conditioning himself all his life. 

“His fame may not have gone to his head, but there is nevertheless danger of this. Should he get to identifying himself with the 

figure as publicized, he may subconsciously start thinking in terms 

of what his reputation calls for, rather than of how best to meet the 

actual problem confronting him. A man’s judgment is best when he 

can forget himself and any reputation he may have acquired, and 

can concentrate wholly on making the right decision.” l2 

Spruance thus explained why he refused to grant interviews 

and generally avoided journalists, “not through ungraciousness, but 

rather to keep his thinking impersonal and realistic.” 

Spruance was also explaining, no doubt consciously, what 

happened to Admiral Habey. For Halsey was very much a victim 

of his own publicity. In the dark early days of World War 11, his 

carrier raids on Japanese bases, outrageously overrated by the 

press, made Halsey not only a national hero but, in the popular 

imagination, something of a superman. Halsey’s own bellicose statements couched in salty language delighted press and public and 

added to his bigger-than-life popular image. In newspapers he 

became “Bull Halsey,” nemesis of the Japanese. 

When illness prevented Halsey from putting the capstone on 

his fame by commanding in the Battle of Midway, his determination to spectacularly sink the enemy was only increased. As he said 

to us not long afterward at the Naval Academy: “Missing the Battle 

of Midway was the greatest disappointment of my life-but I’ll 

sink those damned Jap carriers yet!” l3 In the circumstances, given 

Halsey’s impulsive nature, it would be asking too much to expect 

him not to go dashing off from Leyte Gulf when he learned that 

there were enemy carriers to the north. When it was revealed that 

these carriers were merely planeless bait, sent specifically to draw 

Halsey away from the Leyte beachhead, one of the writers who had 

helped to create the super-Halsey now derided his action as “the 

Battle of Bull’s Run.” 

Postwar revelations vindicated Spruance’s two turnaways. In 

the Battle of Midway, had he not turned east in the evening of 4 

June 1942, he could hardly have avoided a night battle against 

215 
greatly superior forces. In the Battle of the Philippine Sea, had he 

advanced and attacked the Japanese carriers in the morning of 19 

June 1944 no enemy force would have got between his fleet and the 

Saipan beachhead, as he feared. But the attack would have cost 

heavily in American planes, for the Japanese heavy surface ships 

were a hundred miles nearer than the Japanese big carriers. Our 

attacking planes would have passed going and coming through the 

intense antiaircraft fire of the surface vessels. 

As it was, Spruance’s fleet, in assuming a defensive posture, 

shot down 430 attacking Japanese planes while sustaining very 

minor damage. At this late period in the war, stripping Japanese 

carriers of planes was practically the equivalent of sinking the 

carriers themselves, for Japan had neither time nor fuel to train 

replacement aviators. Thereafter, the only use she made of her 

planeless carriers was bait to lure Admiral Halsey away from the 

Leyte Gulf beachhead the following October. 

In short, in his second turnaway, Spruance did the right thing 

for what we now see to have been the wrong reason. In any case, his 

reputation is secure. One cannot help wondering, however, what 

his reputation would be if postwar revelations had shown that he 

achieved nothing by his turnaways, only missed golden opportunities. 

An important reason for his caution is that Spruance was what 

in military jargon we call a “capabilities man.” As Spruance himself says: “At the Naval War College in our Estimate of the 

Situation form we used to have: ‘The enemy, his strength, disposition, and probable intentions.’ Later, ‘probable intentions’ was 

changed to ‘capabilities.’ We found that there had been a tendency 

to decide what an enemy was going to do and lose sight of what he 

could do. I have seen just this happen in fleet problems at sea, and 

it is very dangerous.”’4 It goes without saying that a capabilities 

man with a vivid imagination can be paralyzed into a permanent 

defensive posture, but of course Spruance was much too intelligent 

to fall into that trap. “In making war,” he said, “we try to minimize 

rather than to avoid danger.” l5 

Admiral Halsey was a “probabilities man,” that is, he tended 

to make up his mind what the enemy would probably do and acted 

accordingly. In this respect, as well as in his liking for publicity, 

216 
Halsey was in the Nelsonian tradition. When the French Mediterranean Fleet escaped out of Toulon in 1798, Nelson assumed that 

it was going by direct route to Egypt and sped thither. Finding no 

enemy there, he dashed off to the north just before the French, 

who had come by an indirect route, arrived off Alexandria. In 1805 

when the French Mediterranean Fleet again escaped from Toulon, 

Nelson again dashed off eastward. At length realizing his mistake, 

he sped to the West Indies, whereupon the French fleet headed for 

the English Channel, its original objective. If Nelson had not been 

dealing with an incompetent and demoralized enemy, incapable of 

seizing opportunities, and if his wild-goose chases had not been 

followed by spectacular victories, one wonders what his reputation 

would be today. It was Halsey’s misfortune to be dealing with a 

highly motivated, alert enemy. 

Nelson’s impulsiveness, unlike Halsey’s, did not extend to 

day-by-day operations. Halsey’s whimsical, often slapdash, methods 

of operating were the despair of his subordinates. I have never met 

a commander who did not much prefer serving under the methodical 

Spruance. Admiral Dyer, who commanded the light cruiser Astoria 

under both Halsey and Spruance, expresses their attitude this way: 

“My feeling was one of confidence when Spruance was there and 

one of concern when Halsey was there. . . . When you moved into 

Admiral Spruance’s command from Admiral Halsey’s . . . you 

moved from an area in which you never knew what you were going 

to do in the next five minutes or how you were going to do it, because 

the printed instructions were never up to date. . . . He never 

did things the same way twice. When you moved into Admiral 

Spruance’s command, the printed instructions were up to date, and 

you did things in accordance with them. 

“When you’ve got hundreds of ships under you, you’ve got to 

have some common ground to stand on, or when you’re charging 

around at 25 or 30 knots in one of these great big ships, what you’re 

going to do in the next two or three minutes is important, and what 

the other ships are going to do is important.” l6 

But Admiral Halsey, despite his shortcomings, which were few 

compared to his virtues, was ever revered by the little men of his 

fleet and command. Always approachable, always solicitous, always 

daring, he operated not in the spirit of “Go!” but of “Let’s go!” He 

asked no man to face dangers that he would not face himself. He 

217 
passed no bucks, he shirked no responsibilities. Always appreciative, he never left a command or ended a campaign without words of 

thanks or commendation. One remembers his opening words to his 

fleet on ending the Philippine campaign: “I am so proud of you that 

no words can express my feelings.” ’‘ 

Perhaps Admiral Nimitz has left us the best brief description 

of his top fleet commander: “Bill Halsey was a sailor’s admiral and 

Spruance an admiral’s admiral.” 

NOTES 

1. Dwight D. Eisenhower, Crusade in Europe (Garden City, New York, 

1952), p. 290. 

2. Ladislas Farago, The. Tenth Fleet (New York, 1962), pp. 91-92. 

3. Samuel Eliot Morison, History of United States Naval Operations in 

World Wur 11, Vol. I (Boston, 1948), p. 115. 

4. Morison, IV (1949), 246. 

5. Ladislas Farago to E. B. Potter, 14 September 1967. 

6. From taped interview 5 March 1968. Admiral Dyer had prepared himself so well for the interview and expressed himself so clearly that I have 

made use of the details he furnished almost to the exclusion of those provided 

by others. Dyer’s portrayal of the King personality, however, is fully supported by Admiral Russell and others. 

7. George C. Dyer, “Learn to Say No to the Admiral,” United States Naval 

lnstitute Proceedings, 89 (July, 1963), 26-35. 

8. Fleet Admiral C. W. Nimitz to Commander R. T. E. Bowler, Jr., USN, 

9 March 1963. 

9. From taped interview 1 March 1968. 

10. Morison, IV, 254. 

11. E. B. Potter, “Chester William Nimitz,” United States Naval Institute 

Proceedings, 92 (July, 1966), 47. Based on taped interview with Admiral 

Harry Hill, USN (Ret.), who was at the conference. 

12. Vice Admiral Emmett P. Forrestel, USN (Ret.), Admiral Raymond 

A. Spruance, USN: A Study in Command (Washington, D.C., 1966), p. 62. 

This quotation, says Forrestel, is the “general tenor” of Spruance’s remarks. 

13. I have checked with others who were present, and all agree that this 

was at least the purport of Halsey’s statement. 

14. Admiral R. A. Spruance to E. B. Potter, 21 February 1959. 

15. lbid. 

218 
16. Taped interview with Admiral Dyer. 

17. Morison, XI11 (1959), 183. 

18. Quoted in Vice Admiral George C. Dyer, USN (Ret.), Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner (not yet published). 

219 
COMMENTARY 

RAYMOND G. O’CONNOR 

Professor Potter is to be commended for tackling one of the 

more difficult problems facing the historian, namely, discerning 

the personal qualities and characteristics of selected senior naval 

officers and their bearing or performance in one of the world’s 

greatest wars. 

It would be difficult to imagine a more satisfactory pairing of 

examples, for the contrasts between certain of these leaders are 

more apparent than the similarities. In fact, one is tempted to 

conclude that there are no absolute qualifications necessary for 

successful leadership, no scientific formula, no universal criteria or 

statistical profile by which to measure an individual’s potential or 

existing ability to exercise command. Those of us who have struggled with courses designed to train young men in the complexities 

of leadership are aware that the subject scarcely merits the designation of an “inexact science,” and the simple enumeration of glib 

generalizations may be useful only as an exercise in demonstrating 

the exceptions. Nonetheless, all military personnel are constantly 

being evaluated by their superiors in terms of leadership qualities, 

and they are being judged by the men they command in terms of 

their effectiveness. 

Professor Potter’s paper is devoted primarily to an assessment 

of the personal characteristics of the four admirals discussed, but 

the essential factor of judgment is not ignored. The successful 

commander must be not only a good leader of men but he must 

make the right decisions in battle situations. A basic question 

concerns the way in which character and judgment are developed, 

and I am sure that Professor Potter is prepared to provide this sort 

of background if time were no object. Still, each of the officers 

mentioned in the paper possessed an image which had an impact 

220 
that was directly related to his success in command. King and 

Halsey gave the impression of boldness, aggressiveness, dash, 

dynamism, toughness, and flair. They had, in Madison Avenue 

parlance, style. Their physical appearance, including dress, visage, 

and physique, their speech and their mannerisms all contributed to 

the effect. On the other hand, Spruance and Nimitz were quiet, 

modest if not self-effacing, conventional in dress and conduct, each 

the very antithesis of flamboyance. Yet their cool exterior exuded 

confidence and they had that indefinable quality, presence. These 

two officers used their power quietly, and which of these stereotype 

groups was most effective in exercising leadership could well depend on the circumstances and the requirements of the particular 

job. 

The more than casually curious person, seeking to discover 

how these people got that way, would surely find himself involved 

in the age-old argument over heredity and environment. Some 

authorities contend that leaders are born not made, although the 

services stress education, indoctrination, training, and experience. 

But in regard to the image, does the individual assiduously cultivate 

an exterior designed to project in a particular way, which he 

deliberately creates as suited to his personality, his aspirations, 

and his assessment of the qualities needed for success in his chosen 

profession? Probably most have some sort of model, a Nelson or a 

Lord Hornblower, to which he tries to conform; and evidently none 

of the men considered made strenuous efforts to disabuse others of 

their convictions in attributing to them distinctive qualities, however inaccurate. Halsey later could protest, “Now that I am sitting 

down to my autobiography it is Bill Halsey whom I want to get on 

paper, not the fake, flamboyant ‘Bull.’ ” Yet it is clear that he came 

to take pride in the nickname, and he selected El Tom to be used 

as his TBS [talking between ships] code call. His boastful statements about a quick end to the war, dictating the peace in Tokyo, 

riding the Emperor’s horse, and exhorting everyone to kill more 

Japs made headlines and contributed to his image. At the same 

time it helped restore the morale of a fleet reeling from a succession 

of defeats. In his thesis written as a student at the Naval War 

College, Halsey enumerated the characteristics he considered necessary in a fleet commander. Stressing what we would call the 

charismatic qualities or “star appeal,” he felt the commander 

should inspire the men and insure that his will should permeate 

221 
and dominate the entire force. To continue briefly with the cultivation of an image, King protested about certain legends concerning 

his toughness, but in his autobiography he quotes with pride stories 

of his shaving with a blowtorch. King insisted that the slate-gray 

uniform replace the summer khaki, and while eventually it did not 

prevail, a number of us bought the damned things only to find that 

they were not permitted in the Pacific. 

In contrast with King and Halsey, the other two leaders appeared uninterested in any type of unique or distinctive projection, 

with the possible exception of Nimitz’s propensity for having his 

photograph taken pitching horseshoes with enlisted men. Niciitz 

could refer to Spruance as “this reserved and self-effacing man.” 

As for temperament being part of the image, Professor Potter tells 

of King engaging in name calling with his subordinates; Halsey’s 

rages were legion, and both of these men had acquired reputations 

for being harsh and outspoken in their criticism of shortcomings in 

their subordinates. Probably these outbursts were not contrived, but 

they contributed to the jmage and may have contributed to an 

efficiency of performance. Conversely, the “iron hand in the velvet 

glove” approach, as illustrated in the story which Nimitz related to 

Professor Potter, could have been just as effective. The relative 

merits of the carrot and the stick, the pat on the back rather than 

the kick in the posterior, are hotly debated. But it appears that 

none of these “types” had significant problems with morale, loyalty, 

dedication, or performance. 

Still, one should resist the tendency to assume that the commander who wins has made no mistakes, or the other extreme, 

which one might conclude after reading a number of war books, 

that nothing that anyone did was right. Perhaps the most essential 

factor in exercising command is good judgment, and this dimension 

of leadership deserves a good deal more attention. Liddell Hart has 

concluded that “The most successful of the Allied commanders 

enjoyed such immense quantitative advantage that the qualitative 

value of their own performance cannot be gauged.” But such was 

certainly not true during the early years in the Pacific, and, in any 

event, the commanders had to make a number of hard decisions 

which, for their forces and at times for the nation, were “moments 

of truth.” There is a story about a wise man being asked how one 

avoids making mistakes, and he replied that one does so by exercising good judgment. When asked how one develops good judgment, 
he replied “by making mistakes.” Both Alfred P. Sloan and Henry 

Ford I1 have been quoted to the effect that a successful executive 

should be right at least half of the time, which may be satisfactory 

in the automobile business. But military leaders and physicians 

bury their mistakes, and a single major defeat can have catastrophic 

consequences. 

C.P. Snow defines good judgment as “the ability to think of 

many matters at once, in their interdependence, their relative importance, and their consequences.” Significantly, Spruance was 

referred to as the man with a computer brain, and we are all 

familiar with the current stress on systems analysis, which I define 

as a more efficient method for considering all the factors involved 

in making a decision. But without engaging in the controversy over 

computers versus judgment,” I would like to deal with this ultimate test of a commander’s talents. 

66 

As to the process, it appears that judgment involves both 

logical, rational thought and intuition based upon imagination and 

experience. “The intuition process or factor,” says Henry Eccles, 

“is the creative or artistic element of military thinking,” and Justice 

Brandeis thought judgment involved “the almost instinctive correlation of a thousand imponderables.” Mahan extolled “the intuitive 

ability which practice gives to size up a situation. The French call 

it coup d’oeil-at-a glance.” Spruance, in explaining why he had 

followed a particular course of action at Midway, called his reason 

a feeling, an intuition perhaps.” His biographer points out that 

the decision “was actually based upon sound logic [and a] thorough 

estimate of the situation and orderly thought.” Spruance, “the 

thinking man’s naval officer,” has ever been aware of human fallibility, and recently he attributed much of his success at Midway 

to “luck.” He is qloted as saying that “I am more than ever impressed with the part that good or bad fortune plays in tactical 

engagements. [We have been given] credit, where no credit is 

due. . . .” He would probably agree with Machiavelli, who surmised 

that human beings exercise control over about 50 percent of their 

activities (he was not so foolhardy as to specify which half). 

Spruance also has stressed the value of imagination, “tempered and 

guided by common sense and reason,” which he thinks necessary to, 

as he puts it, “discipline the imagination.” So the commander must 

consider a multiplicity of factors and weigh their significance, but 

66 

223 
before deciding he must anticipate the outcome. Every decision is a 

prediction, and the operator is selecting from alternative courses of 

action that which is most likely to be successful in light of the 

objective. The situation is often such that a lengthy appraisal, “due 

deliberation,” would be impracticable, in which case he must rely 

on an intuitive or “gut” reaction. While this area of investigation 

may more appropriately be the province of the psychologist, a bit 

of conjecture may provoke discussion if not dissension. 

Freud maintained that the “unconscious mind” was more reliable in certain matters than the conscious mind, i.e., that intuition 

can be more effective than reason as a guide to action. We are 

reminded of the saying that women are wiser than men because 

they know less but understand more. Be that as it may, this intuitive 

ability which I have emhasized is developed by the individual in 

his own professional field through experience, both directly and 

vicariously. Mahan quoted Napoleon to the effect that on the field 

of battle the happiest inspiration-again coup d’oeil-is often 

only a recollection. And Mahan went on to observe that: 

This is a testimony to the value of historical illustration, which is 

simply recorded experience; for, whether the recollection be of 

what some other man did, or whether it be of some incident one’s 

self has seen and recalls, it draws upon the past and that, too, not 

in a general way, but by specific application to an instant emergency, comprehended at a glance, just because it is familiar. 

Numerous military figures have commented on the value of 

history, not only for what to do but for what to avoid doing, and the 

only way to escape what Marx called the “dead hand of the past 

controlling the living” is to study history. 

At this point I take the opportunity to introduce the role of the 

Naval War College. Nimitz remarked, “I regard the course I had 

here from 1922 to 1923, an eleven-months course, as the best training I could conceive of for command at sea,” and of the Pacific war 

games, “the course was so complete that when the war in the Pacific 

actually started, nothing that happened surprised us at all except the 

kamikaze attacks.” Being forewarned he was forearmed, and he 

recognized the contingencies as they arose. Spruance’s biographer 

says the admiral “himself attributes his later successful war operations in large measure to the training received at the Naval War 

College,” and Spruance says of the College “this is where I got my 

224 
education.” Halsey learned strategy and tactics “with emphasis on 

the problems of logistics.” But as noted earlier, he was required to 

deal with the knotty question of command qualities. “The duty,” 

Halsey wrote, “was pleasant, stimulating because of the instruction, 

the exchange of ideas, the chance to test your pet theories on the 

game board, and the opportunity to read up on professional publications.” King found the months at Newport “refreshing and 

valuable.” “What he learned of Pacific strategy,” he said, “proved 

its usefulness in due time,” and his first thesis, “The Influence of 

the National Policy on the Strategy of a War,” submitted on 7 

November 1932, contained, in King’s words, “passages that were to 

be confirmed by developments of nine years later.” 

Well, I’m not engaged in a public relations venture for my 

temporary institution, but these examples demonstrate one of the 

most effective means of developing judgment. King has observed 

that: 

Any man facing a major decision acts, consciously or otherwise. 

upon the training and beliefs of a lifetime. This is no less true of 

a military commander than of a surgeon who, while operating, 

suddenly encounters an unsuspected complication. In both instances, 

the men must act immediately with little time for reflection, and if 

they are successful in dealing with the unexpected it is upon the 

basis of past experience and training. 

No doubt a critic would feel that King is slighting what is 

called native ability, or that the opponent by his ineptitude might 

contribute more to victory than the superior decision-making of the 

victor. But the cumulative effect of exposure to situations, real or 

imaginary, actual or vicarious, cannot be discounted. 

Of course there were a great many factors operating in the 

favor of the American naval leaders and some have been noted in 

passing. At the highest level, as Walter Millis observed, the war 

was not fought, it was administered. But administration has always 

constituted a large part of the commander’s responsibilities, and 

successful administration demands the resources of a scientist and 

the talents of an artist. King often maintained-as he says only half 

in jest-“that he has never done anything for himself that he could 

get someone else to do for him.” The delegation or decentralization 

of authority is almost a maxim among organizational theorists, but 

the man at the top can never absolve himself of overcentralization 

225 
in his Naval War College thesis. “A commander,” he wrote, “may 

become so fascinated and engrossed in his planning, that he assumes 

the initiative rightfully belonging to his subordinate. His plans may 

become so complicated, so detailed, and so manifold, that it is a 

practical impossibility to follow him.” Yet chaos must be avoided, 

and the successful commander usually adopts the adage of telling 

subordinates what to do but not how to do it, only to be faced with 

the prospect of losing control over the segments of his command, 

destroying essential cohesiveness of purpose, and creating a situation of virtual anarchy. Conversely, commanders sometimes have 

had a tendency to become absorbed in details, to devote their 

energies to the trees rather than the forest. Such a situation could 

be remedied, it seems, by a change in the commander’s habits or 

interests and the selection of a competent staff in which he had 

confidence. In practice the former may be more difficult than the 

latter, and many a good staff officer has been wasted by serving 

under an over-conscientious commander. The problem is to provide 

leadership and guidance without stifling responsibility and initiative, and success in command is often directly related to the amount 

and caliber of work that can be secured from subordinates. The 

authoritarian personality has its place in a military organization, 

although persuasion and manipulation may prove more effective 

than arbitrary dictatorship. 

Of the four naval leaders discussed by Professor Potter, only 

two faced actual battle situations. It is of some interest to note their 

reactions to emergencies and disappointments. Halsey tells us that 

after an operation had been launched he worried and fretted, 

smoked numerous cigarettes and drank quantities of coffee, read 

trashy magazines, and was completely miserable. On the other 

hand, we are told that after an operation had been set in motion, 

“Spruance relaxed. He had thought things through so thoroughly 

that his mind was free of unnecessary worry about improbable 

contingencies.” As for disappointments, Halsey to the day of his 

death never stopped torturing himself about his absence at Midway 

and what he considered his “hardest and wrongest decision,” 

namely, to turn away from his pursuit of the Japanese carrier force 

and heed Kinkaid’s request to protect the ships in Leyte Gulf. 

Spruance, at one time notified that he had been denied an opportunity to engage a Japanese force because of a failure in radio 

226 
communications, replied quietly, “That’s too bad, isn’t it?” He gave 

no indication of wasting time in regrets or recriminations. 

To pursue another tack in this impressionistic commentary, 

Professor Potter quotes Spruance on the significance of a change in 

war planning by stressing the enemy’s capabilities rather than his 

intentions. Of course any commander in his estimate of the situation 

must consider both factors, but the order of priority is crucial. In 

the Pacific war the American leaders enjoyed a considerable advantage over their opponents because they could read the Japanese 

code and their ships were equipped with radar. This advantage 

could prove decisive, and Midway is the most notable, but far from 

the only example of the contribution made by intelligence to the 

outcome of a battle. Admiral Sherman, in his Combat Command, 

says with some exaggeration that at Leyte, “Unlike other battles in 

the Pacific, no previous radio interception had given any inkling of 

enemy intentions.” This superior knowledge was usually available 

to the commander not only during the initial maneuvering and 

disposition of the fleets but to a significant degree after the engagement began. General Marshall has observed that battlefield decisions 

are made in an atmosphere of “chronic obscurity,” but the American naval leaders enjoyed the benefit of many “eyes of the fleet.” 

Still, it is frightening to consider the amount of incorrect information that was received by these commanders, and the armchair critic 

must often contemplate the relevance of the Tolstoyian view of 

warfare. Of course many participants find out what happened only 

after the event, and in trying to reconstruct the details of an engagement we might ask whether anyone would submit a battle report 

that contained information to warrant his court-martial. But the 

authenticity of documents is a matter not on the program for this 

symposium. 

One writer has asserted that leading forces in battle is “possibly the most complete human activity, since it involves all the 

intellectual, physical, and moral power in a man.’’ Modern war 

accentuates the intellectual dimension, for adapting technology to 

strategy, or the reverse, the awesome logistics problems, and the 

intricate command relationships in theaters of war covering thousands of miles of land, sea, and air, imposed demands which 

seemed almost impossible of human resolution. The Navy that these 

men represented, and the forces they led, were the product of the 

most highly industrialized society known to man. These leaders 

227 
embodied, and in action realized, many of the ideas and processes 

of thought which characterized the period. They should be viewed 

as both products and molders of their times, times characterized not 

only by mechanization but by a closer association of disparate 

nations. In the latter connection, one discerns qualities necessary to 

function with opposite numbers in coalition warfare, and from the 

Navy’s point of view the situation in Washington required a leader 

who would not be dominated by the forceful personality of General 

Marshall, overwhelmed by the labyrinthian system, or intimidated 

by the British. Forrest Pogue has observed that King and Marshall 

“never succeeded in developing the warm affection Marshall and 

Stark had for each other,” and they had what the Chief of Staff 

described as “one or two pretty mean fights, but each gained the 

other’s respect and made honest efforts to reach agreement when it 

seemed that further controversy would interfere seriously with the 

conduct of the war.” That each made significant contributions to the 

American position on strategy is indicated by Lord Alanbrooke’s 

notes on 1 November 1943, after the Quebec Conference. “If only I 

had had sufficient force of character to swing those American Chiefs 

of Staff and make them see daylight.” Of course some of us regret 

that the American strategy regarding Europe was not implemented 

at an earlier date, but the Joint Chiefs had a formidable antagonist 

in the British Prime Minister whose addiction to the indirect approach amounted to an obsession. 

On the matter of interservice relationships, Louis Morton has 

related how the commanders in the Pacific argued among themselves 

over the role of their respective arms in contemplated operations, 

both on the strategic and tactical level. The alleged “military mind” 

was subdivided as the professional prism reflected air, land, and sea 

points of view. Admiral “Mary” Miles recently has described his 

frustrations in dealing not only with the army but with the sinister 

cloak and dagger OSS [Office of Strategic Services] representatives, 

from all of which we may reach the obvious conclusion that a 

commander should be able to get along with and handle people at 

all levels and in all dimensions of activity. The extent to which 

getting along” involves concession and compromise is fundamental, and the successful commander must see that his views 

prevail a good part of the time. That he need not be a “personality 

boy” is apparent, although the complexities of modern warfare and 

66 

228 
the need to deal with so many people outside the service environment seem to emphasize “operator” techniques. 

One quality that appears common to these leaders is related to 

one of the generally accepted principles of war, namely concentration of force. But in their case it may more appropriately be called 

concentration of purpose.’’ Not that these men were necessarily 

monomaniacs, but they had a dedication and singleness of purpose 

which colored their outlook and channeled their energies in such a 

way that they brought to bear on their professional tasks a degree of 

cumulative and intensive effort unusual in human activity. The 

casual, part-time naval officer is seldom found in the annals of 

history. 

66 

Mahan, in analysing types of naval officers, found that they 

by natural characteristics arranged themselves in pairs-presenting points of contrast, in deficiencies and excellencies, which group 

them together, not by similarity chiefly, but as complementary.” 

This observation certainly applies to the four leaders treated in the 

paper. 

(6 

But there is a desperate need for more analyses in depth of the 

command, leadership, administrative, and decision-making qualities 

which positions of authority have required, of the ways in which 

men have met specific challenges, of the extent to which individuals 

have controlled events, and of the common or unique characteristics 

which are most valuable. And we should try to understand how 

and why these men got that way, how they came to possess the 

personality, character, and ability to succeed in this ultimate test of 

human resources. Professor Potter’s paper has made a contribution 

to such study. 

229 
THE MILITARY VIEW: 

COMMENI'S BY THREE ADMIRALS 

ADMIRAL ARLEIGH BURKE 

Professors Potter and O'Connor are eminent military historians, but I believe in this instance they have looked for differences among the successful American naval commanders rather 

than similarities. The differences between Admiral Halsey and 

Admiral Spruance were tremendous, particularly in their personality traits. Because personalities make news these traits have been 

overemphasized. 

Instead of analyzing each individual mentioned in Professor 

Potter's paper, I would like to confine myself to generalities in 

connection with military command. 

All of these commanders, and a great many others, had the 

basic requirements for success in any organization, but particularly 

for success in the military profession. They had character and 

integrity. Each had high personal standards, and they lived by those 

standards as best they could. They had honesty of purpose and a 

sense of justice, and many of the other virtues which a man requires 

to be respected among his peers in the military. All of these men 

were respected, and so the first requirement for a military man is 

character, as all of these commanders proved. 

The second common denominator among these wonderful 

people was their belief in their cause. They believed in the United 

States. They believed in their Navy. They had convictions, and they 

carried out those convictions even though sometimes they turned out 

to be wrong. Their cause was above themselves. They never injected 

a personal gain over that of their cause. They fought for the good 

of their country, and you can find examples in each one of these 

men's experiences in high command where each took a course of 

action which was detrimental to himself but good for the United 

230 
States. They forget themselves in doing all they could for the best 

interests of their country. And this is the second requirement for a 

military commander. 

All of these commanders had a great sense of responsibility 

which they accepted with full realization of all the implications that 

responsibility carries with it. They did not try to avoid difficult 

situations or “pass the buck up or down.” They made decisions to 

the best of their ability. Also they all had self-reliance. They had 

trained themselves and they believed in themselves; and that belief 

was not misplaced, perhaps because of their character. They all had 

personal courage, not only courage in battle, but moral courage, 

which includes sometimes going against the advice of the staff or 

the senior subordinate commanders. This sense of accepting real 

responsibility, self-discipline, staunchness, selflessness, courage, and 

other similar characteristics is also common to all of these commanders and probably most successful commanders. 

All of these commanders had great professional ability and 

were respected for their professional ability a long time before the 

war. They had knowledge which they acquired over years of study, 

not only in the War College but from the experience of operating in 

the fleets. They had skill in the use of their knowledge which again 

came from experience. They practiced, They thought of situations 

with which they might sometime be confronted, and they figured out 

possible solutions to those situations. They worked on plans, contingency plans, none of which was probably ever carried out but 

which left a lasting impression of what to do in some situations. 

They worked, and they all worked hard. As a result, when they 

ordered a tactic to be carried out in war, their subordinates knew 

that the commander had skill in what he was asking them to do, and 

so they relied on his judgment. They may have sometimes questioned some of the details, but they realized that the man who was 

giving the order was a man who had thought out the problem and 

had had experience upon which to build the proper solution. So the 

next group of qualities necessary in a commander, and which all 

of these friends of mine had, was professional ability. 

The next requirement for high command which they all had in 

common was leadership ability, and it was in this ability that their 

differences in personality became evident. There are many different 

ways to lead military people. One of them is the flamboyant way of 

231 
Admiral Halsy or General Patton. Far removed from this method of 

leadership is the leadership of a Spruance. (I should be able to 

think of quiet, unassuming, wonderful Army or Air Force leaders, 

but I can’t at the moment, although I know they had them.) But note 

that in spite of the differences in personality, all of these officers 

were known to have character, courage, self-discipline, and professional ability. 

Even so there were quite a few leadership qualities which they 

all had. The first one is that they looked out for the good of their 

people or morale. They didn’t baby their people by any means, but 

they made sure that their people were treated with justice. Each of 

them also had the ability to cooperate with people. Admiral 

Spruance had that ability to just as great a degree as did Admiral 

Halsey or Admiral Nimitz. They all had the ability to communicate, 

not only with their subordinates, but also with their seniors. They 

were able to persuade people. In large commands the ability to 

persuade is the essence of the ability to delegate authority, which 

they all did too. They had enthusiasm, each expressed in a different way, but each also could project that enthusiasm among his 

followers. 

A great successful leader does not try to hide in the crowd. He 

does not try to achieve a consensus. Of course everybody wants to 

be liked, but he does not permit the desire to be liked or even loved 

to obscure his sense of duty, or to exercise the responsibilities which 

are his by reason of his position in the command structure. All of 

these people had the tenacity which is common to successful commanders too. They continued the fight sometimes when it looked as 

if they didn’t have much of a chance of winning it, but by their 

tenacity, their skill and professional ability, and the faith their 

people had in them, they did win. 

I am somewhat disappointed that Professor Potter left out one 

of the great wartime naval leaders, Admiral Mitscher, in his article, 

for he possessed the same general qualities as did the others. 

If I have conveyed the impression that I believe these men were 

heroes of the first order-it is because I do believe that. 

232 
ADMIRAL HARRY W. HILL, USN (Ret.) 

The character and leadership qualities of military commanders 

is a difficult subject to reduce to writing, and even a paper of the 

length of Professor Potter’s is inadequate to convey much feeling of 

familiarity with the admirals discussed. I was fortunate in having 

known them all during a great portion of my naval career, and in 

having participated with them during the drive across the Pacific 

from Tarawa to Japan. 

In recent years I have thought a great deal about the outstanding leaders our navy was blessed with during that war. Each of 

them proved to be “tailor-made” for his specific tasks. Individually, 

each was radically different from the others, but as a smooth working team, they were unbeatable. 

I should like to start with a brief word about Admiral Leahy. 

As naval aide and close associate with President Roosevelt, he was 

indispensable. His calm, studious, well-balanced, and knowledgeable insight into the multitude of problems facing the president, 

particularly in his conferences with Stalin and Churchill, contributed a great stabilizing force to the impulsive and often erratic 

president. President Roosevelt admired Admiral Leahy and had 

great respect for his forthright opinions and knowledge of both 

military and international affairs. Few military men in our history 

have done more to guide national policy in such a critical period. 

Admiral (then Lieutenant) King was my first battalion officer 

when I entered the Naval Academy in 1907. From the very first 

contact, we recognized in him a real leader. He knew what he 

wanted us to do, and told us in simple terms that he expected 

compliance. He was then an outstanding officer-capable, thorough, 

and strict. We came to realize that, in regard to anything he required us to do, he could do it better. As a leader, he was not of the 

inspirational type. He was cool, detached, and efficient. He demanded much of those under his command and accepted no excuse 

for failure. But he earned the respect and admiration of us all and 

set a high standard for us to try to eniulate. 

233 
In the prewar days of 1940-41, Rear Admiral King was a 

member of the Navy General Board. I was a captain, in the War 

Plans Division, and one day was directed to attend a meeting in the 

Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) Office, of the General Board and 

other high ranking officers of the Navy Department, for a discussion 

of the ORANGE War Plan (Japan). 

My task was to outline the details of the plan. The materiel 

weaknesses of the navy for war were very apparent in the plan, 

particularly in amphibious equipment, landing craft, etc., and these 

were emphasized as the discussion progressed. Many of those present 

expressed their opinion that in the event of war with Japan, no 

offensive action west of Hawaii was practical, and that the fleet 

would have to wait for deliveries of adequate equipment before 

starting to move westward. As a final speaker, Admiral King got to 

his feet. He was angry and exasperated at this “do nothing” attitude, and proceeded to tell them, in no uncertain terms, that they 

needed more aggressiveness and a positive attitude on how to find 

ways by which the ORANGE Plan could be effectively activated. 

He expounded then, for the first time to my knowledge, his often 

repeated adage of “DO your best with what you have.” 

After he became Chief of Naval Operations and Commander 

in Chief U.S. Fleet, many people considered him ruthless in his 

choice of commanders afloat. It was interesting to note that none of 

those “do-nothing” exponents in the CNO Conference ever was given 

a sea assignment during the war. Admiral King wanted fighters 

with firm belief in the spirit-and advantages-of the offensive. 

In my opinion, there was not another officer on the navy list 

who could have so forcefully fought the Navy’s battles in Washington with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Combined Chiefs of Staff, 

and in high-level conferences with Churchill and Stalin. Admiral 

King had a brilliant mind, an “elephant’s memory,” and the proven 

ability to present his opinions and recommendations in a brief but 

incisive style, which was very effective. It was he, aided by Admiral 

Leahy, who finally convinced the other U.S. and Allied leaders that 

they must divert an adequate flow of equipment and manpower to 

the Pacific so that a powerful offensive could be undertaken there 

also. It was a tough battle, but his insistence won out. 

He had to be tough-and he was. Ruthless? Yes, but he always 

234 
acted for what he considered the best interests of the Navy and 

the United States. Regardless of what his critics say, most of his 

assignments to high command afloat were excellent, and the most 

important of these was that of Admiral Nimitz as Commander in 

Chief Pacific Fleet. 

All I can say is-“Thank God for putting Admiral King at the 

helm during World War II!” 

Like Admiral King, Admiral Nimitz was a square peg in a 

square hole. I know of no other naval officer who could have fulfilled that difficult assignment so adequately. He took command at 

Pearl Harbor during the navy’s darkest hour, a truly rough assignment for any mortal. But his calm, imperturbable manner; his 

ability to listen and then act forcefully; his leadership qualities and 

ability to select qualified personnel for key assignments; his willingness to take calculated risks in order to assume the offensiveall these attributes, plus many more, within a few months had 

succeeded in lifting the navy out of its doldrums, and had gotten 

the offensive rolling. 

As Commander in Chief Pacific Fleet (CINCPAC) and Commander in Chief, Pacific Area (CINCPOA) , he had many problems 

pertaining to the other services, some of which involved very 

complicated decisions on matters of interservice concern, and often 

of great rivalry. His associations with Lieutenant General Richardson and General MacArthur were at times very touchy, but proved 

him not only to be a very fair but a very firm commander for 

all matters within the geographical limits assigned him. He was a 

willing and effective collaborator with General MacArthur in matters of joint concern in the Philippine Theatre which had been 

approved by the Joint Chiefs. 

His choice of key advisors was one of his strong points. In 

1942, for Chief of Staff, he selected Admiral Spruance, who served 

in that capacity for a year before being made Commander, Fifth 

Fleet. Another was Admiral Forrest Sherman as head of his planning division and later Chief of Staff. Both of these officers had a 

tremendous impact on his strategic thinking. Admiral Sherman was 

an outstanding aviator and was his key advisor during the Battle of 

the Philippine Sea. That wise and daring decision shortened the 

Pacific war by at least three months, and probably more. 

235 
Admiral Nimitz had the complete confidence of Admiral King, 

who sought his counsel and advice on all matters pertaining to the 

Pacific. In every way, to a phenomenal degree, Admiral Nimitz was 

the right man in the right job. 

I am surprised at Professor Potter’s comment in regard to 

Admiral Spruance’s conduct of the Battle of the Philippine Sea, 

that Spruance “did the right thing for what we now see to have been 

the wrong reason.” At the time of that battle, as second in command 

of the Marianas operation, I was the Senior Naval Officer present 

at the Saipan beaches. Some 70,000 troops were ashore, engaged 

in a bloody battle, and the largest naval force of transports, supply 

vessels, etc., ever assembled in the Pacific war was busily engaged 

in supplying those forces across difficult beaches. 

It was clearly expressed in Admiral Spruance’s orders that the 

primary task of the Fifth Fleet was to protect that amphibious 

assault on Saipan. Spruance anticipated an attempted “end run” by 

the Japanese and so advised Admirals Lee and Mitscher, and postwar information shows this to have been the Japanese plan. So 

Admiral Spruance’s action in that battle, which turned out so successfully, was for the only right reason. Later Admiral King wrote, 

As the primary mission of the American forces in the area was to 

capture the Marianas, the Saipan amphibious operations had to be 

protected from enemy [fleet] interference at all costs.” ’ 

<G 

Admiral Spruance was not the type who made mistakes. He 

had a brilliant mind and approached all problems with a thorough 

analysis which led to his decisions. These decisions had an uncanny 

way of always being correct. His planning was in broad terms; he 

wanted nothing to do with minor details of execution, which he left 

entirely to the discretion of his subordinates. His leadership was 

definitely of the inspirational quality, and on the numerous operations he commanded in the Pacific, every subordinate commander 

had complete confidence in the forthcoming victory. 

Personally, he is a man of tremendous charm and vitality, 

quiet in manner, and modest to a marked degree. I think the best 

description of him was made by the well known military historian, 

Douglas Freeman, who told me in 1946 that after completing his 

Life of Washington he was planning a book on the “Military 

236 
Leaders of World War 11.” I asked him “who will be the ‘Lee’ of 

that study?” Without hesitation he said, “Admiral Spruance.” 

Admiral Halsey was an entirely different type of leader from 

any of those previously mentioned. He was the active, aggressive, 

outspoken, and ebullient type, who proved to be just the right carrier 

force commander at sea after Pearl Harbor. By his indomitable 

courage and his “Kill the Bastards” publicity, he was a tremendous 

factor in rebuilding the navy’s offensive attitude, and he instilled in 

both the navy and the nation the spirit of the offensive and the will 

to victory. Like the other commanders already discussed, he alone, 

of all the senior officers I know, could have accomplished this in 

such a speedy and effective manner. Within a month after Pearl 

Harbor, he was at sea with his carrier force bombarding Japaneseheld islands in the Marshall Group. 

He was, as Nimitz said, “a sailor’s admiral.” His one desire 

was to be at sea on an offensive mission. He was not a planner, but 

a doer. He disliked all forms of paper work and administrative 

details. He was an impulsive, sometimes erratic, but always lovable 

leader, and he played a mighty part in the victory over Japan. 

Under Halsey in the Carrier Forces of the Third Fleet were 

several very capable aviation commanders. The most outstanding of 

these was Admiral Mitscher. He was one of the navy’s earliest 

aviators and had been flying since 1915. He was an extremely 

quiet, unassuming individual, never brilliant as a student, but cool 

and practical in his thinking, and aggressive in his action. He was 

“a flyer’s admiral” and had learned the aviation problems the 

hard way. So when he spoke, it was gospel; and he quickly obtained, and richly deserved, the badge of extreme dependability. In 

the later stages of the war, Mitscher WM a Vice Admiral and 

Commander Fast Carrier Forces pacific, and directed the carrier 

strikes on the Marshalls, Truk, Marianas, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, and 

Japan; and also in the battle of the Philippine Sea. The concluding 

high point of his career, and one illustrating the mutual confidence 

among our naval leaders, was the sinking of the Japanese battleship 

Yarnato in April 1945. 

One of Mitscher’s search planes made contact. . . . The position 

and course indicated a possibility that the ships might be enroute 

to Sasebo or some other Kyushu port instead of Okinawa. Spruance 

237 
was determined that they must not escape, but was unsure of the 

exact position of Task Force 58 (Mitscher) and feared that the 

Japanese westward movement might have placed them beyond 

reach of carrier aircraft. He was greatly relieved when the contact 

report was followed immediately by a query from Mitscher, “Will 

you take them or shall I?” Spruance reached for a radio message 

blank and scribbled a battle order for Mitscher, “You take them”.2 

Mitscher “took them,” putting nine torpedoes and five 1,000-pound 

bombs into Yurnuto before she sank, besides sinking a cruiser and 

four destroyers. 

I consider that order, “YOU take them,” one of the most 

interesting battle orders ever given, illustrating the complete understanding and trust between those two great commanders. Admiral 

Mitscher definitely deserves a place of honor on the list of great 

naval leaders of the war. 

One very glaring omission in Professor Potter’s paper is the 

name of Admiral Turner, who turned in one of the most outstanding 

performances of the Pacific war. There was definitely no one on the 

navy list who could have taken on the burden he carried and have 

accomplished so much. At Guadalcanal he had learned the hard way 

the problems of amphibious assault and our critical deficiencies in 

material and know-how. 

In September 1943, when Admirals King and Nimitz had 

succeeded in convincing the Combined Chiefs of Staff of the necessity for taking the offensive across the Pacific, they picked Turner 

for the difficult amphibious command. 

Turner had a brilliant mind and a tough, hard-boiled personality. He was a powerful leader, and like Admiral King, he would 

accept no excuse for failure. His estimates of the requirements of 

amphibious force proved to be fantastically accurate, but at the 

time they loomed so large that even Admiral Nimitz had difficulty 

in visualizing them. But he backed up Turner, and in a remarkably 

short time schools for naval gunfire support, air support, and underwater demolition teams were in operation; amphibious training 

was in full swing; and needed equipment was arriving at Pearl 

Harbor. 

238 
His organizational ability was outstanding, but as an operational commander, he was superb. He personally commanded the 

amphibious drive that drove the Japanese out of the Pacific islands, 

and when the war ended, he was busily engaged in preparing plans 

for the invasion of Japan. 

As Turner’s first amphibious group commander, ultimately 

relieving him at Okinawa as Commander Fifth Amphibious Force, 

I was intimately associated with him and his problems; and I could 

see the wisdom of his farsighted vision and relentless demands for 

more and better equipment. In my opinion, Turner was directly 

responsible for shortening the drive to Okinawa by at least six 

months, with the attendant saving of many lives. His name belongs 

high on any list of the navy’s great commanders. 

NOTES 

1. Ernest J. King and Walter Muir Whitehill, Fleet Admiral King: A Naval 

Record (New York, 1952), p. 557. 

2. Vice Admiral E. P. Forrestel, USN (Ret.), Admiral Raymond A. 

Spruance; A Study in Command (Washington, 1966), pp. 204-5. 

ADMIRAL ROBERT B. CARNEY, USN (Ret.) 

I have read Professor Potter’s paper and Professor O’Connor’s 

fine commentary dealing with “The Command Personality” with 

great interest. 

There is little that I could say concerning Professor O’Connor’s commentary other than to praise its insight; I found myself 

nodding in agreement as I read-for the most part, that is. On two 

points I would disagree. 

Halsey always derided the nickname “Bull” with one exception: General MacArthur always called him “Bull” and Halsey 

rather liked it. He and MacArthur were simpatico, totally different 

though they were. Professor O’Connor’s statement that “Halsey’s 

rages were legion” does not wash; I should know, because I was 

with him constantly from July of 1943 until the early month5 of 

239 
1946. Only once did he “blow his top”; that was the occasion of 

the much-publicized CINCPAC dispatch received during the Leyte 

operation. He was no amateur at expressing disapproval when 

warranted, but his was a self-disciplined and friendly nature, and 

“rages” were not part of his make-up. 

Professor Potter has done as well by Admiral Nimitz as seems 

possible at this time. He was truly a great man, a warm human 

being with a wonderful leaven of raucous humor. 

Perhaps I can add a footnote or two on the subject of Admiral 

King. When he was Chairman of the General Board in 1939, I was 

on duty in the Office of the Secretary of the Navy. Charles Edison, 

the Secretary, was unimpressed by operating line officers and was 

openly partial to officers of the technical branches. However, he fell 

under the spell of Admiral King’s intellect, logic, and unabashed 

advocacy of his conclusions. During this period I had my first 

contact with Admiral King and learned that while he was by no 

stretch of the imagination effusive, working with him and for him 

was not difficult if one paid attention to business and worked toward 

professional competence. 

From mid-1941 until after VJ-Day, I had numerous contacts 

with Admiral King. At times he sent for me by name to confer or 

receive instructions. On one occasion, in connection with a U.S.- 

British-Canadian conference on allocation of ships for escort-ofconvoy in the Atlantic, I was the US. representative and had been 

given a certain “number” for negotiation purposes. I finally signed 

an agreement (for optimum effort) which obligated two more U.S. 

ships than King had stipulated. His reaction, in the form of a verbal 

message to me, was to the effect that “he approved of your solution, 

but disapproves the method by which you arrived at it.” Pure 

Kingiana. In manner, I always found him punctiliously correct, 

sparing of words, willing to listen to reasoned argument but impatient of excess verbiage and wasted time. 

It was he who placed me with Admiral Halsey. Some time 

later, King asked me how I liked my assignment, and when I said 

that I did not wish to serve out the war in a staff job, he ended the 

discussion by saying, “You will stay with Halsey as long as he can 

fight.” To me King was distant, but at times he sought and listened 

to my views. He approved a Distinguished Service Medal for me 

241) 
while I was still a captain. His manner to me was as to a recognized 

professional. 

In short, I was one of King’s men, and one of King’s “horses” 

-not by any designation of his, but by my own volition stemming 

from admiration, respect, and regard. 

I shall only add two comments on the subject of Admiral 

Spruance, who is well delineated in Professor Potter’s paper. 

On the occasion of changes of command between Admirals 

HaIsey and Spruance, it was noticeable that Admiral Spruance 

concerned himself with more detail than did Admiral Halsey. Aspects which Admiral Halsey delegated to me were not infrequently, 

in Admiral Spruance’s staff structure, retained by the admiral himself. In turn, Admiral Spruance’s chief of staff handled details 

which I passed down to lower echelons of our staff. 

On the occasion of Halsey’s taking over from Spruance off 

Okinawa, as over-all commander of the area, Halsey immediately 

went ashore and checked in with all of the army and marine 

commands ashore; it is my understanding that Admiral Spruance 

had not made similar rounds ashore. Here, again, a difference in 

their respective concepts of administering command. (It is interesting to note here, that while Admiral Spruance’s staff showed signs 

of fatigue from repeated kamikaze attacks and alarms, Admiral 

Spruance, himself, was calm, fresh, unruffled, without a mark of 

fatigue or strain.) 

On the light side, I once asked Admiral Syruance his opinion 

concerning a rather verbose pamphlet dealing with the subject of 

command decision. He hesitated a moment and then said, “I would 

suggest a different title: Common Sense Made Hard.” 

Professor Potter’s vignette of Admiral Halsey does not set well 

with one who served under him as a cruiser skipper and thereafter, 

from the summer of 1943 until after VJ-Day, was constantly close 

to him as his Chief of Staff. The qualified encomiums in the 

penultimate paragraph do not, in my opinion, offset the greater 

space devoted to criticism of questionable merit. 

For a starter, his preoccupation with Admiral Dyer’s views is 

241 
odd in the light of his limited contact with Admiral Halsey, and 

some of the observations attributed to Admiral Dyer call for examination. 

Regarding tactical control in the Central Pacific with the Third 

Fleet, it was Commander TF 38, or one of the Task Group commanden, who issued tactical orders, not Commander Third Fleet. 

Carrier operations called the tune. 

I liked Admiral Dyer’s observation that “he [Halsey] never 

did things the same way twice,” although the observation as stated 

did not appear to have a favorable connotation. Halsey’s constant 

purpose was to keep the enemy off balance and in the dark, and by 

avoiding fixed patterns of objectives, tactics, communications, etc., 

he achieved tactical surprise on many occasions. He was confident 

that his subordinates were professionally up to meeting the requirements of modified orders. 

Descriptive expressions, such as “whimsical,” “slapdash,” and 

“probabilities man,” have a slant potential of which presumably a 

professional writer would not be unaware. “Whimsical” I would 

buy, because it implies the saving grace of humor. “Slapdash” is 

defined by Webster’s Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary as “in a 

slipshod manner”: slipshod, in turn, is a way of saying “careless, 

slovenly,” according to the same dictionary. “Slapdash” I do not 

buy. 

Next, I would look at “probabilities man.” Does Professor 

Potter imply here a fixed and general mentality and way of thinking? Without dwelling on that question, it might be helpful to say 

that early in the South Pacific campaign Admiral Halsey concluded 

that he could not penetrate the Oriental mind as to intentionsprobabilities-and adopted, as a substitute, the device of disrupting 

enemy thinking and planning by sudden-and sometimes diversionary-thrusts. Throughout the war, he looked at enemy capabilities 

in terms of things important to our side in determining his own 

courses of action. In short, in the opinion of one who enjoyed an 

authentic vantage point, the title of “probabilities man” is a misnomer. As a matter of fact, in view of the on-the-offensive character of 

all of Halsey’s operations after the tide was turned in the South 

Pacific, enemy “probabilities” were largely defensive in character 

-which would seem to weaken Professor Potter’s case. 

242 
Professor Potter says that “it was Halsey’s misfortune to be 

dealing with a highly motivated, alert enemy.” I find it difficult to 

discern misfortune in the context of Admiral Halsey’s over-all 

dealings with the enemy; his South Pacific campaign ended in total 

misfortune for Japan, and the two campaigns of the Third Fleet in 

the Central Pacific inflicted on the enemy losses of planes, warships, 

merchant ships, and installations, which added up to Japanese 

disaster. To what, then, is Professor Potter referring when he 

speaks of Halsey’s misfortune? On that point, he is not specific. 

Perhaps he had Leyte in mind. If so, I would add nothing of substance to Admiral Halsey’s own statements concerning his decisions, 

but I have long thought that it was a strategic and tactical misfortune that the vast array of U.S. seapower in the area was not 

under some one, over-all commander. 

One last point. Aggressive fighting against a tough enemy, 

over a period of years, and along a road extending from the South 

Pacific to the Japanese homeland, inevitably included damage and 

casualties; but compared to the successes, the setbacks were few in 

number and manageable in magnitude; and the seasoned Old Pro 

took them in stride-not “impulsively,” but with stamina and determination. 

However, Professor Potter does do justice to those traits and 

attributes which inspire fierce loyalty on the part of Halsey’s 

subordinates, but there is more that could be said by those who 

were really close to “Admiral Bill.” 

When success crowned one of his operations, he leaped to the 

housetops and gave all of the credit to subordinates involved; 

when-as will inevitably happen in war-something went wrong, 

he was just as quick to the housetops to assume his own full and 

personal responsibility. 

Admiral Halsey was completely devoid of pretense, and he 

had disdain for alibi. He enjoyed informal relationships with his 

trusted subordinates (and they enjoyed it, too). He was intensely 

loyal to those trusted subordinates, and he had a genuine and deep 

compassion for those of his people who faced great danger. I saw 

him weep when he signed a dispatch ordering an air attack which 

was necessary, but which was likely to sustain awful casualties. 

(Fortunately, our fliers achieved surprise, delivered a heavy attack, 

243 
and withdrew virtually unscathed.) The stereotype of the hardboiled “Bull” Halsey amused those of us who really knew him; he 

was a softie as far as people were concerned. 

He did not fit the pattern of the student, but he was a wide 

reader, he had an elephantine memory, and his mind short-cut 

voluminous pros and cons to reach logical conclusion. There were 

times when he said to me, “Your reasoning sounds right, but we 

will do it my way.” Almost always his way proved to be right. 

When the British conferred on him the Order of Knight of the 

British Empire (K.B.E.), his senior staff officers, at times of relaxation, differentially addressed him as “Sir Bill” or “Sir Butch” 

-until those bushy eyebrows contracted a bit. We knew when to 

stop. 

It is regrettable that so much of Professor Potter’s Halsey text 

is taken up with the quoted observations of Admiral Dyer, who had 

little or no opportunity for contact with Admiral Halsey, and no 

opportunity to hear or understand his thinking, during the war. 

There were others who could have contributed more knowledgeable 

pertinent fact and insight. 

REPLY TO ADMIRAL CARNEY 

E. B. Potter 

From my limited wartime experience as a naval reserve officer, 

I would not venture to express disagreement with Admiral Carney 

concerning Admiral Halsey’s handling of the U.S. Third Fleet. In 

justice to Admiral Dyer, however, I should explain that whenever I 

have encountered an officer who commanded a ship of the Central 

Pacific Force (alternately Third and Fifth Fleet), I have inquired 

into his comparative impressions when serving under Admiral 

Spruance and under Admiral Halsey. All have been in substantial 

agreement with Admiral Dyer, whom alone I quoted because I 
happened to have his words on tape and his permission to publish 

them. 

It is certainly true, as Admiral Carney notes, that in the 

Central Pacific the task force and task group commanders, rather 

than the fleet commander, were supposed to originate the tactical 

commands. Yet in practice the dividing line between tactics and 

strategy was hazy, and there was always a certain amount of 

overlap. 

When Admiral Spruance joined TF 58 on the eve of the 

Battle of the Philippine Sea, June 1944, Admiral Mitscher, CTF 

58, rather anxiously inquired who was then in tactical commandto which Spruance replied: “I shall issue general directives when 

necessary and leave details to you and Admiral Lee.”’ 

Still, when Mitscher decided in the early hours of June 18 to 

advance westward and attack the approaching enemy, he felt constrained to check with Spruance by TBS: “We propose to come 

to a westerly course at 0130 in order to commence treatment of 

enemy at 0500.” After mulling over this proposal for an hour, 

Spruance sent back his reply: “The change proposed in your 

message does not seem desirable.”’ If this decision of Spruance, 

to keep the carrier force in a covering position off the Saipan 

beachhead, was not tactical, it certainly shaped the tactics of the 

whole two-day battle that followed-and is still the subjet of controversy. 

The line dividing commands was still hazier the following 

October because all the warships of the Third Fleet except those of 

Task Force 38, Mitscher’s carrier force, had been loaned to General 

MacArthur to beef up his Southwest Pacific forces, including the 

Seventh Fleet, for the Leyte invasion. Hence Admiral Halsey and 

Admiral Mitscher were commanding the same vessels. Who was 

Officer in Tactical Command? In Sea Power: A Naval History, I 

wrote, “Because as a combat force Third Fleet and TF 38 were 

now identical, Halsey exercised direct tactical command, bypassing 

Mitscher.” When Admiral Halsey read that line in typescript, he 

wrote me: 

I did not bypass Mitscher. I always assigned targets to hit, leaving 

details to group and task force commanders. I would certainly have 
been derelict in my duty as Fleet Commander if I did not assign 

targets for them to strike, and would have been a fifth wheel if 

I exercised no control or command Over elements of my fleet. I 

always did this, and in doing it never felt that I was bypassing 

any junior echelon in the command. I have seen this statement 

made many times, presumably by people who did not understand 

the difference between strategical and tactical command. I always 

felt free to assume tactical command, if I thought the conditions 

warranted it.* 

In a letter to me dated 31 July 1959, Admiral Carney commented 

on the same passage as follows: 

Admiral Halsey has commented on your statement that he “exercised direct tactical command, bypassing Mitscher.” This is an 

important point, and you could do history and the subject of naval 

science a service by putting this point in perspective and pointing 

out to your prospective student audience the difference between 

strategic direction and tactical command. In Admiral Halsey’s 

position as Commander Third Fleet, he would have been derelict 

in his duty had he not prescribed strategic dispositions and objectives; this he did but left the actual tactical operations to 

subordinates. At no time was Mitscher “bypassed”; but he was not 

responsible for the operations of the Third Fleet and there was no 

reason to delegate that responsibility to him. 

With these statements in mind, it is a little confusing to read 

Admiral Halsey’s famous dispatch of 1512 hours 24 October, a 

dispatch which has never before been published in its entirety: 

Battle Plan. Batdiv 7 Miami Vincennes BiZoxi DESRON 52 less 

Stephen Potter from Task Group 38.2 and Wmhington Alabama 

Wichita New Orleans DESDIV 100 Patterson Bagley from Task 

38.4 will be formed as Task Force 34 under VAdm Lee Commander Battle Line. Task Force 34 engage decisively at long 

ranges. CTG 38.4 conduct carriers of Task Group 38.2 and Task 

Group 38.4 clear of surface fighting. Instructions for Task Group 

38.3 and Task Group 38.1 later. Halsey OTC in New Jersey.’ 

Halsey, Officer in Tactical Command, in New Jersey! Here 

Admiral Halsey is not only giving tactical commands but assuming 

Mitscher’s title. Theodore Taylor in The Magnificent Mitscher describes Mitscher’s reaction to the 1512 dispatch, of which Mitscher 

was not an addressee: 
At this point, Admiral Mitscher felt he had been relieved of tactical 

command of Task Force 38. While Halsey had not formally taken 

tactical command, his order, in the light of naval command 

structure, could not be construed otherwise. Definitely, it was felt, 

Admiral Halsey was going to determine the tactics of this particular 

fight. Admiral Mitscher retired for the night, saying, “Admiral 

Halsey is in command now.” There could not be two tactical commanders. It was apparent that Mitscher was not happy over the 

situation.6 

If Admiral Mitscher was displeased with the 1512 dispatch, 

Admiral Kinkaid, Commander Seventh Fleet, was delighted with 

it. Early that morning [ 24 October 19M] U.S. aircraft had sighted 

two Japanese surface forces threading through the southern and 

central Philippines, evidently intent upon attacking the Seventh 

Fleet shipping in Leyte Gulf. Kinkaid believed that his shore 

bombardment vessels could handle the smaller force, heading to 

come up from the south via Surigao Strait. The Central Force, 

including the 18-inch battleships Musashi and Yamato, were something else again. Only Halsey had the brawn to take care of those 

ships. 

Now Halsey was providing the means. According to the dispatch, out of the three carrier task groups off the Philippines (Task 

Group 38.1 had been sent to Ulithi), he planned to pull out four 

battleships-Washington and Alabama and Batdiv 7’s New Jersey 

and Zowa-together with cruisers and destroyers and form them 

into Task Force 34 under Admiral Lee, Commander Battleships, to 

block San Bernardino Strait, through which the Central Force 

would have to come to reach Leyte Gulf. 

Kinkaid was not an addressee of the 1512 dispatch, but his 

communicators had intercepted and decoded it, a common practice. 

He was not concerned that he never saw an execute of the plan. It 

might have been sent in a code his communicators could not read. 

“It was inconceivable,” said he, “that Halsey could have scrapped 

a perfect battle plan.” ’ 

“This dispatch, which played a critical part in the next day’s 

battle,” said Halsey, “I intended merely as a warning to the ships 

concerned that if a surface engagement offered, I would detach 

them from TF 38, form them into TF 34, and send them ahead as a 

battle line.” 

247 
Halsey did not form Task Force 34, at least not on 24 October. 

In the late afternoon, he received a report that there were Japanese 

carriers to the north. On these he now focused his entire attention, 

dismissing the Central Force as too damaged by air strikes to present any serious threat to Kinkaid’s ships-an utterly false assumption. Just before 2000 hours he went into Flag Plot, put his finger 

on the charted position of the enemy carriers, and said to Admiral 

Carney, “Here’s where we’re going. Mick, start them north.”’ 

According to Samuel Eliot Morison, it was at this point that 

Admiral Mitscher retired to his cabin-which seems logical. Says 

Morison in volume XI1 of his History of United States Naval 

Operations in World War II: 

CTF 38, Vice Admiral Mitscher in Lexington, bypassed for days 

by Admiral Halsey in issuing orders, had become little better 

than a passenger in his beloved Fast Carrier Forces Pacific Fleet. 

When, at 2029, he received Commander Third Fleet’s order to 

turn north, he inferred that Halsey intended to assume the tactical 

command in the following day’s battle, and decided to turn in.9 

After orders had gone out to the carrier group commanders, 

Commander Third Fleet notified Commander Seventh Fleet. Said 

Halsey later: 

I believed that my dispatch to Kinkaid “Am proceeding north with 

three groups to attack enemy carrier force at dawn” fully complied 

with my obligations to keep him-Kinkaid-informed of my force 

movements. I did not know he had intercepted my Battle Plan 

message, which had never been executed.l0 

Did his dispatch to Kinkaid in fact fully comply with his 

obligations to keep Kinkaid informed? “Proceeding north with 

three groups.” Three groups of what? Kinkaid assumed that these 

were the three carrier groups from which Task Force 34 had 

supposedly been extracted that afternoon. He further assumed that 

Task Force 34 was waiting off the Pacific Ocean end of Sari 

Bernardino Strait, toward the opposite end of which the Japanese 

Central Force was speeding-as everybody knew, including Halsey. 

Should not Admiral Halsey have made sure that Admiral Kinkaid 

knew that his Seventh Fleet now had to defend itself against both 

the Southern and the Central Forces? Should not he have ascertained whether the Seventh Fleet had the power so to defend itself, 
with its shipping, before carrying all of Task Force 38 northleaving San Bernardino Strait wide open? 

Should not Admiral Halsey further have assumed that Admiral 

Kinkaid had seen his 1512 dispatch? With battle imminent, communicators were intercepting-“eavesdropping,” they called iteverything they could decode in order to give their commanding 

officers as clear a picture as possible of what was going on. A study 

of the message files shows that there was plenty of eavesdropping 

going on in Task Force 38. 

Perhaps it is such failures to cover all bases and to take all 

possibilities into account that has given the Halsey command the 

reputation of being a bit slapdash. 

The events of 25 October 1944 are well known. Seventh Fleet 

ships repulsed the Southern Force in Surigao Strait. The Central 

Force came unopposed through San Bernardino Strait and attacked 

a small Seventh Fleet escort carrier unit. Halsey’s carriers, far to 

the north, attacked and sank four Japanese carriers. Worried about 

the threat to the Seventh Fleet, Admiral King paced and swore in 

Washington; Admiral Nimitz sat grimly at Pearl Harbor, finally 

sent Halsey a prod: “Where is Task Force 34?” At that, Halsey 

turned Task Force 34 around and with this and one of the three 

available carrier groups of Task Force 38 headed back south. As 

a result, a considerable part of Halsey’s force, including all six 

battleships, spent the day of battle steaming fruitlessly 300 miles 

north, then 300 miles back south without making contact with the 

enemy north or south-while at both ends of “Bull’s Run” American forces were left in contact with superior enemy forces. 

Of course, the seeds of confusion were planted in the 

CINCPOA order (No. 8-44) issued to Halsey for this operation. He 

is directed to “cover and support forces of the Southwest Pacific,” 

including Seventh Fleet. Then between #1 and #2 of the detailed 

instructions is inserted a sentence-unnumbered, unattached, apparently an insertion, written in strange English: 

In case opportunity for destruction of major portion of the enemy 

fleet offer or can be created, such destruction becomes the primary 

task.’l 

Who inserted that curious sentence? Why? Was it someone who 

249 
disapproved Spruance’s covering the beachhead in the Battle of the 

Philippine Sea, someone who wanted to make sure that Halsey in 

the coming operation would be free to uncover anything at all in 

order to take off after a “major portion of the enemy fleet”? 

Whoever the writer and whatever his purpose, the sentence proved, 

as Morison has said, the tail that wagged the dog, for the Northern 

Force that Halsey went after was a mere decoy, sent down by the 

Japanese specifically to draw him away from the path of the 

Central Force. 

NOTES 

1. Samuel Eliot Morison, History of United States Naval Operations in 

World War 11, VIII (Boston, 1953), 243. 

2. Theodore Taylor, The Magnificent Mitscher (New York, 1954), pp. 

22 1-22. 

3. Undated memorandum to E. B. Potter. Signed “W. F. Halsey.” 

4. Third Fleet Message File, 24Q612. This and message referred to in note 

10 below are verbatim. 

5. Taylor, p. 261. 

6. Letter to E. B. Potter, 15 August 1959. Quoted in E. B. Potter and 

Chester W. Nimitz (eds.), Sefi Power: A Naval History (Englewood Cliffs, 

N.J., 1960), p. 783. 

7. Fleet Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., USN (Ret.), “The Battle for 

Leyte Gulf,” United States Nad Institute Proceedings, 79 (May, 1952), 

488. Quoted in Potter and Nimitz, p. 783. 

8. Halsey, “Battle for byte Gulf,” p. 490. Quoted in Potter and Nimitz, 

p. 7a4. 

9. Morison, XI1 (Boston, 1958), 196. 

10. Halsey memo. Dispatch quoted from Potter and Nimitz, p. 7M. 

11. CINCPOA Operation Plan No. 8-44, dated 27 September 1944. 

250 
Part V 

NEW PERSPECTIVES IN WARFARE 

THE COMBINED BOMBER OFFENSIVE : 

CLASSICAL AND REVOLUTIONARY, COMBINED 

AND DIVIDED, PLANNED AND FORTUITOUS 

Noble Frankland 

Perhaps you will allow me to introduce my subject by making 

a few general observations about the combined bomber offensive 

and its place in history. There are, after all, very special reasons 

for studying this campaign. In the first place the combined bomber 

offensive, though descended from some primitive attempts in the 

First World War and related in principle to the naval instrument of 

blockade, was the first major expression of that kind of warfare in 

the history of war. This gives it an undoubted and singular historic 

interest. 

Secondly, the idea of strategic bombing, allied to the scientific 

and technological developments which the combined bomber off ensive at least partly inspired, have given birth to the most powerful 

current expression of military power, the nuclear armed missile. 

Thirdly, bombing has throughout its history evoked a powerful 

emotional response and about it, as I have said elsewhere, people 

have tended to prefer to feel than to know. There is thus a particularly fertile field for objective historical analysis, for there is 

an unusually large literature and popular impression inspired by 

emotion as opposed to reason. 

Fourthly, there is an apparent simplicity about air power by 

comparison with military and naval power. For some reason, people 

have long imagined themselves competent to direct and to criticise 

air strategy while they have hesitated to involve themselves in the 

intricacies of the military and naval professions. Thus, there is 

scope for showing people by careful historical analysis not only 

253 
that air power is no less complicated than land and sea power, but 

that, in essential principles, it is the same, 

And there is a fifth reason. Air forces are, relative to other 

services, young; and those who have had the vision, drive, and 

persistence to bring them into being have tended to emphasize the 

potentialities and achievements of air power. Had they not done so, 

their endeavors would perhaps have been denied fulfillment. But 

were we now to accept without a full and historical reappraisal the 

legends which have thus come down to us, we would be in danger of 

forfeiting the lessons of experience and the wisdom of history. 

I suggest to you, then, that the subject of your symposium is 

singularly well chosen. There is as yet huge scope for discovery and 

explanation in the field offered by the history of the strategic air 

offensive, and there is substantial reason to believe that the fruits of 

such discovery and explanation may be relevant as well as interesting in the context of the problems confronting the world today. 

You will see from the sub-titles which I have given to my paper 

that the combined bomber offensive seems to me to offer us a series 

of contradictions. I do indeed believe it does and I think it important that we should try to identify these contradictions and 

analyse them. It is important because, as historians, we naturally 

wish to understand what happened, why it happened, and what were 

the consequences in this very significant allied campaign. It is also 

important because, as citizens of the United States and subjects of 

the United Kingdom, as past allies and, who knows, perhaps as 

future ones, we naturally hope to learn from experience. 

The first of these motives, the unadulterated curiosity of a 

historian, is pure. The second, the practical requirement of those 

who wish to survive this age of peril, is an applied one. And, though 

I freely confess that I subscribe wholeheartedly to the second 

motive, I believe, as an historian and not a planner, that the best 

contribution historians can make to its realization is to forget it and 

to act independently and ruthlessly. 

May I briefly expand upon this to ensure that the context of my 

paper is clearly understood at the outset? 

I believe that the art of applied history is a very dangerous 

2544 
one. The art of applied history where the subject contains contradictions is still more dangerous. The art of applied history where 

the subject contains contradictions and concerns high explosives 

could be fatal on a large scale; and the same art applied in the 

nuclear age could, of course, be comprehensively fatal. 

Let us then search for historical understanding without considering while we search what may be the consequences of our 

work and of what we say. If occasionally the results are uncomfortable or even offensive, let us remember that glossing over, or 

worse still, twisting, may be fatal. 

I now come back to my three sub-titles-Classical and Revolutionary, Combined and Divided, Planned and Fortuitous. 

Since the inception of air power and, in particular, the expression of it which concerns bombing, there has been a strong tendency 

to regard it as revolutionary-revolutionary not only in the sense 

that it increased the scope of existing established methods of warfare such as, for example, the submarine did for war at sea or the 

tank for the land battle, but revolutionary in the sense that it added 

a radically new dimension to warfare and, by doing that, overturned the established principles of war. This the prophets, Douhet, 

Smuts, Seversky, Mitchell, Trenchard, and the rest advised. 

The key to this revolutionary theory lay in the feeling that air 

power, because it could express itself without regard to mountain, 

river, or sea barriers, could also express itself without regard to the 

condition and activity of the opposing armed forces, including air 

forces. A simpler way of expressing the revolutionary theory was 

the phrase used, on Air Staff advice, by the then British Prime 

Minister, Baldwin-“The bomber will always get through.” The 

Trenchard doctrine did indeed lay it down that there was no defense 

against bombing save in a counter and more effective bombing 

offensive. The side which could drive the other to defensive measures would win. Thus the conception of the air battle was that it 

was, at best, irrelevant, and, at worst, defeatist. Fighter aircraft 

were a sop to civilians. The decisive thing was the strategic target. 

Air power was basically a question of correct target selection and 

transportation of bomb loads. Thus, heavy bombers, ignoring the 

deployment of armies and the manoeuvres of fleets, would proceed 

directly, evading, or otherwise brushing off, the opposing air de255 
fences, to the strategic core of the enemy’s war economy. This might 

be his civil morale, his oil production or his transportation system. 

Whatever it was, so the theory indicated, his only real hope of 

survival lay in getting in first and more effectively in the same way 

against his enemy. Unlike an army which could occupy enemy 

territory effectively only after dealing with the enemy army, unlike 

a navy which could only impose an effective blockade after defeating the enemy navy, unlike these old services, the new one could 

seek victory directly and immediately. The air, though this was 

not the phrase used, would be the scene of a guerre de course made 

good. 

Not everyone, of course, believed that this would be so. If 

Trenchard did, Beatty did not. If Arnold did, Marshall did not. But 

the revolutionaries had on their side the suggestion that they were 

the progressives, adaptable and alert to the new conditions while 

their opponents appeared to be, and of course often were, reactionaries surveying the future from obstinately retained cavalry 

saddles or wooden quarter decks. And indeed in the interwar years 

it would have been hard to foretell that Mahan’s writings contained 

the clue and not Douhet’s. 

What a caution it is to realise this and its implications. 

Progress indeed depends as much and perhaps more upon reactionaries than progressives. Air power proved, of course, to be 

revolutionary only in the sense that its vehicles passed not on the 

land or the sea, but in the air. Up there, the operations which they 

conducted proved to be subject to the classical concepts of war, just 

as had those of the equally new-fangled tanks and nearly as newfangled submarines. 

The key to the use of air power, and of course, the key to the 

combined bomber offensive, proved to be the command of the air. 

This was not a question of bomb deliveries, nor of target systems: 

it was a question of dominance over and defeat of the opposing air 

force in actions not far removed from dog fighting. In the struggle 

for the command of the air the function of the bombers proved to be 

only the guarantee that the enemy air force could be brought to 

action. Without bombing, the Luftwaffe need not have risen to 

defend its homeland: it need not have, so to speak, offered itself for 

defeat. But once it had and once its defeat had been engineered, 

then the bombers were free to develop and exploit their destructive 

256 
power. Then, and then only, the combined bomber offensive became 

a question of bomb delivery and target selection. 

The earlier belief characterised by the British night offensive 

of 1940 to 1944, that they could proceed directly to their strategic 

objective while evading the opposing air defences, was shown to be 

a new guerre de course and not a revolution in warfare. The idea 

characterised by the U.S. day offensive that the bombers could do 

this by driving off the opposing air force through concentrated 

firepower from heavily armed, tightly disciplined formations and 

cripple the opposing air power by precise attacks upon it and its 

components in production was also shown to be illusory. 

In neither case could the scale and rate of effective destruction 

outpace the casualty rate which the German defences could impose 

upon the British and American bombers. The Luftwaff e-in-being, 

neglected and confused as it was, proved wholly capable of defending the German war economy in general and armament production 

in particular. This indeed is one of the rare occasions when a general historical assertion can be substantially proved by statistical 

*evidence. 

We owe it perhaps to the revolutionaries that when the crisis 

became unavoidably evident-for the Americans over Schweinfurt 

in October 1943 and for the British in the Battle of Berlin between 

November 1943 and March 1944-there was no prepared means of 

applying a classical solution. There was no available means of 

engaging the German fighter force in the decisive areas: namely, at 

the required bombing range. In short, there were no long-range 

fighters. But it may be worth adding, at this point, that the Germans 

probably owed it to the reactionaries that they had no effective 

long-range air force of any kind and, apart from gimmicks, therefore lacked the means even of disturbing the base from which their 

approaching defeat was about to be directed. A reactionary indeed 

may be as dangerous as a revolutionary. 

I have sometimes been accused of advancing the theory that 

the combined bomber offensive was a failure and you will no doubt 

now have some appreciation of why this charge has been levelled at 

me. I say “charge,” because I believe that to suggest that the combined bomber offensive was a failure would be greatly to distort 

history. It did, in fact, produce a sweeping victory which exerted a 

257 
decisive effect upon the total air, naval, and military defeat which 

eventually engulfed Germany from the West and even more so 

from the East. I hope that any apparent contradiction will be 

cleared up when I come to the third phase of my paper under the 

heading “Planned and Fortuitous.” 

Meanwhile, I want to turn to my second subtitle, “Combined 

and Divided.” 

It is sometimes argued by the revolutionaries that it was not 

the theory of bombers proceeding directly to their strategic objectives which proved to be wrong, but the intent to, and the manner in, 

which the theory was put into practice. Insufficient concentration of 

effort and not incorrect strategic appraisal was the explanation, so it 

is said. Specious as this argument proves to be when subjected to 

complete analysis, it does nevertheless rest upon the substance that 

the combined bomber offensive failed to combine to anything like 

the extent which is often claimed and which is suggested by the high 

sounding if slightly vapid phrases of Casablanca and Quebec or the 

popular slogan of “round the clock bombing.” 

This division in the combined bomber offensive is worth 

examination not only because it has given some substance to 

otherwise exposed revolutionary arguments, but because it also 

provided several of the key fortuitous circumstances to which I shall 

be coming in a few minutes. 

Before the war, such differences as existed between the bombing doctrines of Britain and the United States were not of any great 

importance. Both countries saw the need for advanced, long-range, 

heavy bombers. Neither country adequately realised the accompanying need for advanced long-range fighters. But there were differences in the interpretation of the opening gambits of the air war 

which were of critical importance. These differences are characterised in the difference between the British Lancaster and the 

American B-17 Flying Fortress. The Lancaster with a crew of seven 

and lightly armed with 303 Browning machine guns had a substantially heavier bomb load than the more numerously crewed, 

much more heavily armed, high flying B-17. And these aircraft were 

the revised versions of heavy bombers which reflected two different 

views of how the Wellingtons, Whitleys, Hampdens, Heinkels, and 

Dorniers had functioned in 1939 and 1940. The main difference 

258 
was of course that the Lancaster was essentially a night bomber 

and the B-17 essentially a day bomber. 

Before the war, the British Air Staff had assumed that a day 

bombing offensive would be possible, but in the early months of 

actual experience they rapidly changed their minds. The best heavy 

bombers of the day, the Wellingtons, convincingly failed to defend 

themselves against German fighters even over fringe targets in 

daylight, and the lighter bombers, notably the Blenheims, conspicuously lacked the performance either to carry worthwhile loads 

or to escape their pursuers. Thus, the British turned for major 

purposes to night bombing and so, presently, for much the same 

reasons, did the Germans. 

The Americans, however, not yet engaged but closely observing, obstinately refused to read what seemed to be the obvious 

lessons of experience. They persisted with the doctrine of day 

bombing undeterred by the unanimous verdict of the principal 

belligerents. This curious decision greatly disturbed the British. It 

seemed to make it likely that the great potential of American air 

power would be denied any effective strategic expression. When the 

United States entered the war, the British prospect of securing for 

the Royal Air Force great numbers of American-built aircraft was 

much reduced. These aircraft would now be needed for American 

crews. But if these crews were committed to a day offensive, then 

little more than severe American disasters could be expected, so it 

seemed. By the time the Americans learnt the lesson and converted 

to a night doctrine, it would be too late to produce and train a night 

force. To get that result in 1944 would, the British Chief of the 

Air Staff calculated, need a decision in 1942. 

Though in 1942 the British launched thousand-bomber attacks 

at German targets and seemed to be making real progress in their 

night offensive, and though the Americans could then only launch 

daylight pinpricks short of the German frontier, the decision to 

change was not taken. On the contrary, so determined was the 

American resolve to adhere to day bombing, that the British decided to abandon both persuasion and criticism for fear of weakening the air position in the general strategic debate within the grand 

alliance. Thus, the cracks were papered over at the Casablanca 

Conference and elsewhere with the bromides of strategic diplomacy 

-complementary attacks, round the clock bombing, and so on. In 

259 
fact before it could be combined, the bomber offensive had to be 

divided. 

Why did this happen? Why did the Americans turn such an 

obstinately blind eye to the glaring lesson of experience that the 

self-defending bomber formation was simply not a viable form of 

existence? 

Three reasons seem to have been operative. First, the Americans were determined to fight in an American way and, as far as 

possible, under American command. There could be no question of 

reinforcing the Royal Air Force: there was going to be an American 

Air Force even if so far it was still an Army Air Force. Secondly, 

American opinion was distinctly unimpressed by the products of 

night bombing. American diplomats, business men, and other 

travellers had witnessed the beginning of Bomber Command’s night 

attack on Germany. Their reports tended to be unhopeful; successful results it seemed would depend upon day precision bombing. 

Thirdly, the B-17 appeared to be unsuitable for night operations 

both on the ground of its general characteristics and on the evidence 

of trials given to it by Bomber Command. On the other hand, the 

same characteristics seemed to offer it a chance of successful daylight formation tactics. 

This reasoning, in which the United States seemed to be consulting her traditions and neglecting her interests and thus asserting 

her national independence to an extent which her national power had 

by now made unnecessary, in which her intelligence appreciation 

was swamped by hasty judgements formed on slender evidence at 

too early a stage, and in which her expectation of operational 

performance continued to be based upon theoretical prognostication 

when actual battle experience was available, was of course almost 

wholly fallacious. 

Day precision bombing would only be more effective than 

night area bombing if it could be carried out precisely. Self-defending formations would be an effective tactic of war only if the 

formations proved to be self-defending. In practice, of course, day 

bombing proved to be no more accurate, in fact probably on balance 

less so, than night bombing. Even worse, in practice, self-defending 

formations of B-17 and B-24 bombers had no greater relative 

capacity for self defence than Bomber Command’s somewhat imperfectly equipped and under-rehearsed Wellingtons of 1939. 

260 
Thus, the division of the combined bomber offensive prevented 

the Americans from playing any part at all in the strategic air 

offensive against Germany in the course of 1942. Nor did it result 

in any worthwhile contribution from the distinctively American 

offensive in the course of 1943. The hope that the massive destruction caused by the mounting RAF night area attacks against the 

Ruhr, Hamburg, Berlin, and the other great industrial complexes 

of Germany would unite with American precision attacks upon 

key points such as ball bearing production, and together fatally 

undermine the German military, industrial, and economic system 

was disappointed. 

The Germans could absorb the general destruction without 

allowing it to impinge to any marked extent upon their war effort. 

Equally they could absorb the so-called precision attacks upon key 

targets, which were often not very precise, could not be sustained, 

and frequently were not really key targets. Moreover, as the first 

year of the combined bomber offensive in action, that is 1943, drew 

to an end, both the British Bomber Command and the American 

Eighth Air Force seemed to be near defeat. America’s. “Waterloo” 

was at Schweinfurt in October 1943; Britain’s was in the Battle of 

Berlin between November 1943 and March 1944. 

If the war, through other action, had ended there, history 

would have passed a harsh verdict on strategic bombing, its planning, and its allied application. The American Air Staff would have 

been vulnerable to the accusation that it had declined to join in an 

established offensive and had failed to make good a separate one. 

But of course the war did not end there and the succeeding 

events produced a transformation of the first magnitude which 

carried the combined bomber offensive to triumphs almost on the 

scale of those envisaged by the prophets before the war. 

In this transformation, some have seen the reward of persistence, the justification of painful policies bravely maintained, the 

cumulative dividend on capital saved from extravagant hands 

reaching from shipboard and military theatres. Elements of truth 

exist in all these air-minded thoughts, but the principal factors of 

the transformation were fortuitous, and it is this consideration which 

brings me to my final subtitle “Planned and Fortuitous.” 

261 
When, some twenty years ago now, I first embarked upon detailed research into the subject of strategic bombing, I soon began 

to develop the impression that the key relationship was that between, 

on the one hand, planning as influenced by supposed results, or if 

you prefer the military term, intelligence; and, on the other hand, 

actual results which, of course, were not available to the planners at 

the time and which were indeed hard enough to discover afterwards 

with the aid of the German sources. Indeed, the thesis which I 

presented at Oxford for my doctorate was essentially concerned 

with this relationship. I do not regret the choice, but I have now 

come to think that the study of that particular relationship is less 

instructive than another, namely, that between the planned and the 

fortuitous. I really think this is a key factor and it is my impression 

that a great part of what is written about the strategic air offensive 

both historically and journalistically is wrong because this relationship has been inadequately analysed or, often enough, not analysed 

at all. This failure, I suggest, accounts for a range of misinterpretation or misunderstanding extending from the misguided attacks 

levelled almost annually at the British and American Air Staffs for 

having bombed Dresden in February 1945 to the equally misguided 

loyalist plea that the strategic air offensive was sound from the word 

go and was delayed in its victory only by inadequate priority or 

naval and military interference or political faint-heartedness. 

In fact, the strategic air offensive offered a prospect which was 

taken by many of those directing it to be revolutionary in scope but 

which, in action, proved to be classical. It was an offensive which 

offered a glittering prospect for the very closest cooperation and 

even integration between Britain and the United States and which, 

in action, failed to combine to anything like that extent. It was, 

indeed, an offensive where the defects of the planning and doctrine 

seemed to be their most prominent characteristics and in which the 

response to the lessons of experience seemed to be, to put it mildly, 

rather slow. The British blinded themselves at the outset with the 

comforting belief that their force was inadequate in size, equipment, 

and experience. The feeling that where the early attempts had 

failed, the later ones would succeed, tended to obscure the possibility that the strategy and plans were wrong. The Americans, in 

turn, deluded themselves by fostering confidence in the theory that 

to be different from the British was to be right. Yet, and this is the 

startling point, the combined bomber offensive produced ultimately 

a major Anglo-American victory. 

262 
The truth is that the very points at which the development of 

proper military logic and framing of realistic plans broke down 

tended to coalesce and produce what it is no exaggeration to describe as the breakthrough in the air between March and August 

1944. This breakthrough was produced by the combined action of 

heavy bombers, of which the most effective were the British Lancasters, and of longrange fighters, among which the American P-51 

Mustang was the outstanding machine. Both these aircraft were the 

product of strange and fortuitous sagas. The Lancaster lurched into 

being on the basis of the Avro Manchester, an ill-fated machine 

which was certainly the least successful of the trio produced in 

answer to the British long-range bomber specification : the Stirling, 

Halifax, and Manchester. The Mustang had an even stranger and 

yet more chancy genealogy. Originally produced in answer to a 

British specification, it failed to attract an American order and 

more or less failed in service with the RAF until it was re-engined 

with a Rolls-Royce Merlin. This made it a first-class machine and 

as such, the British allocated it to photographic reconnaissance: the 

same role, incidentally, a8 they had originally given to another aircraft of fortuitous origin and surprising fulfillment, the Mosquito. 

From there it found its way back to American hands. With long 

range drop tanks, it produced the decisive solution to the problem 

of how to extend fighter performance to bomber range. This condensation of two of the most remarkable production stories in the 

history of aircraft design and construction is, I hope, sufficient to 

show that the Lancaster had a somewhat fortuitous origin and the 

Mustang, as a longrange fighter, a wholly fortuitous one. 

These factors were not, however, the most extraordinary nor 

were they perhaps the most fortuitous in this situation. Remember, 

the Mustangs were not introduced as long-range fighters to support 

the Lancasters. Their introduction was the direct outcome of the day 

bombing crisis which arose at Schweinfurt and which seemed to 

have little connection with the night activities of the Lancasters. 

Moreover, the critical phase of Mustang operations was between 

December 1943 and March 1944. In these four or five months they 

swept into action with the U.S. Eighth Fighter Command. Their 

tactics developed, their range increased. By April 1944 their mastery was evident. The daylight air over Germany was turning 

American. But not the night air, for this was the very period of 

bitterest setback for the Lancasters, which in those same four or five 

263 
months were struggling and suffering in the Battle of Berlin and 

heading for the Nuremberg crisis at the end of March. 

The decisive period for the Lancaster came after June 1944 

when the heaviest and most accurate devastation, of which they 

alone were capable, became the key to the success of the major 

plans, and especially those against the oil and transport systems. 

Yet these were the same Lancasters that had failed to produce 

decisive results earlier. The difference lay a little in improved 

bombs, such as the 12,000-lb. Tallboy and the 22,000-lb. Grandslam special earthquake bombs, and in other connected factors. It 

lay principally in the possession of command of the air, in which 

the three main components were the B-17 Flying Fortress, the F-51 

Mustang, and General Carl Spaatz, the great, though still but little 

recognized, commander of the United States Strategic Air Force in 

Europe. 

It must here suffice for me to remind your briefly of the 

sequence of developments. The B-17s posed the daylight threat 

which compelled the German air defences to operate. The Mustangs 

provided the means of engaging and overcoming those defences, not 

only by their own efforts but by validating the efforts of shorterrange aircraft as well. Thus, in the spring of 1944 the Germans 

began to lose daylight air superiority and almost everything began 

to roll in favour of the Allies. But the American bombers lacked the 

hitting power to produce the full exploitation, and so the opportunity for the Lancasters arose. 

For a time they found it safer to operate by day than night, for 

the long-range fighter cover never extended effectively beyond the 

daylight hours. But gradually, through a series of connected developments, ranging from loss of territory containing early warning 

installations to loss of training hours through lack of fuel, the 

Germans lost air superiority at night too. By August 1944, the 

command of the air was Anglo-American, and the Lancasters could 

no longer be prevented from driving home their full potential both 

in daylight and at night when their accuracy of bombing w,as the 

greater. 

These strange twists of chance and the way in which they 

fortuitously combined to secure the success of the combined bombet 

offensive are historically identifiable by the ordinary processes of 

264 
research. They do not depend for their establishment upon controversial interpretations or upon hypothetical speculations. There 

are, however, I suggest, two hypothetical possibilities which I will 

submit to you because I think they tend to illuminate-but of 

course not to establish-the realities. 

Here then are the two hypothetical suggestions. If the British 

Air Staff had read the lessons of their early experience between 

1939 and 1941 in the American way, they would have gone in for 

high-level daylight bombing-heavy armament, heavy armour, high 

altitude, and relatively light bombs. If they had read the lessons in 

a coolly logical manner, they would presumably have abandoned 

the offensive altogether. In either event, the accuracy to hit and the 

power to destroy the really vital targets in the last year of the war 

would almost certainly not have been generated. 

Now, if the Americans had read the same lessons with real 

strategic insight, they would at any early stage have placed a much 

higher priority upon the development and production of long-range 

fighters. If they had done that, would the Mustang have got into 

British hands? Would it have got a Merlin engine? Would the 

P-51B Mustang ever have taken the air? Where would the Eighth 

Air Force have gone from Schweinfurt? If on the other hand the 

Americans had followed the advice of their more experienced and 

older friends, the British, they would have turned to night attack 

and, as we can now see, there is no reason to suppose the German 

air defences would ever have been breached. 

Such then, is the indication of the extent to which, in my view, 

fortuitous circumstances came to the rescue of the so-called combined bomber offensive, made it an effective combination, and 

secured its eventual decisive success. These circumstances were, I 

suggest, far more important than the great and famous Casablanca 

and POINTBLANK directives to which so much attention has been 

given and about which so many words have been written and which, 

incidentally, the commanders at the time found so thoroughly 

confusing and impracticable. 

But there is now a strong caution which I hope to lodge in your 

minds before I conclude. It is, in a sense, the counter to the 

argument. I have presented. In another sense it is the explanation 

of it. 

265 
No fortuitous circumstances came to the aid of the Russian, 

German, Japanese, French, or Italian strategic air offensives, because, curiously enough, none of these countries evolved any worthwhile strategic bombing doctrine or plan and failed almost wholly 

to generate any worthwhile strategic bombing attack. Britain and 

America, independently and alone, were the only powers which did 

plan strategic air offensives and which, before they were engulfed in 

all the urgencies and priorities of actual warfare, produced detailed 

plans of operation. Britain and America were the only countries 

which produced formidable bomber commands and Britain and 

America were the only countries able to reap the rich harvest of 

military advantage which fortuitous circumstances heaped upon 

them through the agency of the combined bomber offensive. 

If there is a moral in all this, it is surely that strategic thought 

and strategic planning in peacetime are necessary and productive 

processes, provided the realization is ever present that peacetime 

plans especially for the employment of new weapons will not, in 

war, work out in accordance with expectation. 

I hope it may be useful to you if I now attempt briefly to 

summarise the thesis which I have tried to present to you. The 

combined bomber offensive, though it had revolutionary characteristics, was predominantly a classical expression of warfare. It 

was revolutionary in the sense that it was in the air, a relatively new 

medium of warfare. It was classical in the sense that it was subject 

to the principles of war as enunciated by the past masters and 

notably by Mahan. In particular, strategic bombing could find 

effective expression only in the condition of command of the air, 

and command of the air was found to be a product of victorious 

battle against the opposing air force. It is safe to conclude then 

that the prime function of an air force was to seek the destruction 

of the opposing air force in being and that then, and then only, 

could it proceed to the effective implementation of the strategic aim. 

In this basic respect then, air power was similar to military and 

naval power. In that respect then, Mahan was a better guide to the 

understanding of air power than Douhet. That is what I mean by 

the suggestion that the combined bomber offensive was essentially 

classical. 

The combined bomber offensive, though it was a simultaneous 

offensive mounted by the two closest: of the Allies in the Grand 

266 
Alliance against a common enemy, was not strategically integrated 

nor even related in a common design or an operational standard 

procedure. It was more of a bombing competition than a bombing 

combination. The general, night, area offensive of Bomber Command and the key point, day, precision offensive of the Eighth Air 

Force proved to be virtually and mutually incompatible; and 

though they imposed a terrible penalty upon Germany through the 

death and destruction wrought between 1940 and early 1944, they 

incurred themselves, relatively speaking, an even more severe penalty in the casualties suffered. Moreover, the ratios between the 

rate of destruction of the targets in Germany, the rate at which the 

Germans could repair or otherwise overcome that destruction, and 

the rate of bomber casualties eventually became unbalanced to the 

disadvantage of the bombers. Thus, in the manner of its planning 

and the nature of its incidence, the combined bomber offensive was 

not only up to this stage, that is the beginning of 1944, somewhat 

unsuccessful but considerably divided. 

Yet, in the final phase, the two forces, still divided by aim and 

operational procedure, not only complemented each other, but 

produced, the one the key and the other the lever, which brought 

down the German war economy in ruins and ensured the final 

victory of the Grand Alliance. This extraordinary combination, 

symbolized by the activities of the Mustang and the Lancaster, was, 

however, the product much more of fortuitous circumstances and 

opportunities than of farsighted planning. 

Nor should it be assumed that these distinctions are simply 

philosophical and academic observations. They seem to me to offer 

what I may perhaps be allowed to claim is the grammar of the 

subject. The understanding of this grammar should surely be useful 

to those who from emotive or academic reasons wish to pursue the 

further investigation of this complex and, in the view of many, 

controversial subject. 

267 
COMMENTARY 

ROBIN HIGHAM 

I think I should preface my remarks by saying that I am going 

to take a sort of a British view of Dr. Frankland’s paper and use it 

as a springboard. Personally, I have long been an admirer and a 

user of Sir Charles Webster and Dr. Noble Frankland’s Strategic 

Air Ofensive against Germany, and have read with profit the Director of the Imperial War Museum’s Bombing Ofensive against 

Germany: Outlines and Perspectives, which were his 1963 Lees 

Knowles Lectures. In these and in his paper today, Dr. Frankland 

has opened up what I think is rich and fertile ground. He has 

correctly pointed to the need for the study of the past in order to 

know what should be practiced and what should be avoided in the 

future. He has shown that war is full of parallels and contradictions, and that there is a great need for those directing it to have a 

broad fund of historical knowledge, to be able to see, for instance, 

that the oceanic ideas of a Mahan may be more applicable than 

the peninsular ones of a Douhet. Because, however, I find myself so 

much in agreement with what he has said, I hope that both he and 

you will pardon me if I confine most of my remarks to wondering 

about other aspects of command than the “classical and revolutionary, combined and divided, planned and fortuitous.” So, if you 

will bear with me, my comments will be aimed at raising some 

suggestions about these. 

Now Dr. Frankland’s presentation stayed strictly off commanders and their personalities. Yet a number of major characters, 

their education, training, previous service, friendships, and outlook 

are deserving, I think, of someone’s attention. Of the commanders 

of Bomber Command omitting Ludlow Hewitt, whose service 

terminated early, we have in the Second World War, Marshal of the 

RAF Viscount Portal and Marshal of the RAF Sir Arthur Harris. 

268 
Portal’s posting as AOC-in-C of Bomber Command was cut short 

when he was recalled to the Air Ministry to replace Sir Cyril 

Newel1 as Chief of the Air Staff. We are still awaiting his memoirs 

in full, but we cannot but be aware of several facts about him. He 

was a graduate of Winchester and Oxford and follows thus much 

more in the pattern of British permanent civil servants than of the 

Air Force or the other services. And he was, so far, the only Chief 

of the Air Staff to have these attributes. We know, moreover, that 

he got along well with Churchill, and that he was no stranger to 

high places, having spent about half of his years in the RAF up to 

1944) at the Air Ministry. Portal was able, quiet, and shrewd. 

In contrast there is Sir Arthur Harris, who, it is true, also 

spent some time at the Air Ministry. He was there in Plans when the 

department was forced to abandon its full concentration upon 

attacking the navy and the army and to devote some of its time 

to a possible war with Germany. Harris had the guts and the 

determination of Haig without, I think, the innovative abilities to 

run the bomber campaign, as it turned out. He did not have-and 

this is not simply his own fault; this was, I think, a problem with 

the service for all those who came in at that early stage-the 

education nor the historical training to understand that the classical 

principles of warfare applied equally to the campaign in the air. 

Harris had never, as far as I know, except for service schooling, 

passed beyond the secondary school stage on the educational ladder. 

Now this comment, of course, being a comment coming from a 

professional scholar, may perhaps be somewhat unfair. 

One other person who can be noted as having an important 

effect upon the campaign-a man like Harris-one who has written 

his memoirs, is Lord Tedder. Like Portal he was a well-educated 

man, being a graduate of Cambridge and the author of a prizewinning study on the navy of the Restoration. It was Tedder who 

forced Bomber Command in 1944 into a strategic role to aid the 

D-day landings. 

I think there is room for much more study of these people. 

Apart from the relationships between them and their subordinates, 

attention must also be called to the rather extraordinary way, at 

least for Britain, in which this campaign was conducted. Here was 

an offensive operation whose headquarters were located within 

easy driving distance of the Prime Minister’s weekend lodge, at a 

269 
time when the Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill, had an 

exceptional interest in the outcome (not to mention the means, for 

a former naval person who had a subaltern’s love of weapons and 

gadgets). With the possible exception of General Sir Frederick Pile 

of Anti-Aircraft Command, no other high field commander in 

British history was in such a unique position to bypass the chain of 

command and take his own case to the higher direction as was Sir 

Arthur Harris. So far as I know, no commander of the air defense 

of Great Britain under its various names was ever in quite the same 

position. 

Then too, there is a need to explore more thoroughly the handling of technical innovations which played such an extraordinary 

part in this campaign and in the battle of the Atlantic. Sir Charles 

Webster and Dr. Noble Frankland have quite correctly noted that 

the DeHaviland Mosquito was a far better weapon than either the 

Lancaster or the Halifax, not to mention the Stirling. Constance 

Babbington Smith has recorded the great reluctance of Headquarters Bomber Command to accept the scientific evidence from cameras. But Air Vice Marshal D.C.T. Bennett has spoken of the 

hostility with which pathfinder operation was at first greeted. Again 

for proof, we are much indebted to that which A.J.P. Taylor his 

just recently called the most honest and ruthless official history ever 

written. In this respect, it may be noticed in passing that in overseas 

theaters, where material was much less plentiful and the home 

bureaucracies’ negativism less influential, innovation was, because 

it had to be, much more rapid. Dr. Frankland has rightly mentioned 

the Mustang. Given the long colonial role of the Royal Air Force, 

it is surprising that long-range aircraft and even long-range drop 

tanks were not introduced earlier. I believe the only operational 

attempt was with a Vickers-Wellesley which was designed strictly 

for colonial operations. In the Far East, both the Japanese Zeros 

and the Flying Tigers’ P-40s were fitted with long-range tanks, while 

in the Middle East the crude drop tanks (technically auxiliary 

tanks) fitted to Hurricanes for the ferrying flights from West Africa 

to the Middle East were of necessity used on operations, because 

desert distances were considerably greater than those in Europe, 

even though in so doing the Hurricane’s performance was considerably damaged. 

At this point, let us then look at the campaign, first in theory, 

270 
then in fact, and finally, within the context of the war the British 

fought. The theory behind the bomber offensive went back, as Dr. 

Frankland and I have shown elsewhere, to the First World War and 

even before it; though by no means to Douhet alone. In Britain, it 

did not originate with Field Marshal Jan Christian Smuts but with 

F. W. Lanchester, whose ideas were passed to Smuts by Sir David 

Henderson, the London-based head of the Royal Flying Corps in the 

summer of 1917. Lord Trenchard was a tactical man and did not 

accept the idea of strategic bombing until late 1921 or early 1922. 

And then, like many converts, he embraced it too wholeheartedly, 

though he never provided the equipment with which to implement it. 

When the retaliatory independent bomber attack on Germany was 

proposed in 1917, Churchill, as Minister of Munitions, quite correctly opposed it, for he saw that not only could this kind of 

attack be mastered but it did exactly what was not desired. It 

strengthened the will of the home front which, if left untouched, was 

more likely to become discouraged and devisive. Moreover, as 

Allen Dulles has recently pointed out, bombing civilians places 

them in the hands of the government. There were in fact several 

lessons to be drawn from the use of air power in the First World 

War, which because of the-and I am sorry to have to say thislack of intellectual and historical interest on the part of the bulk 

of the older air force officers, at least in Britain, were not sketched 

out. One might say that almost the sole British exception to this 

generalization was the work of Wing Commander, as he then was, 

Sir John Slessor in his Air Power ad Armies in 1936. But that 

book had small impact because he was attached to what was to 

become Army Cooperation Command, perhaps the least respected 

of the RAF flying branches. Two of these neglected lessons from 

the First World War must be mentioned. The first is that the defense 

always rose to meet and defeat the offense if given time; and 

secondly, that man has a much greater tolerance to pain than 

suspected, especially when intensity is escalated slowly. In other 

words, it seems to me, that for an attack on the will of the people 

to be effective, it must, as must most successful wars, be short, 

sharp, and devastatingly effective. 

At this point it must be noted that if tactical air power on the 

Western Front was not particularly effective, it was because none of 

the tactics used there worked well until the Germans overreached 

their supply system as the aftermath of the March 1918 offensive. 

271 
Tactical air power was a decided asset when combined with good 

generalship, as under Allenby at Megiddo, a place to which I shall 

return later. As for the independent air force, note simply in passing that it was so named for political reasons. It is fair to suggest, 

I think, that its fate very quickly would have become that of the 

Gothas raiding London had it attempted to attack Berlin. The legacy 

of these lessons of the First World War became entwined with a 

number of postwar myths, created to preserve the Royal Air Force 

as a separate service as a result of warfare between the services, as 

to who could more cheaply and effectively defend Britain. Out of 

the Sykes-Grove Memorandum of June 1918, came in 1922 the 

deterrent strike force concept. It was primarily aimed at France, 

but little equipment was ordered to implement it, despite the proposed “52 squadron” home defense air force, composed two-thirds 

of bombers. Eken worse than this, as Webster and Frankland have 

shown, neither training nor planning was undertaken, nor specifications issued, nor intelligence gathered, nor assessments made, to 

assure that the deterrent would work. The result of this was only 

becoming apparent during the Munich crisis when the leisurely 

evaluation ordered in 1936 of the ability to intimidate Hitler began 

to become available. Thus, the British deterrent failed miserably 

in 1939 because it simply was not credible. 

If this is understood, then the long failure of the Bomber 

Offensive against Germany is not surprising. It only really became 

effective in 1944 for a variety of reasons, into which I think I need 

not go, because Dr. Frankland has already made them plain. What 

does need to be asked is the question, “If the deterrent fails, what 

course of action do you take?” And surely this is one of the most 

important of all command decisions which faces the higher direction. The bombing offensive against Germany remained, despite the 

declaration of war, a part of the grand strategy. In fact, it is not too 

much to suggest that many of its problems arose from the term 

strategic,” which had become by the Second World War as 

ambiguous as the word “military.” After Britain had mercifully, as 

Captain Roskill has remarked, been thrown off the continent, the 

grand strategic picture was clarified; but even in 1939, I would 

suggest, it was not that cloudy. It was correctly recognized that since 

Bomber Command was not in position to be a retaliatory force, as 

its daylight operation was speedily discovered to be impossible, as 

Dr. Frankland has noted, that the best it could do was to use leaflet 

66 

272 
dropping as a form of training. In this respect, the May 1940 attack 

on Berlin was a failure for it overlooked the lesson the Royal Naval 

Air Service learned as it emerged from its shelters on the 20th of 

May 1916: Don’t start something against which you yourself are 

not protected. In the period between the beginning of the war and 

the fall of France, the air defense of Great Britain needed to be 

strengthened and Blitzkrieg studied, so that the immediate problems 

of the day could be solved, and the island base made a secure 

arsenal. Upon the fall of France it was possible to divide grand 

strategic necessities and choices into a very few concrete issues, all 

concerned with answering the question, “How, and in what order?” 

These, I think, are first the defense of the United Kingdom, 

which meant concentrating primarily upon Fighter Command, naval 

and military defenses. As General Sir Frederick Morgan has shown, 

however, invasion was not a real danger after the end of the 

“daylight” period, the successful defensive Battle of Britain in 

September. Much more dangerous were the attacks on the ports, 

which would have succeeded if the Germans had continued to bomb 

them in the spring of 1941, in what was properly a grand strategic 

air offensive. 

Secondly, there was a need to place the island arsenal into full 

production. This involved the allocation of manpower and the 

security of the lines of communications overseas, both for incoming 

raw materials and for outward-bound expeditionary forces and 

their logistical support. For this traditional aspect of British grand 

strategy the First World War had already proved the lessons, the 

combined air and sea offensive-defensives. But owing to the low 

rating given to both antisubmarine warfare and RAF Coastal Command in the interwar years, the vital forces were in extremely short 

supply, and in the vast reaches of the ocean numbers rather than 

size counted. 

Third was the cleaning up of overseas wars, to which I will 

return in a few minutes. 

Fourth, it was necessary to neutralize the neutrals, the important diplomatic aspect, by making them believe that Britain was 

capable of winning the war and that Germany was not. This demanded victories in the field, invisible support of sufficient dimensions to enable them to withstand German or Italian pressures, 

273 
or, at the very least, the sense to understand that neutrality might 

actually be the best course, both for them and for Britain. 

Fifth was containment of Germany with all that that implied in 

the whole area from the Balkans to Norway. You do not have to be 

told that all of these grand strategic problems were interlocked and 

that, in the words of Field Marshal Earl Wavell, “War is an option 

of difficulties.” While we do have today much more knowledge and 

much more sophisticated machinery both for the collection and the 

interpretation of intelligence and for decision-making, it can be 

suggested nevertheless that there was available sufficient evidence 

and enough historical precedent in 1940-1941 to have made a 

different allocation of resources and create different priorities from 

those adopted. It is true that the fall of France was an unanticipated 

event with vast consequences, and that in the Battle of Britain the 

British were fighting for national existence, but by October 1940 it 

should have been possible to re-examine grand strategy. Unfortunately the Prime Minister forgot at this juncture what he had said 

earlier in his career about the Middle East, that it was the “belt 

buckle of the Empire,” just as he later forgot his wise memorandum 

of October 1917, and, just as he had earlier, he became enamored 

with the Balkans, but at this time with far less resources available. 

The result was that Britain lost both prestige and its best theater 

commander. 

Except for the night bombing of Britain and U-boat warfare, 

once Hitler had determined to attack Russia he was not a direct 

threat to the British Isles. Conversely there was no direct way in 

which Britain could attack Germany; for Bomber Command could 

not, as Dr. Frankland assured me, in fact be more than a nuisance. 

If the key was command of the air, did the bomber offensive 

contribute to this until 1944? Dr. Frankland has pointed out that the 

Germans could defend themselves and that casualties exceeded 

results. This is an argument, it seems to me then, for a reappraisal 

of strategy or even grand strategy. The classical solution need not 

have been sought in fighters in 1943 but in a new direction in 1940 

or 1941, in which the bombers who were not being effective against 

Germany might have been used strategically in another way. At the 

risk then of being called a “Monday morning quarterback,” let me 

suggest that quite a different allocation of resources might have had 

worthwhile results. Instead of a bomber offensive against Germany, 

274 
harassment of the Third Reich should have been undertaken upon 

an air-guerrilla basis, using, when they were available, the Mosquitos. These excellent aircraft were inexpensive to manufacture 

and placed less strain upon raw material resources and production 

facilities than did the Stirling, Lancaster, and Halifax, while, as 

Webster and Frankland have so properly noted, they required 

smaller crews, fewer engines, enjoyed far smaller casualties, and 

were far more accurate in striking targets. Their use in fact might 

have enabled employment of a military targets attack. Moreover, 

their tactics made them extremely hard to pinpoint for enemy 

counterinsurgency action. In the face of the very light German 

attacks, for instance, on Britain in 1944, the air defense of Great 

Britain still deployed 43 squadrons of fighters, as opposed to 55 

at the height of the Battle of Britain and not counting 92 squadrons 

of the tactical air force. Some of the effort thus saved should have 

been allocated, it seems to me, to Coastal Command, especially in 

terms of developing very-long-range aircraft such as the modification of the Lancaster, or very-longrange Sunderland flying boats, 

which were really a much more comfortable type of machine for 

these patrols. This reallocation, when coupled to intensive construction of emergency port facilities and railways as well as accelerated 

development of night fighters, would have taken care of the grand 

strategic points, which I mentioned above, except those concerned 

with overseas wars and neutrals. 

It may be suggested that the consequences of victory in the 

field far outstripped those of the defeat, and that policy makers 

worry too much about the latter and not enough about the former. 

The way to have impressed and reassured neutrals, including the 

United States which in late 1940 was contemplating lend-lease, was 

to win a resounding victory. The Battle of Britain was a defensive 

one, and its usefulness was certainly played to the hilt. But in the 

Middle East the British had a chance to pull off a string of victories 

which would have, in all probability, brought them invaluable 

advantages, especially when at the end of 1941 war in the Far East 

also became a reality. In Wavell, the British had in 1940 the ablest 

area and field commander of the day. With extremely thin resources, as compared to what was available at home, he was 

handling diverse campaigns with enviable success. Unfortunately 

Churchill had not for some strange reason ever met Wavell before 

he called him home for consultation in 1940. They didn’t see “eye275 
to-eye”’in spite of the fact that of all military men of his generation 

Wavell was more conscious of political necessities than anyone else 

at that moment, and this was to be his undoing. Wavell did so much 

with what can fairly be described as “ridiculous” resources that it 

is not impossible to suggest that had he been supplied with a 

relatively smarll increase in air power from the United Kingdom, 

he could have beaten the Italians not only in East Africa, which he 

did of course do, but more importantly in North Africa, thus preventing Rommel from landing in Tripoli and possibly also pulling 

off the Italian attack from Greece. An additional benefit of this 

victory would have been the security of Malta and the possibility of 

swinging French North Africa over, thus providing the British with 

a relatively safe line of communications through the Mediterranean 

to the Middle! East and eventually to the Far East. In addition, 

neither Syria nor Iraq would have been as prepared to create 

trouble; Turkey would have been more warmly neutral; and Crete 

might even have been used as a flank guard instead of as a German 

air base. A realistic assessment of the Greek and Yugoslav situations would have recognized that they could not be protected, 

if for no othier reason than that the Greek armed forces were 

equipped with Czech, Polish, and French arms, for which the only 

logistical solution was complete re-equipment, a project which, of 

course, was colmpletely out of the question. Just as a small number 

of modern squadrons enabled Allenby to win a decisive victory at 

Megiddo and ithe complete destruction of Turkey in the First World 

War, so a similar infusion of modern air materiel would have 

enabled Wavell to employ both strategic and tactical air power, in 

conjunction with his ground and naval forces, to achieve a signal 

victory in a decisive theater. 

Let me .then suggest that the grand strategic air offensive 

against Germany before 1944 was neither grand nor correct strategy, but a violation of the principles of war. It left the lines of 

communicatioin unsecured, it failed to concentrate decisive force 

at the decisive place at the right time, and it was not economic in its 

use of force. Far from being revolutionary, therefore, it was simply 

had “classical” grand strategy. 

I cannot end, of course, without paying tribute again to the 

work which Sir Charles Webster and Dr. Noble Frankland have 

done and to the very interesting paper which Dr. Frankland has 

276 
presented. I hope that he will accept my apologies for using his 

paper as a springboard. 

ROBERT F. FUTRELL 

One of the problems of the podium as opposed to the pen is to 

stimulate an audience which may be more receptive to generalizations than to exact details. To emphasize his message a speaker 

tends to make his blacks a bit blacker and his whites a little 

whiter. Let me hasten to say that Dr. Frankland’s paper is intended 

to inform rather than to titillate, but I believe that he has in some 

instances used fluorescent rhetoric where a drab grey of tedious 

evaluation might have been more appropriate. I agree with his 

apparent belief that we can understand history only when we can 

arrange often diverse facts into categories of meanings, but I suggest that these categories ought to be very seriously considered in 

order to insure that they do not do too much violence to exact fact. 

When Dr. Frankland speaks of the “classical and revolutionary” backgrounds of the Combined Bomber Offensive, it seems 

to me that he follows the usual interpretation and assumes that the 

doctrines of the British and American proponents of strategic air 

power were very much the same. In an earlier address he has defined “classical warfare” as “the clash of offence and defence, or, 

in yet another word, the battle.” In terms of this definition, Brig 

adier General “Billy” Mitchell could better be described as a 

classical innovator” than as a “revolutionary,” since he emphasized the need to control the air by air battle as well as his new 

theory of making war by strategic air bombardment against an 

enemy’s will and capability to wage war. In later years, Major 

Alexander P. de Seversky has observed that, as a former Russian 

naval air officer, he was always strongly influenced by the sea power 

lessons of Mahan. Close reading of Seversky’s Victory through 

Airpower (1942) will reveal more of the classical Mahan than of 

the revolutionary Douhet. 

64 

It is doubtful that American strategic air power advocates 

considered that aviation had “overturned the established principles 

277 
of war.” At the Air Corps Tactical School, such men were a little 

dubious about Major General J. F. C. Fuller’s principles of ivar 

(objective, mass, offensive, economy, movement, surprise, simplicity, security, and cooperation) because the principles had generally been written about as if they pertained only to the conduct 

of operations on or near a ground battlefield. But Mitchell had 

learned the importance of applying these principles to aviation 

from General Trenchard in 1917, and in 1936 the Air Corps Tactical School was teaching: “Air operations, like other military 

operations, aire governed by the same fundamental principles that 

have governed warfare in the past.” 

The revolutionary theory of strategic bombing came into the 

US. Army Air Corps during the 1920s both from independent 

thinking and from Douhet. The influence of Douhet came first 

through Mitchell (as Colonel Hurley shows in his biography)’ and 

then directly from a study of Douhet’s writings. The real breakthrough in strategic air thought occurred during the Ohio maneuvers 

of 1929, when interceptor aircraft gave little difficulty to penetrating bombers. In reporting the maneuvers on 26 May 1929, Major 

Walter H. Frank, the Tactical School’s assistant commandant, expressed agreement with Douhet’s position “that an air force is 

principally an offensive weapon rather than a defensive one.” In the 

classrooms at Langley Field in 1930, Lieutenant Kenneth Walker 

stated the bomber credo: “A well organized, well planned, and well 

flown air force attack will constitute an offensive that cannot be 

stopped.” Following their move to Maxwell Field, Tactical School 

bombardment instructors worked out their industrial fabric theory 

of national power. As the key economic targets surfaced in 

AWPD-1 in August 1941, they were judged to be electric power, 

transportation, oil, and petroleum. And by 1935 the full-blown 

theory of high-level, daylight, precision bombing of pinpoint targets 

was being taught. 

At the same time that the strategic bombing doctrine was 

maturing, circumstances made US. Army Air Corps thinking more 

pragmatic than dogmatic. Long-range bombers had to be justified 

for coastal defenseto repel hostile naval forces approaching 

Vancouver and Nova Scotia under the RED-ORANGE plan. As 

established iin 1935, the GHQ (General Headquarters) Air Force 

was expected to commence battle before friendly ground armies 

made contact. with invasion forces, but when the surface battle was 

278 
joined all aviation-including long-range bombers-would support 

the friendly ground armies. Air Corps bomber, pursuit, and attack 

groups were assigned to the GHQ Air Force rather than to separate 

bomber, fighter, and army-cooperation commands. At the Air Corps 

Tactical School the “bombardment invincibility” doctrine was at its 

zenith between 1934 and 1936, but pursuit instruction was restored 

to equal emphasis in the curriculum after 1936. 

In the late 1930s American strategic air enthusiasts remained 

confident that the bomber could penetrate and destroy, but they 

indicated that they would like the added assurance of long-range 

escort fighters-provided they could be developed, which appeared 

unlikely. Spurred on by the nagging doubts of General H. H. Arnold 

that a bomber could penetrate without fighter escort, the Air Corps 

and Army Air Forces devoted an extraordinary amount of attention 

to the development of a long-range pursuit aircraft. The search for 

such a plane, which the Air Board of 1939 described as a “pursuit 

fighter” designed “f br the accompaniment and protection of bombardment aviation when engaged on missions exposed to effective 

attack by hostile pursuit,” brought forward a progression of large, 

twin-engine, turret equipped “X” and ‘6Y” model aircraft.6 The 

most notable were the Bell YFM-1A Airacuda, the Lockheed XP-58, 

and the Northrop XP-61. Of these planes only the P-61 became 

operational and it turned out to be a night fighter rather than a 

bomber escort. The efforts to develop a special escort fighter failed, 

and it was also true that Arnold’s periodic demands for increased 

bomber protection usually ended in new studies looking toward 

increased bomber firepower and better defensive formations. But 

I think that it is pertinent that the Army Air Forces kept a long 

range fighter development project always warm-even if only on a 

back burner. 

When the great Army Air Forces planners-Hal George, 0. 

A. Anderson, Walker, Hansell, Vandenberg, Kuter-prepared 

AWPD-1 in August 1941, they were careful to keep a number of 

options open. Three lines of US. air action were possible against 

an already strained German economy and society. The first required 

destruction of Germany’s electric power and transportation systems, 

oil and petroleum resources, and the undermining of morale by 

attacks against civilian concentrations. The second line of actionrepresenting intermediate objectives that might be essential to accomplish the principal eff ect-required neutralization of the Luft279 
waffe by attacks against its bases, aircraft factories, and aluminum 

and magnesium production. The third line of action-which might 

have to be undertaken to safeguard operating air bases-included 

attacks against submarine bases, surface seacraft, and invasion 

ports. The planners advocated a concentration of daylight, precision 

attacks against specific targets. They did not favor attacks against 

cities unless their inhabitants were known to be low in morale, 

either became of suffering or deprivation, or because of a recognition that their armed forces could not win a favorable decision. 

The planners believed that by relying on speed, massed formations, 

high altitude, defensive firepower, armor, and simultaneous penetrations at many places, heavy bombers could make deep penetrations of German defenses in daylight hours. But they urged that it 

would be well to develop a large, heavily armed, escort fighter. 

The planners suggested that a transcendent six-month air offensive 

against Germany might eliminate the need for a surface invasion, 

but if the invasion proved necessary for exploitation of the air 

victory, it should not be undertaken until the air campaign had 

been completed. 

Where American air doctrine in some measure visualized a 

unity of air power and permitted optional employments, it seems 

to me that British air doctrine-as manifest in organization and 

equipment--was somewhat less flexible. I am led to believe that the 

Royal Air Force’s Bomber and Fighter Commands were quite 

separate organizations. Where American bombers could make a 

fight for air superiority, the British bombers could not and possibly 

were never intended to do so. Witness Air Marshal Sir John Slessor’s statement made in 1936: “Air superiority is only a means to 

an end. But it happens that to go straight for the end is best, in fact 

the only sure way of achieving the ends.”6 While the Spitfire was 

a remarkable interceptor, it seems to have been designed for a very 

specific need and with little potential for growth into a long-range 

fighter. In this regard a statement made by Air Marshal Sir Hugh 

Dowding in January 1941 may be applicable: “The primary objective of the fighter airplane,” he said, “is the interception and 

destruction of the enemy bomber. The fighter should remember 

that the attack on the enemy fighter is only incidental to the main 

objective.”7 Unable to attempt to establish command of the air, 

RAF Bomber Command would be compelled to follow late World 

War I and Fire-Douhet tactics of attempts to evade German defenses 

280 
and to attack area targets under cover of darkness. If Dr. Frankland wishes to describe RAF Bomber Command’s conceptual input 

into the Combined Bomber Offensive strategy as being “revolutionary,” I believe that we should note that American strategic air 

thinking can best be described as being both “classical” and 

66 revolutionary.” 

In order to save time, I will waive remarks about our speaker’s 

second subtitle: Combined and Divided. I should observe, however, 

that I long ago enlisted-and have several times renewed my 

membership-in the corps of those who accept the “specious” 

argument that if sustained strategic air attacks had been mounted 

with substantial bomber forces against the decisive target systems 

named in AWPD-1, Germany’s economy could and should have 

been destroyed before-instead of after-the Normandy invasion. 

While the British were disappointed that the American bombers did 

not tack on to their night formations, I do not believe that it can be 

rightly said that the division of the Combined Bomber Offensive into 

night and day operations prevented the Americans from making 

worthwhile contributions to the bombing effort against Germany in 

1942-43. The essential problem in this period was that the Eighth 

Air Force was too small, even before many of its units were diverted 

to support the Allied surface operation in North Africa. And the 

targets handed down to it (especially the almost invulnerable submarine pens) were little calculated to accomplish any great decision. As far as target destruction was concerned, I will agree that 

the major part of the US. Army Air Forces operations in the 

European Theater from 17 August 1942 to June 1943 was wasted 

effort (except for training and experience), but my reasons are 

different from those advanced by Dr. Frankland. I believe we 

should notice, however, that the early air attacks against continental 

Europe caused a pull-back of Luftwaffe units from the Mediterranean and Eastern Fronts, thus hastening German defeats in those 

areas. 

If we accept my earlier proposition that American strategic air 

doctrine was more pragmatic than that of the Royal Air Force, we 

can deal rather shortly with some of the “fortuitous developments” 

discussed under the heading, “Planned and Fortuitous.” The thesis 

that hidebound American strategic air officers, following a blind 

dogma of bomber invincibility, brought the Eighth Air Force to 

281 
“America’s WaLterloo” at Schweinfurt in 1943 simply cannot be 

sustained, although it seems to be suggested by our speaker and was 

stated in almost so many words by a Harmon Memorial lecturer in 

1962.’ And I do not think that we should accept the melodramatic 

story of the P-51 Mustang-how it was developed by chance and 

arrived in the European Theater of Operations just in time to win 

air superiority--without closer scrutiny. Parenthetically, the really 

interesting story regarding the long-range fighter has to do with 

auxiliary fuel tanks which had long been used for ferrying purposes, but which high-ranking Air Corps officers rejected for tactical 

usage in 1939 lbecause they were believed to be a fire hazard and 

mistrusted in 1941 because their fittings added “unnecessary weight 

and operational complexities that are incompatible with the mission 

of pursuit.” Where the extended-range P-51 served with distinction 

in Europe, the P-47N flew even longer-range bomber support missions in the Pacific. 

I am certain that the establishment of Allied air superiority over 

Europe in the winter of 1943-44 was attributable to far more factors 

than the fortunate arrival of the Mustang fighter on the scene. 

Germany’s oil and petroleum fuel situation was critically weak 

from the war’s beginning, and shortages of aviation fuel seriously 

hindered the training of replacement pilots. When experienced 

Luftwaffe flyers were killed, they had to be replaced by trainee 

pilots whose flying time had been cut short by the scarcity of 

aviation gasoline. By robbing their Eastern and Mediterranean 

fronts, the Ge mans almost doubled their single-engine fighter 

strength on the Western front during 1943, but during the winter 

of 1943-44 the number of U.S. bombers on the Western front 

quadrupled while Luftwaffe strength in units increased very little. 

For example, in the fall of 1943, 300 U.S. bombers and 200 escort 

fighters were opposed by 200 or more enemy fighters. In May 1944 

comparative figgres show 1,000 bombers and 900 escort fighters 

opposed by some 300 enemy interceptors. The establishment of the 

U.S. Strategic Air Forces under General Carl A. Spaatz on 1 

January 1944 further augmented the mass of coordinated American 

bombing effort against Germany and diluted Luftwaff e interception 

capabilities. 

Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering’s mistakes also contributed 

to the Allied air victory. In December 1943 Goering issued orders 

to Luftwaffe pilots to concentrate their attacks on Allied bombers 

282 
and to avoid combat with Allied escorts. This order ignored a basic 

fact of air fighting: that when aircraft of roughly equal performance meet, the one who seeks to avoid combat is at an almost 

certainly fatal disadvantage. Noting Goering’s mistake, Major General Jimmy Doolittle on 4 January 1944 ordered Eighth Air Force 

fighters to take the offensive-“to pursue the Hun until he is destroyed”-rather than provide position defense to friendly bomber8.l’ In this same season, Luftwaffe fighters were being retrofitted 

with rockets, which were effective against bombers but were relatively ineffective against fighters. Goering’s mistakes-which were 

indeed “fortuitous” and could hardly be preprogrammed in American plans-had a lot to do with the Allied air victory. Seen in this 

light, it may have been well that the Casablanca and POINTBLANK 

directives were not too specific, since their vagueness permitted air 

commanders to make needed on-the-spot professional decisions. 

As for the charge that American air commanders may have been 

deficient in judgment in not having abandoned daylight strategic 

bombing, Major General Haywood S. Hansel1 has written: “There 

is a thin line between stubborn and stupid adherence to a preconceived idea on the one hand, and courageous persistence in the 

face of apparent reverses on the other. The commander who correctly gauges the proper line of action, who remembers that his 

enemy is also being hurt, and who is driven by a relentless will to 

win-generally does win.” l1 While the usual interpretation is that 

heavy losses forced American air leaders to make a reassessment of 

strategic bombing in the autumn of 1943, a close reading of their 

correspondence of the time reveals their confidence that strategic 

bombers, employed in force, could still perform their mission over 

Germany. But they were concerned because an early attainment of 

Allied control of the air was necessary if the OVERLORD and 

ANVIL invasions on the coasts of France were to succeed in mid1944. General Arnold was addressing this situation when he issued 

orders to the commanders of the Eighth and Fifteenth Air Forces 

on 27 December 1943, for his message read: “It is a conceded 

fact that OVERLORD and ANVIL will not be possible unless the 

German Air Force is destroyed. Therefore, my personal message 

to you-this is a MUST-is to, ‘Destroy the Enemy Air Force 

wherever you find them, in the air, on the ground and in the 

factories.’ ” 12 

Dr. Frankland’s reference to the Royal Air Force’s develop283 
ment and use of very large conventional bombs is well taken, since 

large bombs also proved very useful in the Korean air interdiction 

campaigns. While his time and focus did not permit it, I wish that 

he might have been able to elaborate on the intelligence problem of 

targeting a strategic air campaign, which he briefly mentions. In 

this regard it seems to me that these points ought to be noted: the 

critical importance of identification and selection of really significant bombing targets, the waste of costly air resources that can come 

from improper selection of objectives; the need to make rapid, 

repetitive strikies against targets selected for destruction, thus 

accomplishing the desired end before the enemy can devise 

countermeasures. 

As you have no doubt surmised, I do not entirely agree with 

our speaker’s view that “fortuitous circumstances came to the rescue 

of the so-called ‘Combined Bomber Offensive.’ ” And I regret that 

we are not in agreement. Because World War I1 provided air power 

with its first opportunity to show that it could do something more 

than support surface campaigns, I think that it is unfortunate the 

historians have been unable to agree upon precisely calculated 

value judgmenis in regard to the conflict. While some purists seem 

to believe that historians ought to record what happened and not 

seek to highlight useful information, I note with pleasure that Dr. 

Frankland believes that “the fruits of . . . discovery and explanation may be relevant as well as interesting in the context of the 

problems confronting the world today.” 

Before we close, I think that we ought to try to look at some of 

the reasons why different meanings can be drawn from the history 

of the Combined Bomber Offensive. Some of the thoughts that come 

to my mind here spring from studies being made at the Air University by the CORONA HARVEST project, which is charged with 

evaluation of the employment of air power in the current war in 

Southeast Asia. One of the surprising things learned early in this 

project was that no one had ever attempted to establish any measurable criteria for judging the successful accomplishment of an aerial 

mission. Although bombing surveys and evaluation boards-and 

historians, in irain-made exhaustive surveys in World War 11, 

these evaluators lacked essential standards for judging accomplishment, a deeply comprehensive data base for making quantitative 

evaluations, and the techniques for exploiting comprehensive data 

if it had been ixvailable. Unable to handle quantified data, evalua284 
tors and historians tended to fall back upon the slippery facts of 

experiential history and to base many of their judgments upon the 

intensely personal experiences and views of the participants in the 

conflict. These varied views and experiences have permitted different interpretations. As Major General Orvil Anderson once remarked: “If you will let experience be your teacher, you can have 

any damn lesson you want.” 

On the basis of experience, I would agree that at the end of 

World War I1 most participants accepted the conclusion that 

“strategic bombing could find effective expression only in the 

command of the air and command of the air was found to be a 

product of victorious battle against the opposing air force.” The 

U.S. Strategic Bombing Survey drew the summary lesson that 

establishment of control of the air in Europe had been essential not 

only for surface operations but for the effective prosecution of the 

strategic air campaign. Even in the dark days of Schweinfurt and 

Regensburg, however, Major General Ira C. Eaker, the Eighth 

Air Force commander, did not lose faith in the effectiveness of 

massed heavy bomber operations. After the war’s end, Eaker 

speculated that the bombers probably would have been able to 

defeat the German Air Force without fighter escort, but that the 

loss in bombers might have been ten per cent instead of two per 

cent. Yet another postwar assessment emphasized the importance 

of offensive fighter employment and suggested that the Eighth Air 

Force fighters would have contributed more to the air victory if 

they had been used as fighter-bombers against German fighter bases. 

Thinking in terms of poor bombing accuracy and the limited potential of iron bombs, General Hoyt S. Vandenberg pointed out in 

1949 that the Eighth Air Force might have been willing to accept 

its 1943 loss rates if it could have accomplished an assured destruction of significant targets. 

While we can portray the history of the Combined Bomber 

Offensive largely on the basis of the personal beliefs of the men 

who participated in it, I submit that we cannot establish absolute 

historical truths in regard to it without making a most exhaustive 

investigation and analysis of the exact importance of each of the 

factors that played a part in the history. We cannot safely assign 

value judgments to particular actions, unless we have first tested 

alternative actions that might have been pursued. In short, I think 

that there is merit to the arguments of the new econometrics school, 

285 
which demonstrates that historians can profitably use historical data 

to prepare models that will permit them to test and evaluate 

counter-factual conditional propositions of the past. Only by testing 

a full range of alternate possibilities would it be feasible to make a 

final judgment as to whether the “revolutionaries” were wrong when 

they thought that bombers could perform a decisive mission without 

a prior establishment of air superiority. There are those who say 

that Schweinfurt and Regensburg were an adequate test, but here 

again we are (depending upon opinion rather than exact factual 

analysis. 

In conclusion, let me say that Dr. Frankland has done 11s a 

service by giving us some meanings as well as the facts about the 

Combined Bomber Offensive. I have quarrelled with some of his 

meanings, oftein going far afield for the sake of making points. 

More in order to clarify my own thought than to correct Dr. Frankland, I have attempted to demonstrate that valid meanings should 

be based upon imore detailed analyses than we historians have been 

wont to practice in the past. Despite all this, I point out that his 

major purpose-to demonstrate that a proper study of the past 

can in fact be interesting and relevant to the present-has been 

eminently successful. 

NOTES 

1. Alfred F. Hurley, Billy Mitchell, Crusader for Air Power (New York, 

19M), p. 75. 

2. Report, Maj. W. H. Frank, Assistant Commandant Air Corps Tactical 

School, to Brig. Gen. Benjamin D. Foulois, Director of Air Corps Maneuvers, subj. Repcirt on Maneuvers, 30 August 1929, inclosing: Critique, 

Air-Ground Maneuvers Fifth Corps Area, May 1929; Address by Major 

Frank in Auditoirium at Wright Field, Ohio, 26 May 1929. 

3. Air Corps Tactical School, The Air Force, February 1931, p. 56; conversations with Irrlaj. Gen. H. S. Hansel1 (USAF-Ret.) regarding the contributions of Brig. Gen. Kenneth Walker to strategic bombing doctrine. 

4. Document prepared by Air War Plans Division (AWPD). 

5. Report, The Adjutant General, War Department, to Chiefs of All Arms 

and Services et d., subj: Air Board Report, 15 September 1939; see data 

on “fighter-multiplace” in James C. Fahey, US. Army Aircraft (Heavier 

than Air), 1908-194fj (New York: Ships and Aircraft, 1946), p. 28, and 

286 
Air Materiel Command case histories of the XP-58 and XP-75 airplane 

projects. 

6. Wing Commander J. C. Slessor, Air Power and Armies (London, 1936) , p. 10. 

7. Memorandum of a talk presented by Air Vice Marshal Sir Hugh 

Dowding in Washington on 11 January 1941 by Lt. T. N. Charles, Plans 

Division, Office, Chief of Air Corps (OCAC) , 

8. William R. Emerson, Operation Pointblank, A Tale of Bombers and 

Fighters (US. Air Force Academy, Colorado: The Harmon Memorial Lectures in Military History, No. 4, 1962), passim. 

9. Burdette S. Wright, Vice President and General Manager, Aeroplane 

Division, Curtiss-Wright Corporation, to Maj. Gen. H. H. Arnold, Chief of 

Air Corps, 21 May 1940; Office of Chief of Air Corps, draft memorandum 

for Mr. Donald Nelson, Director of Production Management, subj : Approval 

of Change Order, n.d. and routing and record sheets attached thereto recommending disapproval; Maj. H. S. Vandenberg to General Spaatz, 4 March 

1941, and Brig. Gen. Carl Spaatz, Chief, Plans Division, Office, Chief of 

Air Corps (OCAC), to Executive OCAC, 10 March 1941; see also Air 

Technical Service Command, “Case History of the Droppable Fuel Tank,” 

February 1945. 

10. Eighth Air Force, “Tactical Development,” August 1942-May 1945, 

pp. 50-51. 

11. Maj. Gen. H. S. Hansell, manuscript history “American Air Power in 

World War 11,” Chap. V, pp. 38-39. 

12. W. F. Craven and J. L. Cate, eds., The Army Air Forces in World 

Wur II, Vol. 111: Europe: Argument to V-E Day (Chicago, 1951), p. 8. 

13. Maj. Gen. Orvil A. Anderson (USAF-Ret.), “Development of U.S. 

Strategic Air Doctrine, ETO World War 11,” Lecture to Air War College, 

20 September 1951, p. 28. 

287 
SOME MILITARY VIEWS : 

THE COMBINED BOMBER OFFENSIVE : 

A BRITISH COMMENT 

Marshal of the Royal Air Force SIR JOHN SLESSOR 

I don’t think that I can add much in a way of comment on 

these very interesting papers to what I wrote in my book The Central 

Blue more than twelve years ago.’ 

One thing I would perhaps say. Mr. Futrell in his paper quotes 

a sentence frorn a book by me in 1936.’ Nothing I have done, or 

seen, or heard, or read since that date shakes that belief. Out of 

perhaps millions of words I have written and spoken about air 

strategy, nothing remains more true than those two lines. Air 

superiority is only a means to an end-and the end (or the aim or 

the object or the.intention or whatever staff jargon you select to 

describe it) is to impose upon the enemy the utterly disastrous 

situation which no unprejudiced critic can deny that ultimately the 

British and U. S. Bomber Offensive imposed upon the Germans. 

The aim, object, or what not of the bomber is not to destroy enemy 

aircraft in the *air-though that is a useful by-product; it is to drop 

sufficient bombs sufficiently accurately to destroy the enemy’s 

capacity to wage war effectively-whether by drying up his oil 

supply, disrupting his war production, or paralyzing his armies’ 

capacity to move-as the attack on transportation before and in the 

early stages ad OVERLORD did with such unexaggerable importance to the success of our invasion of the continent. 

It is by doing that, in the course of which you force him onto 

the defensive in the widest sense, that you win the fight for air 

superiority. In fact, “going straight for the end is the best, in fact 

the only sure, way of achieving the means.” a 

288 
Of course, you have got to have the resources to enable you 

effectively to pursue that end. As I have repeatedly admitted, we 

grossly underestimated the numbers and technological efficiency of 

aircraft and their equipment necessary for that purpose. We made 

the mistake also in imagining that day bombers could do it unescorted; we thought that even if the necessary range could be built 

into fighters, when the bombers and their escort met enemy fighter 

opposition the latter would have to turn and fight, leaving the 

bombers to go on unescorted to bump into the next wave of enemy 

fighters. And we did not believe the range could be built incuriously enough even with the Merlin Mustang we did not at 

first appreciate the immense capacity for range that could be built 

into it. (Incidentally Frankland’s account of the birth of the Merlin 

Mustang is accurate-I was very closely associated with it at the 

time.) In fact among our many mistakes-and remember this was 

the first air war, to all practical purposes-we thought the bomber 

could get through with the help of its own guns. We found it could 

only get through with the help of guns in escort fighters. But the 

whole object of the exercise was to enable the bomber to get through. 

And it was that which led to air superiority-not the other way 

around. 

I’m afraid I am not much interested in academic arguments 

about ‘classical strategy’-much though I admire Admiral Mahan 

(you may be surprised to hear I have never read Douhet!) In my 

view, the defeat of enemy forces, whether on land, at sea, or in the 

air, is always the means, not the end. Armies don’t defeat armies 

as an end in itself-they do it to enable them to occupy enemy 

territory (or prevent their own territory from being occupied). As 

far as I know, no responsible airman has ever suggested that 

strategic bombing could achieve its end without having air superiority to enable it to do so. But, given the necessary priorities and 

resources, they could do so without the massive land battles of 

1914-18 or even 1939-45. 

This leads me to the only other comment, which I think of any 

real importance, that I’d like to make on the papers by Frankland, 

Higham, and Futrell. Trenchard used to say “all war is muddle and 

confusion and mistakes, and the chap who wins, is he who makes 

fewer muddles and confusions and mistakes than the other fellow.” 

Our ultimate victory in the air owed much to Goering and Hitler289 
they were our ‘secret weapons’ all right! But a thing that struck 

me as very strange is that not one of these papers-including 

Frankland’s-pointed out that our persistence in the Bomber 

Offensive, however amateur and ineffective in the early years, had 

the effect of making the Germans build fighters instead of bombers. 

Futrell notes in his paper that in about eight months, over the winter 

1943-44, the number of U. S. bombers increased by more than three 

times and that of escort fighters by four and one-half times. On the 

other hand, the German fighters opposing them increased by only 

50%, and there is no mention of German bombers because by that 

time their relative numbers and efficiency were negligible. Thank 

God the Germans took this cockeyed view of air defence and did not 

follow up their extraordinary initiative in developing heavy bombers that Fredette described so well in his book on the First Battle of 

Britain in 1917-18.“ I wonder what would have been the result if, 

instead of building more and more fighters to be shot down by the 

Mustangs and Thunderbolts and by the Spitfires in the Tactical Air 

Force, Speer had been allowed to concentrate a far higher proportion of the German production effort on building really good 

bombers-lineal descendants of the Gothas and Giants of 1917-18. 

I shudder to think of the effect on our British centres of population, 

ports, war industry, and crowded airfields. I believe at least that 

OVERLORD would have been impossible. 

However, that’s all mere speculation and not very profitable. 

Actually all this, in this age of nuclear missiles, is of no more than 

academic historical interest. Still-it is interesting and perhaps not 

altogether a waste of time. But do let us get our facts and premises 

right. 

There are a few more unimportant holes I could pick in these 

three very good papers. I will content myself with two. 

Higham states in his paper that it was Tedder “who forced 

Bomber Command into a strategic role to aid the D-Day landings” 

-(incidentally here is another example of the dangers of this 

loose use of the word “strategic”). It was not Tedder, for he had no 

authority to do any such thing. As was his natural duty, he brought 

what pressure he could to bear in order to get full support of 

Bomber Command for OVERLORD. But except for some opposition 

by Churchill to the railway bombing plan on the grounds of casualties to French civilians, I am aware of no other except from Harris, 

290 
who though a great commander in his way was a difficult chap and 

lacked any real strategic sense. It was the Chiefs of Staff-including 

and by no means least Portal-who insisted that all our resources 

should be put into ensuring the success of OVERLORD. And if 

Tedder or anyone else suggests that he “forced” Bomber Command 

into that role, it is quite simply not true. 

As a matter of interest, in the first Chiefs of Staff paper on the 

reorganization of the RAF for the invasion (which I personally 

wrote in the summer of 1942), the Air Staff proposed that Bomber 

Command should be put under the orders of the Supreme Commander. In the event, the Command only acted in support’of the 

invasion, under the direction of the Chiefs of Staff. But this may 

help to convince people that there was no question of the Air 

Ministry hanging back in this context; the Chiefs of Staff certainly 

did not. 

The only other point is that I agree with Mr. Futrell that if we 

had given the necessary priority to the bombers and their equipment, Germany’s economy (and hence ability to sustain the war) 

could have been destroyed before the Normandy invasion. The 

armies would have had subsequently to go in to restore order and 

occupy enemy territory till a peace settlement, but on a much 

smaller scale and without a massive operation like OVERLORD. I 

am on record as saying that repeatedly at the time.‘ 

NOTES 

1. Sir John Slessor, The Central Blue: The Autobiography of Sir John 

Slessor, Marshal of the Royal Air Force (New York, 1957). See especially 

Chapter XIV, “1941-1942: Bomber Group Commander,” and pp. 203-207, 

211-212, 231-233, 429-432. 

2. John Slessor, Air Power and Armies (London, 1936), p. 10. 

3. Slessor, The Central Blue, p. 390. 

4. Raymond H. Fredette, The Sky on Fire: The First Battle of Britain 

1917-1918 and the Birth of the Royal Air Force (New York, 1966), passim. 

5. Slessor, The Central Blue, pp. 434-435. 

291 
THE ALLIED COMBINED BOMBER OFFENSIVE : 

TWO GERMAN VIEWS 

FIELD MARSHALL ERHARD MILCH 

German Air Force, WW II (Ret.) 

Having read Dr. Frankland’s paper and the commentaries by 

Dr. Futrell and Professor Higham, I shall endeavor to present very 

briefly the German viewpoint of the Allied Combined Bomber 

Offensive during World War 11. However, I shall not concern 

myself with the deeper and underlying considerations, often of a 

more philosophical nature, to which Dr. Frankland and some of the 

other commentators address themselves in their papers. 

The subtitles of Dr. Frankland’s paper, “classical and revolutionary, combined and divided, planned and fortuitous,” seem to 

me to express most clearly, through the use of the small word 

“and,” what is most necessary in order to achieve the greatest effect 

in any operation. It is the task of the higher military leadership 

always to find at the right moment and in proper dimensions the 

best solution among the two alternatives expressed by Dr. Frankland. This solution, however, can never be a one-sided one, that is 

choosing one of the alternatives over the other, for it must, more 

often than not, be one which is based on a mix of the two alternatives available. To make the most successful decision in each case 

is a task which requires military genius! 

German Mistakes 

In every military conflict each side must evaluate the power 

potential of the opponent. In the case of Germany and World War 

11, the following had a decisive effect on the German conduct of the 

war: 

Translated and edited by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

292 
1. In the fall of 1939 the German Air Force was still in the 

process of building and expansion. It was as yet not ready to engage 

in large-scale military operations; this was equally true of the army: 

and navy. 

2. A comparison of German war potential with that of the 

Allies showed a drastic inferiority on the part of Germany, particularly in respect to such factors as population, geographical area, 

raw materials, industrial potential, and a trained leadership elite. 

For this reason, the German military leadership was unable to 

understand how (and why) the political leadership could and did 

embark on a course of military action. The most pressing handicap 

on the German side was the completely insufficient source of 

petroleum. 

3. In the case of the German Air Force one must add a series 

of mistakes made by the military leadership, some of which occurred before the outbreak of war and some immediately thereafter, 

which in addition raised serious doubts as to any German hopes of 

victory. The following stand out: 

a. From 1937 on, the German Air Force operated under 

a completely incorrect top echelon organizational structure. 

b. The series production of the four-engine bombers, the 

Ju-89 and DO-18, was cancelled before the war. 

c. The range of the fighter-escort force was limited and 

insufficient for wartime operations. Although drop tanks were 

available, their poor design and manufacture led to a refusal by 

the fighter pilots to use them. 

d. Between 1937 and 1941 Germany could have produced between 40,000 to 50,000 additional front-line aircraft 

(based on the production figures achieved after 1941). Production 

capability, raw materials, and a skilled labor force were available 

but were not used to maximum capacity. 

e. Shortly after the outbreak of the war, pilot training 

centers were allocated less than 25% of their basic fuel requirements. This in turn resulted in a considerable shortage of good 

pilots as early as the end of 1942. 

f. The Me-262, the first jet fighter aircraft, was ready for 

the start of large-scale series production in the summer of 1943, 

293 
when Hitler prohibited the employment of the aircraft as a fighter 

and ordered it rebuilt as a Blitzbomber. Redesigning the aircraft 

for this purpose, adding provisions for a bombardier, bombsight, 

and bombcarrying capability, resulted in an interruption of the 

series production and a delay of more than a year. 

World War I1 Bombing Operations 

Tactics developed prior to the war for the employment of the 

German bomber force had been on the basis of daylight raids with 

accompanying fighter escorts for protection. Until the Battle of 

Britain this remained the basic Luftwaffe doctrine in terms of 

planning, training, and actual operations. However, the short radius 

of action of the German fighter escorts, which could not be extended 

beyond the vicinity of London, as well as their numerical insufficiency for the required bomber escort operations, necessitated 

a change in tactics. Thus, because of the large loss rate sustained by 

the bomber force as a result of the above, daylight bombing 

operations against England were changed to night operations. Yet, 

no completely satisfactory tactical doctrine for night bombing 

operations evolved on the German side, in contrast to the later 

British night bombing tactics based on large numbers of aircraft 

attacking in continuous waves. 

Thus the German bomber force during night operations could 

attack only area targets successfully, not pinpoint targets. For this 

reason, although not consciously planning to do so, night bombing 

operations had to turn into terror attacks, with the civilian population suffering increased losses. British night bombing operations 

must be judged by the same standard, while recognizing that here 

the effect of “terrorizing” the civilian population served not as the 

unwanted by-product but rather as the main purpose of such operations. (See for example Churchill’s order in this respect.) 

The American daylight attacks, just as the earlier German 

attacks prior to the Battle of Britain, cannot be criticized from a 

military point of view. A more concentrated and numerically larger 

employment of the B-17s was possible only after the introduction of 

the Mustang provided the required and outstanding fighter escort. 

The American attacks were then able to hit the majority of their 

assigned targets in an outstanding manner. The excellent tactical 

employment system of the bomber-fighter force used by the Ameri294 
cans contributed perhaps even more to the success. It was only 

natural that a certain percentage of the bombs dropped during 

daylight operations did fall on civilian targets and population 

centers, but this was only a fraction when compared with that of the 

night bombing operations. 

The military successes of the American daylight operations 

were considerably more productive than those of British night flying 

operations, but the “combined” method of American daylight 

operations and British night flying operations successfully compbinerd ea& &m %D a&im & u+tism%e xiwem. % p~ 

volume of bombs dropped by the Lancasters and other British 

aircraft was compensated for by the lesser number of target hits 

and by the, at least 30%, decrease in finding the assigned targets 

during night operations. It is my opinion that British losses both in 

terms of pilots and aircraft during night flying operations were no 

less than that of the Americans. 

The German fighter (interceptor) air force had been developed 

and trained for daylight operations only prior to and in the beginning of the war, but by the end of 1940 it was divided by the 

creation of a night-fighter interceptor force. The surprisingly successful results of this new force were made possible by the introduction of excellent radar equipment designed for such operations. 

The Effect of the Allied Combined Bomber Offensive 

on Germany 

Despite the fact that the Allies possessed excellent crews, aircraft, and tactics, an outside observer had difficulty in understanding why the effects of their day and night operations had not 

achieved the decisive (and desired) result, the capitulation of 

Germany by 1944. In respect to the British night bombing operations one aspect, probably not considered by the Allies in their 

planning, played an important role, namely the more than heroic 

resistance of the German people. This was strengthened rather than 

diminished by the night “terror” bombing attacks. It represented 

primarily an expression of faith and trust on the part of the German 

people in their leadership, particularly in Hitler himself. (However, 

in future wars it would be unwise to count on these same higher 

influences prevailing and operating again.) 

295 
The Americans also made what I consider a cardinal error in 

their assessment of the effects of daylight bombing operations on 

Germany, for until the middle of 1944 they continued to attack such 

targets which according to established doctrine had been considered 

as decisive, but which in practice were not so at all. American 

attacks against aircraft factories, aircraft engine factories, tank 

factories, etc., did not result in a noticeable or continuing decrease 

in production. To cite just one example. During the winter of 1943, 

on a day when the temperature was a freezing eight degrees Centigrade, a large-scale American bombing raid was carried out against 

a Junkers aircraft factory in central Germany which had been 

producing fifty Ju-88s per month. All buildings, including the 

factory heating installation, were totally destroyed. The aircraft, 

although in part totally destroyed, were to a large extent still 

repairable, but most of the factory equipment was inoperative. When 

I landed at the factory approximately 30 minutes after the attack 

had taken place, I found one third of the work force engaged in 

extinguishing the fires, one third engaged in removing the debris, 

and the last third repairing the damaged aircraft. The entire sight 

was catastrophic and I asked the assembled workers how long, in 

their estimation, it would take until all the damage had been 

repaired. Their answer was: at the latest within a month! Actually 

on the tenth day of the following month the factory delivered the 

50 aircraft scheduled for delivery during the previous month (when 

the attack had occurred); the 50 aircraft scheduled for delivery 

during the current month were also delivered before the end of 

that month. 

The Allies had hoped that their attacks on the ball-bearing 

factories (such as Schweinfurt) would have a decisive effect on the 

duration of the war. However, despite the heavy destruction caused 

by these attacks, their effect on air force production was almost nil, 

because, first of all, large reserves of ball-bearings had been stored 

elsewhere, and secondly, the need to use ball-bearings was not in 

each case of vital necessity and could be (in fact, was) compensated 

for by changes in model construction and by using substitutes. Only 

in 1944 were long-standing German fears turned into reality, when 

the Allies began their systematic destruction of the oil and petroleum product refineries. As soon as the repair of a damaged refinery 

seemed to near completion, the Allies launched a new attack on 

the installation, destroying it again. These Allied successes were 

296 
mainly due to daylight operations. They, in fact, delivered the real, 

decisive, death blow to Germany. Naturally, attacks against other 

targets, particularly those concentrating on the transportation 

system, did their part in destroying the German military potential, 

but were only of secondary importance. Destruction of these targets 

only became a catastrophe for Germany when the Allied armies of 

both West and East began their advances toward Germany proper, 

where they finally met in the center of Germany. These advances 

made by Allied ground forces were a direct result of the constant 

lack of available petroleum products as well as the diminishing 

fighting capability of the air force, which again is directly related to 

the lack of petroleum products in its effect on pilot training. 

In conclusion I would like to state that the Allies would have 

been able to end the war sooner had they started their attacks 

against the German petroleum refineries earlier; in fact they would 

have shortened the war by the exact number of months (or weeks) 

it would have taken (and took) to carry out these attacks effectively. 

I fully realize that my brief remarks have dealt rather summarily 

with the most complex subject, but it has been my intention to 

accentuate the decisive elements of the Combined Bomber Offensive 

and its effect on Germany, as I saw it during World War 11. From 

my remarks it is evident that I for one believe that the course of 

events could have taken a different turn, if . . . ! But it is always 

this “if” in life that makes the difference; a poor excuse as it 

is! However, we on the German side, at least in my opinion, 

made-unfortunately I may add-the greater and more important 

mistakes, as I tried to point out above. 

How a strategic bombing war will be conducted in the future 

depends on many more imponderables than those which made 

World War I1 operations so difficult. Theoretically one can exterminate whole nations by conducting a nuclear war. The atomic 

bomb was used against Japan, but in Vietnam neither side has 

dared to use it yet, probably because of the fear of reciprocity. 

That one always can count on such fear of reciprocity in the future 

seems doubtful. What happens if the Soviets launch an attack 

against NATO? What happens under such circumstances to the 

European nations immediately concerned, regardless of whether 

the attack is launched with or without the use of nuclear weapons? 

Although it is the task of the political leadership to make the decision as to whether to use or not to use nuclear weapons, I believe 

297 
that the soldiers should prepare such decisions much more thoroughly from a military point of view than seems to have been the) 

case to date. 

One can only congratulate the United States Air Force Academy for having concerned itself so intimately with the questions 

and problems of the strategic bombing war, even though this type 

of war in the future will be able to achieve the same results through 

the employment of missiles rather than masses of aircraft. 

World War I1 was only a scheme! Every new war will create 

new schemes! However, one must master the historical experiences, 

if one intends to apply them (with whatever necessary modifications) in the future. 

LIEUTENANT GENERAL ADOLF GALLAND 

German Air Force, WW II (Ret.) 

An analysis of the Allied Bomber Offensive against Germany 

is undoubtedly a useful endeavor, one which does not require any 

justification. However, Dr. Frankland’s fine paper does raise some 

doubts in my mind, particularly with respect to his method of 

analysis. First, the conceptual framework of Frankland’s inquiry 

appears to contribute little tqward a better understanding of the 

strategic development and execution of the Allied Bombing Off ensive and therefore also little toward the use of the experiences 

gained by it. Secondly, it is my belief that an isolated investigation 

of the event-isolated from the rest of the war and from the 

counteractions of the opponent-can only insufficiently illuminate 

the nature of the air war and cannot possibly enable an observer to 

derive valid rules from it. For this reason, I would like to begin my 

comments by using the comparatively more simple scheme of pure 

military analysis and then make an attempt to fit Frankland’s concepts into such an investigation in order to ascertain their validity 

(Ordnungsgehalt) . 

Any military analysis (within certain modifications) must ask 

Translated and edited by Lieutenant Colonel William Geffen. 

298 
itself three questions: (1) What is the nature of the specific military 

task to be investigated within the context of the total overall military 

mission; (2) How could the specific mission best be accomplished 

within the limits of the means available; (3) What means and 

opportunities did the opponent possess to thwart one’s own intentions? 

It is assumed that while the total military mission of the Allies, 

i.e., to bring about the unconditional surrender of Germany, was 

sufficiently articulated, the specific task for the conduct of the air 

war was not clearly spelled out. In principle, three possible solutions were available for the execution of the latter task: 

1. To conduct operations against the enemy air force with the 

goal of achieving air supremacy in order thus to open the road to 

total victory for the ground forces. 

2. To weaken the opponent by destruction of his “nerve” 

system and his production centers. This would paralyze his resistance and create a situation whereby he would be unable to 

resist a follow-on occupation by the ground forces. 

3. To defeat the enemy forces in closest cooperation with the 

ground forces, to pursue them into the homeland and annihilate 

them there. 

Since at the beginning of the Bombing Offensive the employment of ground forces in Western Europe was neither possible nor 

contemplated, the third possible solution suggested above could be 

disregarded by Allied strategists at that time, but held in abeyance 

for later use. 

That no decision was reached in regard to either (1) or (2) 

above and that the adoption, as an alternative, of the not too clearly 

conceived concept of “round-the-clock bombing” was possible only 

because of the almost inexhaustible power potential and reserves 

which the Allies possessed, coupled with the concurrent and continuous decrease in German power potential. Thus, it was actually 

possible for the Allies to pursue simultaneously solutions (1) 

and (2), in accordance with this rather vague concept (“round-theclock bombing”), leaving the option open which of the two solutions 

would finally be adopted as the primary method, insofar as such 

a decision was still required. 

299 
Since the specific mission was vague in nature, its execution 

could not be anything else but vague too. For the mission of “roundthe-clock bombing” was in reality not the result of a concept, but 

rather a result of the difference in equipment and training of the 

two Allied air forces. The question of how the specific air war 

mission could best be carried out with the means available had 

already been answered beforehand. Mission execution was made to 

fit the quality of the existing means, rather than to employ these 

means toward the achievement of a specifically defined strategic 

goal. 

The weakness of the Allied method did not at all lie in its 

division of operational activity between day and night, for it was 

exactly this division of labor which forced the German air defense 

to engage in a “round-the-clock” state of readiness. Even more 

importantly, it forced Germany into the extremely difficult and 

expensive step of maintaining two defense systems, which at this 

time at least were still in many respects entirely different systems. 

On the contrary, the weakness of the Allied method was, as I see it, 

due rather to the lack of coordination concerning the strategic goal 

to be achieved. That this did not result in greater disadvantages for 

the Allies was primarily a result of the continuously changing 

military capabilities between the opposing air forces, which became 

more and more disadvantageous to the German side. In addition, 

a number of mistaken decisions on the part of the German leadership, some of catastrophic dimensions, added to it. 

The only option available to the German side to defend themselves against the Allied air attacks, particularly when one considers 

that Germany was engaged in a war on many fronts which she could 

neither stop nor disengage herself from and which required the 

allocation of diminishing resources, was a concentration of all 

available strength for air defense. To arrive at this decision would 

have been very easy for Germany, particularly since wartime 

experiences and lessons learned in this respect were available from 

the Battle of Britain. 

I believe that this point requires some further consideration. 

The German Air Force attained its reputation as a strategic air 

force in the quick wars of 1939 and 194Q particularly those 

against Poland and France. In reality this was a false reputation, 

for in all those instances where the Luftwaffe achieved unquestion300 
able success it was used as a tactical weapon. It achieved its reputation of invincibility, of being the best air force, as paradoxically as 

this may sound, because of the army, for the Luftwaffe was really 

never required in those early wars to annihilate completely the 

opposing air force. It was sufficient if the enemy air force was 

temporarily paralyzed, sometimes only for a few days. The ground 

organization and logistic system of the enemy air forces, which 

although damaged but nevertheless repairable, was then overrun by 

the German armor columns and finally occupied by the pursuing 

infantry. Conversely the Luftwaffe played its part in the successes 

which the rapid movement of the army achieved, since it enabled 

the fast armor columns to drive forward under air force protection 

without worrying about enemy flank penetrations or the need to 

wait for contact with the much slower infantry, which followed in 

its path. 

At the moment when this concept was abandoned, as for example during the Battle of Britain, the weakness of the Luftwaffe 

became apparent. This weakness was not only a result of the lack of 

range in the German fighter arm, but rather the comparative numbers and capabilities of both the RAF and the Luftwaffe. Numerically this has often been expressed in a ratio of one to four or even 

one to five in favor of the Luftwaffe. This, however, is based on an 

erroneous calculation. For the determining ratio is that of fighter 

to fighter, and this was hardly ever much better than one to one 

for the German side. A one to one ratio, however, is insufficient in 

view of the much higher attrition rate sustained by the attacker, a 

lesson which was to be validated later during the Allied Bombing 

Offensive. Herein lies the chance for, the defender, a chance not to 

be overlooked. 

In spite of the continuous “round-the-clock” efforts of the 

Allied Bombing Offensive, the German armament industry was able 

to produce until the end of the war approximately 1,400 Me-262 

jet aircraft. Notwithstanding the concentrated Allied attacks against 

both oil refineries and the transportation network, Germany was 

able during the late summer and autumn of 1944 to provide 3,700 

fighter aircraft for a large air defense effort, a number which the 

Luftwaffe had not been able to have in operation at any time before 

this. If, and I hope I may be permitted to make a hypothesis at this 

point, all of these existing capabilities had continually been used 

for the task of air defense instead of misusing them in the rather 

301 
senseless air attacks against enemy targets, the Allied Bombing 

Offensive would undoubtedly have come to a different end, although 

this probably would not have changed the final result of the war. 

If such large numbers of aircraft had been made available for air 

defense, it would have been impossible even for the United States 

Air Force to maintain a ratio of fighter aircraft of a least two to 

one, particularly when one considers the qualitative superiority of 

the Me-262. In this respect the complete victory of the Allied 

Bombing Offensive was indeed “fortuitous,” that is to say based 

on a mistake by the German leadership which certainly was not 

and could not have been “planned.” 

Viewed in this light, the attrition of the RAF in the air battle 

over Berlin becomes even less understandable, since the first jet 

aircraft had already become operational during the late autumn 

months of 1943.* If the Allies had given proper consideration to 

the “means and opportunities the opponent possessed to thwart 

one’s own intentions,” they would immediately have concentrated 

their attacks on the German aircraft industry, engine and aluminum 

factories, and oil refineries. This decision should have been an easy 

one to make, since the questionable effect of terror raids, i.e., city 

bombing, had already been recognized on both sides by this time. 

Moreover, Berlin did no longer play the central role within the 

German nerve system” which London still occupied within the 

British “nerve system.” 

66 

After these comments, based on a German view of the Allied 

Bombing Offensive, I would like to concern myself with Dr. Frankland’s conceptual framework and to investigate its content. 

Classical and Revolutionary 

The weakness of this pairing seems to me to rest upon the fact 

that it does not contain any real alternative. Thus, its use is primarily a matter of taste. For example, was the appearance of the 

first tank revolutionary? Hardly so, since the opponent soon learned 

how to cope with it with conventional means. Was the appearance 

of the aircraft as a military weapon revolutionary? Not at all, 

although it considerably expanded the possibilities of long range 

reconnaissance. The chivalrous air battles in which the fighter pilots 

*The first flight of a Me-262 took place on 18 July 1942 from 0840 to 0852 

hours at Leipheim Air Force Base (near Ulm, Germany). [Ed. note] 

302 
on both sides engaged in the First World War contributed as little 

toward the military decision of the war as did the rather small 

interdiction efforts of the air arm in the ground battle. At the start 

of the Second World War both weapon categories, the airplane and 

the tank, were already considered classical weapons. Nevertheless, 

the concept of the air-supported armored breakthrough was revolutionary since it brought about a change in strate& by replacing the 

attrition strategy (Ermattungs- und Abniitzungsstrategie) of the 

First World War with a lightning strategy of mobility. At the same 

time this new strategy almost completely invalidated a principle of 

warfare heretofore considered as indispensable, namely that of the 

far superior strength required by the offense over the defense. 

Measured against this rather decisive change in strategy the 

revolutionary content of Douhet’s theory and that of other related 

theories seems comparatively small, since basically it meant nothing 

more than a rejuvenation of the “material battle” principle of the 

First World War, although with the help of a new weapon medium 

with expanded dimension and with increased destruction capabilities. But a wrong strategic concept does not become a more correct 

one just because one continues it by a constant increase in the means 

used. This point can be recognized today in the complete strategic 

irrationality of the “pat” situation toward which the atomic arms 

race has led. Some characteristics of this situation can also be 

ascribed to the Allied Bombing Offensive. 

In view of what I have said above, one must doubt whether its 

strategic principle was indeed revolutionary. That the modification 

of the concept by the employment of long-range fighters and a 

concentration on selected war-essential target systems shows characteristics of a classical strategy is evident. But the fact that the 

Allied Bombing Offensive finally achieved its goal-and in such a 

total manner-is not so much due to either its revolutionary or 

classical ingredients or a combination of both, but rather due to 

the lack of a revolutionary spark on the part of the opponent. The 

German leadership, instead of doing what the British leadership 

had done two years earlier (1941), namely to grasp the revolutionary concept of opposing the Allied Bombing Offensive with all 

available means in the air, attempted desperately, in a classicalconservative manner, to retain a piece of Douhet’s pseudo-revolutionary mantle in its hands. The German leadership used up its 

last air reserves in senseless and scattered offensive actions, thereby 

303 
giving up its only chance to force the enemy to revise his attrition 

strategy. Thus it seems, at least to me, quite apparent that the 

concepts “classical and revolutionary” are interchangeable, depending on the argumentation one uses. 

Combined and Divided 

It seems to me that Frankland in analysing this alternative 

overlooks that the task division between the British and the American air forces represented from the start an almost ideal solution 

for the Allies and at the same time a catastrophic one for the 

German air defense. The solution was ideal, not only because time 

was working for the Allies but also because the division made 

possible the most efficient use of the existing weapon systems. At 

the same time, it tied down a much greater portion of the German 

air defense capability, both active and passive, than a combined 

offensive would probably have been able to do. This turned out to 

be catastrophic for the Germans, primarily because the necessary 

manpower allocation and the rather noticeable decrease in army 

weapons production paralyzed the defensive struggle against the 

Soviet Union. But with a combined action the objective of the 

Allied Bombing Offensive, which though never clearly defined was 

nevertheless almost automatically apparent, namely the achievement of air supremacy and the destruction of the enemy’s production centers, could not have been achieved, certainly not to 

the extent it did succeed. Above all, a noticeable Allied reversal 

which one must at least consider within the realm of possiblility if 

an all-out concentrated German air defense effort (as suggested 

above) had occurred, would have placed the continuation of the 

Allied bombing operations much more seriously in question than 

did the “dispersed” German efforts which actually took place. As 

the Allies continued to develop both of their methods under the 

existing division of labor, they finally achieved, each in his own 

way, a high degree of perfection as well as freedom of action in the 

air, which made possible the completion of the strategy during the 

combined phase of the bombing operations. 

Whether or not this strategy would have been equally successful with more limited resources and with greater time pressure, 

even in the face of a consequent concentration on air defense on 

the part of the German leadership, must remain an open question. 

30% 
Planned and Fortuitous 

Since, as already discussed above, it is not clear what really 

had been planned, it is not easy to decide what was fortuitous. It is 

certainly difficult to follow Frankland’s thoughts and to arrive at his 

conclusion that the origins of the Lancaster and the Mustang were 

fortuitous. According to this concept almost every follow-on development of a prototype air weapon would have to be fortuitous. 

If thost: actions, which one can only reconstruct subsequently, had 

been planned from the beginning, then one would be forced to 

concluale that the (revolutionary) British intention to force the 

capitulation of the opponent by the sole use of the strategic air 

offensive did fail and probably would have failed even if the 

Americans had participated in it. On the other hand, the (classical) 

American intention to achieve air supremacy in order to pave the 

way for the ground forces did succeed, although the additional 

effect alf the British participation must be included here. 

Whether a more goal-oriented and common Allied planning 

process in the beginning of the war would have brought about a 

much quicker end result with decreased losses, or possibly would 

even have justified the British theory, must remain unanswered. 

Conversely, the question of whether the Allied Bombing Offensive 

could have achieved its successful end result had German air defense efforts been properly concentrated, is also debatable. 

Conclusion 

All1 discussions concerning the Allied Strategic Bombing Off ensive must start from the premise that only after Germany had 

already lost the war did it reach its full effect. The German loss of 

initiative on the Eastern Front by the defeat at Stalingrad, the loss 

of the :Mediterranean, and the Allied invasion of Italy showed the 

unrelenting swing of the pendulum moving toward the Allied side. 

In the same proportion as Allied capabilities increased, German 

capabilities began to decrease. 

Since it still took two years until the strategic air offensive 

achieved its full success the following conclusion can be made with 

a fair degree of accuracy: 

1. In contrast to the combined air-land offensive, a strategic 

air offensive requires a degree of material and numerical superi305 
ority which normally will not be achieved between adversaries 

whose power potential is nearly equivalent. 

2. Air superiority is primarily attained in the battle of fighter 

against fighter, in which instance the aggressor will have to cope 

with a much higher attrition rate. In the starting phase of a strategic 

air offensive the superiority of the fighter arm must have first 

priority, while it is the mission of the bomber force, in addition to 

supporting the ground operations by interdiction, to force the opponent into a defensive posture. 

3. The superiority of the defender against the aggressor is 

much greater in air than it is in ground operations. Therefore, the 

side which concentrates its air efforts in the beginning on defense 

and uses its offensive capabilities at a later point, has a better 

chance. 

4. A strategic air offensive with conventional weapons alone 

cannot, without a planned and timely ground attack, achieve the 

decision in war. 

It should be recognized that the foregoing comments have been 

limited to a discussion of conventional air war; no consideration 

has been given to the effect a missile defense system would have on 

the war in the air. Despite some experiences gained in Vietnam, the 

theorist still faces a largely undiscovered area in this respect. 

Lastly, it is highly doubtful, at least in my opinion, that the new 

weapons of destruction can be placed within a framework of a 

rational strategy, despite the existence of releqant theories which 

attempt to do so. 

306 
COMMENTS ON HIGHAM’S COMMENTARY 

AIR VICE-MARSHAL E. J. KINGSTON-MCCLOUGHRY 

RAF (Ret.) 

I hope that it may not seem churlish to suggest that Professor 

Robin Higham’s commentary on Noble Frankland’s paper The 

Combined Bomber Offensive shows distinctly the academic advantage of hindsight. No such impression is intended, especially as 

Professor Higham outlines with great skill and in a surprisingly 

short space the salient features of a situation which was very far 

from being quite so precise in 1940-43, and subsequently. 

AsD he rightly suggests, the bombing policy of those years was 

not something which had just evolved. It was the central tenet of air 

power and was elevated into a dogma; but what was not a dogma, 

nor should have resembled a dogma, were the methods used and the 

target systems attacked. The real effectiveness of bomber forces 

necessarily had to evolve, though the process was long and perforce 

painful. For three years the inability of bomber forces to hit precision targets was ignored by those in command and those who 

should have been prepared to adjust their strategic concepts. 

Yet to understand anything of the temper of the time one 

should be quite clear that the bombing policy was the outcome of a 

genuine belief on the part of our bomber commanders that their 

efforts would result in the collapse of Germany. It was also perhaps 

logical for them to suppose that only they could bring about this 

desirable conclusion to the war. 

Thanks to the efforts of Sir Charles Webster and Dr. Noble 

Frankland, the deficiencies of the bombing policy and strategy are 

no longer in dispute.’ Professor Higham has concerned himself 

with background but goes further. He visualizes with considerable 

penetration what he thinks could have been a feasible development 

of grand strategy from 1940 onwards. What he does not altogether 

307 
seem to appreciate is that the same features militated against such 

an enlightened view of grand strategy as were to vitiate strategic 

thinking, at the most crucial point of the whole war, in the invasion 

of Normandy. The prime defect of service mentality, which virtually ran on tramlines, permeated almost every aspect of the military 

machine from the organization and allocation of resources to the 

command structures, both national and allied. 

Grand strategy, as Professor Higham sees it, was just not possible in the years 1940-43 because of the imbedded character of the 

service mind. Even Churchill, for all his mercurial shifts of emphasis, could not escape this imputation of being on tramlines. His 

tramlines may have been broader than most, but they had a certain 

rigidity and tended to produce rigidity in others. 

To the non-service mind, the adjustment that was necessary 

was possible but infinitely difficult because not all the military 

implications were thoroughly understood. But in the service mind 

there was a fatal inhibition, or even prohibition, to thinking outside 

the demands of the particular service to which one belonged. Only 

an inter-service mind could make the transition to a new kind of 

thinking; and a thoroughly inter-service view at that time was only 

possible, though not inevitably so, within a non-national, interAllied organization such as Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF) or Allied Expeditionary Air Force (s) 

(AEAF) . There was, unfortunately, no way in which those of us in 

AEAF Headquarters could have any prescience of all those features 

of the situation that have become all too evident in the decades 

since. 

I came to Norfolk House [ SHAEF Headquarters in London] 

with an inter-service mind, having qualified at Andover [ RAF Staff 

College] and Camberley [Army Staff College] and served 5 years 

in India, but with no real insight into the inter-service rivalries that 

were to bedevil much of the planning, and some of the operations, 

in the ensuing months. I was appointed chief air operations planner 

for the air force to be engaged in the invasion, and as this was an 

appointment of no little importance I felt greatly privileged. 

The COSSAC [Chief of Staff, Supreme Allied Commander] 

organization, under the direction of Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Morgan, had been in existence since January 1943 [estab308 
lished at Casablanca, actually organized April 19431 so that not 

only was the invasion of the continent an accepted proposition, but 

a mechanism of a kind was already in being to be evolved or 

stepped up if required. It was evident, however, that there was a 

vast amount of work in front of everyone and that things were 

in a considerable state of flux. 

The need, after the successful campaigns of North Africa and 

Italy, to carry the war to the enemy brought with it a question on 

the efficacy of the policy of area bombing as pursued by Bomber 

Command. It was plain that the policy of bringing Germany to 

her knees was not having the desired effect, but many in the highest 

places were reluctant to pursue the next logical step which was to 

rationalize the bombing policy yet further and to load the enemy 

productive potential and mobility to the utmost. 

Within SHAEF there was an odd air of belonging to a rather 

special club: that is, if you had already been through the North 

African ICampaign then you were really part of the outfit. Fortunately, the Senior Air Staff Officer (SASO) at AEAF Headquarters 

was Air Marshal Sir Philip Wigglesworth, whose experience in the 

Mediterranean, both in the air war and in personalities, made his 

support invaluable in the days that were to come. 

The difficulties of planning the use of Allied air forces became 

apparent at once. The 21st Army Group' plan called for the bombing of a specific number of targets in France to isolate some 50 

miles in radius within 24 hours of the actual H-hour of the invasion. 

When this was put to me, I could see that what they had in mind was 

quite impracticable. It was far from being a realistic plan in the 

context iin which it was drawn up. At this juncture Solly Zuckerman 

arrived at Norfolk House to help with scientific advice in the 

planning. His knowledge of bomb damage gathered in North Africa 

and Italy was unique and was occasionally to confuse those who 

imaginedl that they alone could know anything of bomb damage. 

Solly Zuckerman and I then began work very intensively on a plan 

for the u~e of Allied air forces prior to and during the invasion that 

was to become known as the Transportation Plan. 

Professor Higham's remarks on personalities in command are 

very apposite and could be developed with some advantage, but 

what was also very striking at that time was the command structure 

309 
or hierarchy, and the physical separateness of the various headquarters located sometimes as much as two hours travel time apart. 

The distribution and position of the various headquarters illustrated 

how difficult, and indeed how absurd, it is to endeavour to run a 

supreme command system dependent on road communications. 

We found ourselves within a mesh of constant pressures in 

which not only was the bombing policy at variance with the course 

of national and Allied strategy, but even the most responsible 

figures, Churchill and Lord Cherwell or the bomber “barons,” for 

example, were not enthusiastic initially about the invasion and had 

hoped that the bombing of Berlin and other cities in Germany 

would make it unnecessary. 

We had innumerable meetings where a whole gamut of chicanery and compromise was exhibited. At one of the earliest of these 

meetings, General Eisenhower was present and remarked that he 

hoped that no one was going to ask for the heavy bombers until just 

prior to the actual invasion. A little to Air Marshal Leigh Mallory’s 

surprise, though not displeasure, I had the temerity to say that we 

required the heavy bombers a good deal earlier than that because 

otherwise we could not hope to neutralize the rail centers we had in 

mind. This plain statement of fact startled Eisenhower, but he was 

quick to realize that here was a practical strategical requirement 

which simply had to be met, though it was evident that he had 

already been got at by the bomber barons. 

As time progressed, the picture became clearer and Tedder 

improved our plan by adding to it other rail and air centers inside 

Germany. He made it very plain that the bomber sorties called for 

in the plan were absolutely essential and he carried Eisenhower 

with him. Opposition dies hard: it continued until the somewhat 

ambiguous scruples of Churchill about the bombing of French 

civilians were overcome. All kinds of reasons were given by Bomber 

Command for not bombing the targets we wanted bombed, and it 

was not until the effects of precision bombing with the aid of Oboe’ 

(with range limited to the Rhine) were shown that the Commander 

in Chief, Bornber Command, gave his wholehearted support. Thereafter he was inclined to provide more effort than was strictly required. 

Another illustration of what we were up against was the later 

310 
opposition to the use of' heavy bombers in order to get the armies 

moving beyond Caen. It was not until Montgomery made a direct 

request flor them to Churchill that they were provided. Many may 

have wondered how the operation was laid on so quickly, but the 

bombers were only made available so quickly because the plan for 

them was already in readiness, having been rejected some months 

before. 

It is now perhaps all too easy to see the defects and essential 

wrongness of the Combined Bombing Offensive. There are few 

people who did not live through the pre-planning period and the 

pre-invasion command situation who could altogether understand 

or appreciate the implications and difficulties of what was a very 

complex strategic problem. In addition there were the manifold 

problems of personalities at the centre of it all. German cities were 

being destroyed with unswerving devotion, but German vital centres 

of potential and production remained mostly untouched because 

they wen: largely not in the city centres. At the end of hostilities 

German fighter aircraft production was higher than that of the 

Allies, which should not have been possible in view of the bombing 

effort we expended. 

All that was clear enough, but what was riot clear was how, if 

ever, the policy could be altered; and remember we were fighting a 

total war, the day-to-day exigencies of which in higher quarters 

called on energies, physical, nervous, and mental, which no doubt 

encouraged a kind of purblindness disguised as a determination to 

pursue the war with all the vigour possible. There is also no doubt 

that those very exigencies of war brought about the change in action 

and in purpose, however reluctant and painful it might have been. 

In brief, if one were asked to propound the lessons of the war 

as they culminated in OVERLORD, these might be summarized as 

questions : first, of priorities ; secondly, of personalities ; thirdly, of 

the remarkable autonomy of the separate services, which had little 

relevance to the prosecution of the war at that time. 

Give:n that the bombing policy was wrong and should have been 

seen earlier to be wrong by those best qualified to judge, that is, the 

political leadership and the bomber commanders, the emergence of 

other urgent roles for the bomber forces should have been seen in a 

more real!istic light. Even the Battle of the Atlantic was hazardous, 

311 
as Professor Higham observed, because of the foreshortened attitude of the bomber commanders who seemed hypnotized by the 

possibility of knocking Germany out on her home front, to the 

neglect of other needs. 

Fortunately for us, to a significant extent, this dogma of air 

power was shared by the Luftwaffe, who made the same mistake of 

attaching two much importance to area and terror bombing and not 

enough to our airfields, ports, and assembly points. 

NOTES 

1. See Sir Charles Webster and Noble Frankland, The Strategic Air 

Oflensive against Germany 1939-1945. 4 vols. (London: H.M.S.O., 1961). 

2. For administration, planning, and execution of the initial OVERLORD 

assault, all allied ground forces were placed under Field Marshal Montgomery, C-in-C, 21st Army Group. In August 194, when SHAEF Hq moved 

to the continent, Eisenhower took direct control and split the 21st Army 

Group into the Central Group of Armies (Bradley) and the Northern 

Group of Armies (Montgomery). 

3. Oboe was a blind bombing radar device; described in Webster and 

Frankland, IV, 7-11. 

LIEUTENANT GENERAL IRA C. EAKER 

USAF (Ret.) 

I have enjoyed very much this historical review of incidents in 

1942-45 with which I was intimately connected. I have talked about 

this more than once with General Spaatz, most recently when we 

learned about the historical review of the Combined Bomber Offensive which was planned here at the Air Force Academy. We both 

feel very strongly that the Combined Bomber Offensive was a very 

fortuitous operation. However, there are two or three items which 

have been scarcely mentioned here which I think should be brought 

to your attention. One of them is that there were no German aircraft 

opposing Eisenhower’s crossing of the Channel on 6 June 1944. 

Most of the people who crossed the Channel that day and in 

subsequent days never saw a German plane. The reason for that 

312 
was the Combined Bomber Offensive. Additionally, when Professor 

Higham rsays that the Combined Bomber Offensive did accomplish a 

result in 1944 but was futile in earlier times he is stating an incorrect premise. His thesis that we should not have bombed in 1942 

and 1943 but should have waited until 1944 forgets that if we had 

not operated in 1942 and 1943, we would not have been effective 

in 1944. If we had not started in 1942 and continued in 1943, we 

would not have had the trained combat leaders, the trained combat 

crews, the communications, and tremendous logistics support, including airdrome complexes, to conduct the vast effort which he 

grudgingly admired in 1944. 

Such statements as, “Bombing was not very effective in World 

War 11,” or “The vast resources devoted to bombing could have 

been employed more effectively elsewhere,” are historical inaccuracies. Repeated either through ignorance or prejudice, they must 

not be alllowed to go unchallenged since they can affect the strategy 

and the composition of our defense forces in the future. Indeed 

these misconceptions, &is denigration of the effectiveness of bombing in World War 11, may, in my judgment, be largely responsible 

for the failure of our political leaders to permit the employment of 

our air power with full effectiveness in Vietnam. 

A fair appraisal of the roles of the Combined Bomber Offensive in World War I1 will accord it the principal responsibility for 

the destruction of the Nazi Luftwaffe, making the invasion of 

Europe possible and greatly reducing casualties in our sea and 

ground forces in the subsequent campaigns. It greatly reduced 

munitionis production and distribution. It ultimately reduced the 

flow of oil to Panzer divisions and fighter squadrons well below 

operational requirements. When our Eighth Air Force had but 200 

bombers operating out of England in 1943, there were more than a 

million Chnans standing at the antiaircraft and fighter defenses 

on the West Wall to defend against them. And another million 

Germans were fire wardens, or engaged in bomb damage repair. 

Whtmever our little bomber force crossed the Channel, the air 

raid sirens moaned in every munitions plant in the Ruhr and the 

skilled workers took to the cellars and bunkers. The weapons 

production loss was tremendous. The same thing occurred at night 

when the RAF bomber raids struck the industrial centers. But for 

these bombers, these millions of Germans would have been turning 

313 
out more tanks and planes, guns and bombs, or they would have 

comprised another 60 divisions for employment on the Eastern 

Front. Those 200 American bombers were crewed by 2,000 gallant 

men. Never before in the whole history of warfare have 2,000 

warriors exercised such a profound and far-reaching effect on the 

warmaking potential of an enemy. 

Strangely the critics of the Combined Bomber Offensive neglect 

to report what the German war leaders have said about the effectiveness of our bombing. The fact is that all of them without exception 

who have since written or spoken on their war experiences have 

ascribed to our bombing a prime reason for their defeat. After 

Albert Speer, who was Hitler’s Minister for War Production, got 

out of prison last year (1967), he said, “I was surprised during 

the war years that the Americans and the British did not follow up 

on the destruction of our industry. If they had done that, the war 

would have been over a year earlier.” What Albert Speer did not 

know is that we were fighting to the limit of our resources. Had we 

had more resources, we would have done what Speer now wonders 

why we did not do then. 

General Spaatz asked Hermann Goering, soon after his capture, 

when he first realized that the Nazis were defeated. Goering replied, 

“When I saw your bombers over Berlin protected by your long 

range fighters, I knew then that the Luftwaffe would be unable to 

stop your bombers. Our weapons plants would be destroyed; our 

defeat was inevitable.” 
REPLY TO GENERAL EAKER 

ROBIN HIGHAM 

A very brief rebuttal is in order because General Eaker has 

raised a number of issues which need clarifying. 

In the first place, let me say that I have nothing but admiration 

for the gallantry of the crews concerned. However, the issue before 

us was not that of personal bravery but of command. Any assessment oE this factor must be coloured by the outlook of those 

involvedl. General Eaker was directly involved at a time when I 

was still coming through the training pipeline. Since then he has 

retired ,while I have gone on to be a professional historian. This 

gives us a different point of view. 

My argument is not that the crews should not have been trained 

by operations, nor that the equipment should not have been developed; it is that this work could more effectively have been done 

elsewhere with greater effect on behalf of the overall war effort. 

Moreover, I have gone further and suggested, as did Webster and 

Frankland, that Mosquitoes could have been used for guerrilla 

warfare with equal effect against German home defences and at a 

much smaller price. Beyond this, it will no doubt remain a point of 

argument whether the slow and ineffective development of the 

Allied air attack on Germany before 1944 did not in fact stimulate 

rather than depress German war production. 

I would fully agree with General Eaker that if we are going to 

employ our air power to the best advantage in the future, we must 

understand how it operated in the past and what were its limitations- -military, political, diplomatic, economic, social, and ideological. Just as General Eaker strove honestly as a commander to 

exercise. the command of air power as he felt it should be used, so 

we professional historians try after careful study and much reflec315 
tion to examine, explain, and judge its use in the past in such a way 

that those gallant men who fought our wars in the past shall not 

have died in vain. 

316 
THE GERMAN FIGHTER BATTLE AGAINST THE 

AMERICAN BOMBERS 

LIEUTENANT GENERAL JOHANNES STEINHOFF 

Inspector General, German Air Force 

I have read both Dr. Frankland’s paper on the operations of 

the “Combined Bomber Offensive” and Dr. Futrell’s commentary 

with great interest. While I do not want to create the impression 

that what I have to say is in the nature of a critique of Dr. Frankland’s paper-which I do not feel called upon to do-I must 

nevertheless admit that I was less impressed by his remarks than 

by those of Dr. Futrell. Thus, my remarks will be principally 

directed toward what Dr. Futrell had to say. 

First, I would like to make a few basic observations concerning the (firman Air Force prior to and during World War 11. In the 

1930s Germany had developed an air force which was not suitable 

for extended military operations both in terms of organization and 

structure as well as number. The bomber force was strategically 

impotent and in Germany it was not referred to as either a 

strategic: or tactical bomber force, but simply as an “operational” 

force. Those who to this day continue to insist that the development 

of a German strategic long-range bomber force would have changed 

the course of World War I1 overlook the fact that the resources 

and power potential of Germany were insufficient to accomplish 

such a goal. 

The United States and Great Britain, on the other hand, 

developed their strategic bomber force with a more or less clearly 

delineated goal in mind. Based on my knowledge of the history of 

the development of the Allied bomber forces, it seems to me that 

- 

Translated and edited Lieutenant Colonel William Geff en. 

317 
the course chosen by the United States was a more sound one than 

that of Great Britain. However, I am ready to admit at this point 

that the Lancasters (used for night flying operations) and the 

Liberators and Fortresses (used for daylight operations) complemented each other admirably in the fulfillment of their assigned 

missions. 

However, I do believe that Dr. Futrell's criticism concerning 

the work of the Strategic Bombing Survey is fully justified. But 

then, we are all much wiser today than we were in 1943! Had the 

Allies, from the start of the Combined Bombing Offensive, concentrated their attacks directly and exclusively toward the destruction of the Gernnan energy (fuel and electricity) resources systemand I exclude here even the fuel production and distribution facilities-instead of switching back and forth to other target systems 

(such as air force bases and installations and the transportation 

network), the consequences for Germany would have been catastrophic. However, how easily one can make mistakes and do things 

the wrong way had already been demonstrated by Goering during 

the Battle of Bxitain. 

What part such fortuitous, unexpected mistakes and faulty 

planning can play in war, by giving the enemy an advantage, is 

most clearly shown by the development of the German fighter 

(tactical) force- during World War 11. The German tactical air 

force did not keep pace with the parallel development of the Allied 

bomber force. It was primarily a fair-weather air force in 1940, 

and it remained such throughout the war. Since the Messerschmitt 

110 (a two-engine plane with a crew of two, pilot and radio/ 

navigator) was used for daylight attacks during the Battle of 

Britain, the German Air Force in 1940 did not possess the capacity 

to carry out sustained night flying operations, at least not flying 

under IFR (Instrument Flight Rules) only. Later on during the 

war, when the Allied bomber forces began to penetrate the borders 

of the German homeland in daylight operations, the Luftwaffe, 

because of the llack of all-weather training, was unable to deploy its 

fighter-intercepter force since the frequently prevailing heavy and 

thick cloud cover prevented the interceptors from getting to the 

required attack altitude against the Allied bomber fleets. 

Furthermore, if the development and employment of the first 

jet fighter, the Messerschmitt 262, had been forcefully and pur318 
posely pursued, damage to the American bomber forces during 

their daylight raids in 1944 would have far exceeded that achieved 

by the German air defenses during the Schweinfurt raid in 1943. 

But here again, lack of proper planning and improper direction and 

dispersement of the available operational jet fighter force by the 

political leadership denied the Luftwaff e the success it could have 

achieved. 

With these brief introductory remarks, I would like to turn 

now to it discussion of German fighter-interceptor operations against 

the United States bomber force, based on my own personal experiences during World War 11. 

I purposely entitled my comments “The German Fighter Battle 

against the American Bombers,” because the appearance of these 

bombers in 1943 was the turning point in World War I1 aerial 

warfare. At this time one of my best friends-he fell at the end of 

the war-was Commander of Fighter Forces. In one of the best 

books ever written on aerial warfare, entitled The Last Squadron 

(Die sterbende Jagd), the author described a briefing of the pilots 

of a fighter wing by this commander, in which he tells them that 

the chivalrous duel in the air is a thing of the past. 

The acrobatics are over, no more hide and seek, no more holding 

back and picking and choosing your target. That’s all a thing of 

the past. It’s mass we’re up against now, and the mass flying in 

the enemy planes are not airmen; they’re gunners strapped in 

their turrets, infantry of the air. So we too must create mass.’ 

And this is how it was in fact. From one day to another the era of 

sportsm.anlike, chivalrous hunting had ended. The air space over 

Europe had turned into a battleground with fortresses and trenches 

-and it was our duty to storm those fortifications and break 

throughl. 

Now, it is not true by any means that all the previous phases 

of aerial warfare had been child’s play. The Battle of Britain, for 

instance, will go down in military history as a classic example of 

merciless battle between individual fighter pilots. But the result of 

our first fighter attack against Flying Fortresses was terrible for us 

indeed. We did not shoot down a single bomber but lost a considerable number of our own fighters. This occurred during the American 

attack on Rouen on 17 August 1942. 

319 
My friend Fips Priller, who was immortalized by Darryl F. 

Zanuck in the movie The Longest; Day as a German Wing Commander during the Normandy Invasion, immediately beat the 

alarm.2 The sa.me reaction came from the Commanding General of 

Fighter Forces, General Galland, who told Goering : 

Unless we immediately reinforce our fighter units, unless we are 

given better and more effective armament and develop new tactics 

for the attack, these birds one day will fly all the way to Berlin.s 

While the fighter forces received little reinforcement, the weapons 

were improved, and aerial tactics for “storming” these fortresses 

were developed. 

It was in April 1943 that I first came in contact with the 

“four-engine jobs,” as we called the B-17s. At that time the battle 

for North Africa was already lost, and we were defending, with 

little success, the beachhead of Cape Bon, that spit of land northeast 

of Tunis when: the bulk of the Afrika-Korps and the Italian Army 

were later taken prisoners by the Allied forces. 

After a dogfight with Spitfires we were prepared for landing, 

when a glittering armada of bombers, of a type we had never seen 

before, moved above us in the bright midday sun. It was too late for 

attack then, but I should soon have an opportunity to see these giant 

birds close-up. 

This occurred after we had regrouped fragments of our air 

force wings in Sicily and were bringing them back to operational 

status. The Commanding General of the Fighter Forces had showered us with pamphlets, all concentrating on one subject: “How to 

attack a close-up formation of four-engine bombers.” 

The finer points of the doctrine for attacking these bombers 

had not yet been worked out in the air, but a few principles had 

nevertheless already been established. These were: 

1. Attempt to break up the formation; single planes are easy 

to shoot down. 

2. If you succeed in leading your concentrated fighter force, 

in frontal attack on collision course, right into the bomber formation, you will be sure to break it up. 

320 
3. Maintain your fighter force in the closest formation possible 

and do not open fire except at shortest range, but then “fire from 

all buttonholes,” as we used to say. 

In the meantime the Twelfth US. Air Force had been deployed 

into North Africa, and Sicily had been softened up for an invasion 

by continuous bomber attacks. On 25 June 1943 our radar stations 

reported an enemy bomber formation approaching from the Mediterranean about halfway between Sardinia and Sicily, heading for 

Naples. I might explain at this point that after losing the Battle of 

Britain primarily because of the lack of electronic devices, we had 

concentrated on developing much more effective radar equipment 

than we had possessed at the beginning of the war. 

During the preceding days we had drilled in the new tactics, 

and I had attempted to prepare the two operational wings, comprising about 120 aircraft, for their first encounter with the four-engine 

bombers. After we had received take-off orders it was determined 

that the bombers had not, as expected, attacked the Naples port 

installation but had instead bombed the ferry traffic between Messina 

and the Italian mainland. At this point the bomber formation was 

already flying in the direction of North Africa, returning to base, 

and it was almost impossible to make them out on the radar screens 

because they had gone down to low altitude. My formation was 

able to take off with about 100 aircraft and was directed to proceed 

to the area between Sardinia and Sicily. As we were approaching 

the area I was advised that the enemy had disappeared from the 

radar screens and was probably proceeding at almost surface altitude. Visibility was restricted due to strong haze, but just at the 

moment when I had decided to return to base because of fuel 

shortage, the armada appeared below me. The Fortresses were flying 

in a wide front, only a few yards above the sea, in a formation 

so huge you could hardly see from one end to the other. It seemed 

virtually impossible to launch a well coordinated attack; we had 

never practiced attacking bombers near the surface. The result was 

terrible. There was not a single kill, and the entire German formation went into panic, because the majority of the pilots had to be 

directed to base by radar and were short of fuel. Altogether, we 

lost six aircraft. 

The same evening we received orders from Goering that were 

typical of the methods that the German High Command used on us. 

321 
They stated that one pilot from each fighter unit participating in the 

action against the bombers off Africa was to be court-martialled for 

cowardice in the face of the enemy. The unit commanders all 

volunteered for court-martial, and only through this decision could 

a completely ridiculous trial before a military court be avoided. 

This first taste of fighting four-engine bombers was completely 

sufficient for us. We started intensive training and were soon to have 

an opportunity to practice what we had learned. In the meantime, a 

variety of methods for defense had been tested in Germany. One 

unit commander had succeeded in breaking up a four-engine 

bomber formation with a 1,000-pound bomb, and now the other 

units were beginning to train the same way, but without any success. Under these tactics, a few aircraft were armed with single 

1,000-pound hombs with time fuses, but in order to succeed the 

attacking aircraft had to climb above the bomber formation and 

measure the range in height accurately enough to ensure sufficient 

blast effect from the bomb. To the best of my knowledge, there was 

only one instance where a bomber formation was broken up through 

these tactics. 

We had considerably more success with an army weapon, a 

bazooka type of rocket launcher, mounted underneath each wing 

of either the NIesserschmitt 109 or the Focke Wulf 190. The rocket 

caliber was 220 millimeters. The trajectory of this weapon was 

terrible. In order to fire at a range of 1,000 meters, the rocket 

launcher had to be 150 meters above the target. If, however, we 

succeeded in maneuvering the rocket-carrying aircraft to the right 

altitude and as close as 1,000 meters to the bomber formation, the 

detonations u:sually succeeded in breaking up the Fortresses or 

Liberators. As single planes they could then, as I explained before, 

be killed off fairly easily. The problem with this type of rocket 

operation was., however, to get the extremely slow climbing, rocketcarrying aircr,aft up to the altitude of the enemy formation, for the 

weight of the rockets was considerable and it took a great deal of 

patience to bring these aircraft up to attack altitude. 

The fighter escort accompanying the American bomber formations-and very soon after we had prepared methods for attack, 

they began to have fighter escorts-usually reacted very promptly to 

our tactics, forcing us constantly to develop new methods for attack. 

One of the most interesting, and at the same: time the most danger322 
ous, method was the employment of ramming tactics by our fighters. 

In 1943 we began to provide strong armor plate for the Focke 

Wulf and deployed these aircraft to units whose mission it was to 

approach the bombers as close as possible and, if weapons did 

not succieed, to ram the enemy aircraft. Indeed, the bombers were 

rammed frequently, and the surprising thing is that in most cases 

the pilots of the ramming fighters were able to bail out after ramming. Again, however, there was the problem of getting these aircraft up to attack altitude, since the heavy additional armorplating 

reduced the rate of climb. 

The best success was finally achieved with air-to-air missiles 

that had been specifically developed for attacking aircraft. After I 

had been almost exclusively employed against four-engine bombers 

from 1943 until the end of 1944, I was able to activate the first jet 

fighter wing equipped with the Messerschmitt 262 jet fighter, and we 

began to arm our aircraft with air-to-air missiles, designated R4M 

with a caliber of 50 millimeters. Underneath each wing, we mounted 

24 of these missiles and fired them in a salvo of 48 missiles from a 

distance of 1,000 meters. The results were exceptionally good, for 

when firing at close enemy formations one kill was usually certain. 

Howeveir, these air-to-air missiles were not used by conventional 

aircraft, but only by jet fighters. 

In the course of this defensive battle against the four-engine 

enemy bombers the number of German fighter pilots remaining, 

most of whom were not very experienced anyway, was enormously 

depleted. With the battle going on, morale continued to go down. 

This was aggravated, of course, by the hopelessness of the overall 

situation, which began to become more and more obvious. A bad 

problem1 facing each pilot was the return to base after a mission. 

Very frequently fighting took place over long distances above cloud 

cover, and the completely disoriented fighters had to go below the 

deck and attempt to land wherever they could. Together with insufficient navigational aids, this resulted in many additional losses 

and a wide scattering of our aircraft. Here we had to adopt a 

procedure to put up new fighter formations, formed from these 

elements. We organized the next attack on the bomber formations or 

the attack on the next enemy penetration, if it occurred the same 

day, by authorizing the senior officer present on a base where a 

number of fighters had landed to assume command and to lead them 

323 
back into battle immediately after refuelling and rearming. I need 

not point out that such a procedure was not very effective. 

Toward the end of 1944 the situation of the German fighter 

forces was such that, while we still had a limited cadre of experienced pilots, the majority of the fighter pilots were very young 

and inexperienced. Between late 1944 and early 1945, the average 

young pilot flew only two missions before he was killed-that is 

what the statistics say. On the other hand, the aircraft situation was 

excellent. We were virtually drowning in aircraft. For instance, 

during October of 1944 alone, 4,300 fighter aircraft were hilt. 

However, the fuel situation was hopeless; for training purposes 

almost no fuel was released any more. 

It is well known that jet fighters in larger numbers were not 

released for interceptor missions until very late during the war, 

namely early in 1945. Hitler never recognized their value, and it 

has been said of him that he simply did not have a conception of 

battle in the air. But even if all available jet fighters had been 

deployed for attack on the bombers, I do not believe that the 

fortunes of war would have changed. 

Of those who took part in the great aerial battles against the 

bombers, not many are still alive. The survivors agree with me that 

attacking these fortresses was not a pleasure. Those who like myself 

have flown thew attacks and have maneuvered through the stream of 

innumerable bombers will never be able to forget this picture, and 

I am sure there is not one who could claim that he did not feel 

relieved when he had landed back home in one piece. 

I hope that through my reminiscences I have succeeded in 

describing a phase of World War I1 that, in my opinion, was the 

most important and most decisive of the entire struggle. 

NOTES 

1. Gerd Gaiser, The Lust Squadron, trans. Paul Findlay (New York, 1956), 

p. 207. 

2. For more details see Josef Priller, Geschichte eines Iagdgeschwaders. 

Das JC 26 (Schlageter) 1937-1945, ed. Hans Otto Boehm (Neckargemund, 

1962). 

3. Adolf Gallancl, The First and the Lust. The Rise and Fall of the German 

Fighter Forces, 1938.1945, trans. Mervyn Savill (New York, 1954), pp. 

115, 169-170. 

324 
CONTRIBUTORS 

Captain (GERALD C. BANNISTER, C. B. E., served with distinction in the 

Royal Navy during World War I and World War 11. 

DANIEL R. BEAVER, Associate Professor of History at the University of 

Cincinnati, is the author of Newton D. Baker and the American War Effort, 

1917-1919 (1966). 

Rear Admiral CHARLES M. BLACKMAN, D. S. O., rose to flag rank during his distinguished service in the Royal Navy (1910-1941). 

General ‘of the Army OMAR N. BRADLEY was one of America’s great 

military commanders during World War 11. In 1948 he was named Chief 

of Staff, United States Army; from 1949-1953 he served as Chairman, Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, the highest military position in the armed forces of the 

United States. He is the author of A Soldier’s Story (1951). 

Admiral ARLEIGH A. BURKE, a graduate of the U. S. Naval Academy 

(1923), distinguished himself as a destroyer commander during World War 

11. In 1!)55 he was named Chief of U. S. Naval Operations. Since his 

retirement he has been associated with the Center for Strategic Studies, 

Georgetown University. 

Admiral ROBERT B. CARNEY, a graduate of the U. S. Naval Academy 

(1915), :from 1953 to 1955 served as Chief of U. S. Naval Operations. 

EDWARD M. COFFMAN, Professor of History at the University of Wisconsin, i!3 the author of The Hilt of the Sword: The Career of General 

Pe,yton C. March (1966) and The War to End All Wars: The American 

Military Experience in World War I (1968). 

Major General W. E. R. COYELL, USA (Ret.), served with distinction in 

the U. S. Army during both World Wars. 

Admiral Sir ANGUS CUNNINGHAME-GRAHAM, K. B. E., C. B. E., had a 

long and most distinguished career in the Royal Navy (1911-1951). 

Major General HOWARD C. DAVIDSON, USAF (Ret.), spent virtually 

his entire service career in military aviation (1915-1946). During World 

War I1 he commanded air units in the Pacific and the China-Burma-India 

theaters of operations. 

Captain R. H. F. DeSALIS, 0. B. E., D. S. C., served in the Royal Navy 

during both World Wars. 

325 
HAROLD C. DEUTSCH, Professor of History at the University of Minnesota, served with the Ofice of Strategic Services in Europe during World 

War I1 (1944-1945). Among his numerous publications are The Conspiracy 

against Hitler in the Twilight Wur (1968) and (with Helmut Krausnick) 

The Diaries and Papers of Hetmuth Groscurth (1969, published in German). 

Colonel HOWARD DONELLY, USA (Ret.), served in the United States 

Army in various command and staff assignments until his retirement in 

1947. 

Lieutenant General IRA C. EAKER, USAF (Ret.), spent a long and active 

military career in the Army Air Corps. During World War I1 he commanded the Eighth Air Force in Europe and was instrumental in organizing 

and implementing the Strategic Air Offensive against Germany. After the 

war he became Deputy Commander of the USAAF. Since his retirement 

in 1947 he has been an active spokesman for United States air power and 

military preparedness. 

NOBLE FRANKLAND, Director of the Imperial War Museum, London, 

is co-author (with Sir Charles Webster) of the official British four-volume 

history, The Strakgic Air Oflensive against Germany 1939-1945 (1961). 

ROBERT F. FUTRELL, historian with the U. S. Air Force Historical Division, Air University, Maxwell AFB, Ala., has published severaI studies on 

U. S. air power employment in the USAF Historical Studies series and is 

the author of The United States Air Force in Korea, 1950-1953 (1961). 

Lieutenant Generd ADOLF GALLAND, German Air Force, World War 11, 

was one of Germany’s youngest air force generals and among the leading 

fighter aces of the Luftwaffe. He is the author of The First and the Last: 

The Rise and Fall of the German Fighter Forces, 1938-1945 (1954). 

Lieutenant Colonel WILLIAM GEFFEN, USAF, Associate Professor with 

the Department of History, United States Air Force Academy, has served 

as plans officer in1 various intelligence and operations assignments at Headquarters USAF, Washington, D.C., and U. S. Air Forces, Europe, during 

the past twenty years. 

Lieutenant General CHARLES P. CROSS, USA (Ret,), after a career in 

the United States Army from 1914 to 1945, was recalled to active duty to 

serve with the Office of the High Commissioner of Germany (1948-1952). 

General FRANZ HALDER entered the Bavarian Army before World War 

I. In 1938 he became Chief of the German General Staff, a position he held 

until dismissed hy Hitler in September 1942. Arrested after the 20 July 

1944 plot, he was imprisoned until the end of the war. Author of Hitler als 

Feldherr (Munich, 1949). 

326 
General .4DOLF HEUSINGER entered the Imperial Army in 1916. In 1930 

he was assigned to the General Staff, becoming Chief of Operations, Army 

Bigh Command, in 1940. He was arrested in connection with the 20 July 

1944 ploi and placed on the inactive list. In 1950 he became chief military 

adviser to the Bonn government, in 1955 Inspector General of the new 

West German Armed Forces, and in 1961 Chairman of the NATO Standing 

Military Committee in Washington. Author of Befehl im Widerstreit 

(Tubingen, 1950). 

ROBIN IYIGHAM, Professor of History at Kansas State University, is the 

author of numerous articles, reviews and books, among which are The 

British Rigid Airship, 1908-1931: A Study in Weapons Policy (1961) and 

The Military Intellectuals in Britain, 1918-1939 (1966). He is also the editor 

of Military Aflairs, the journal of the American Military Institute. 

Admiral .HARRY W. HILL, a graduate of the U. S. Naval Academy (1911), 

served in the U. S. Navy for more than forty years. His last assignment 

prior to his retirement was Superintendent of the U. S. Naval Academy 

(1950-1952). 

Admiral Sir WILLIAM JAMES, G. C. B., served in the Royal Navy over 

a period of more than forty years (1901-1944). He has written extensively 

on British naval history. Among his publications are The British Navy in 

Adversity (1926) and The British Navies in the Second World War (1946). 

Air Via*-Marshal E. J. KINGSTON-McCLOUGHRY, C. B., C. B. E., 

D. S. O., D. F. C., spent his long service career in the RAF, from the time 

he joined the Flying Corps in 1917 until his retirement in 1953. Among 

his numerous publications on defense policy and strategy are Defense: 

Policy and Strategy (1960) and The Spectrum of Strategy (1964). 

CHARLES V. P. von LUTTICHAU, a former member of the German Air 

Force (1937-1945), is a historian with the Office of the Chief of Military 

History, Department of the Army. He has contributed to several volumes 

in the multivolume The United States Army in World War II and is coauthor of' Command Decisions (1959) and Great Battles (1964). 

Field Marshal ERICH von MANSTEIN entered the German (Imperial) 

Army in 1906. In 1936 he became Deputy to the Chief of the General 

Staff, General Ludwig Beck. During World War I1 he developed the German opeirations plan which led to the defeat of France in 1940 and later 

distinguished himself as an army commander on the Eastern front until 

removed from command by Hitler in March 1944. He is the author of 

Lost Victories (1958). 

General iYASSO E. von MANTEUFFEL was an armored warfare specialist 

during World War I1 and the commander of the armored divisions during 

the Ardennes Battle in 1944. He is a contributor to The Fatal Deciswns 

(1956) and Decisive Battles of World War II: A German View (1965). 

327 
ARTHUR I. MARDER, Professor of History at the University of California 

at Irvine, is a specialist on British naval history. To date he has completed 

four volumes of his five-volume history of the British Navy in the Fisher 

era, From Dreadnought to Scapa Flow (1961-1969). Among his other 

numerous publications are The Anatomy of British Sea Power (1940) and 

Fear God and Dread Nought; The Correspondence of Admiral of the Fleet 

Lord Fisher of K'ilverston (1952). 

Field Marshal ERHARD MILCH, German Air Force, World War 11, was 

a fighter pilot iin World War I. In 1933 he became State Secretary for 

Aviation in the new Air Ministry under Hermann Goering. During World 

War I1 he rose to the rank of Field Marshal in the Luftwaffe and served 

as Goering's deputy. 

LOUIS MORTON, Daniel Webster Professor and Chairman of the Department of History at Dartmouth University, was formerly with the Office of 

the Chief of Military History, Department of the Army. In addition to 

numerous article!, and reviews, he is the author of The Fall of the Philippines 

(1953), The War in the Pacific: Strategy and Tactics (1963), and coauthor of Command Decisions (1959). 

RAYMOND C. O'CONNOR, Professor and Chairman of the Department 

of History at the University of Miami, spent twenty years in the U. S. Navy 

(1935-1955). In 1967-1968 he occupied the Ernest J. King Chair of Maritime History at the U. S. Naval War College. He is the author (and editor) 

of Perilous Equilibrium: Readings in the History of American Military 

Policy (1962), and American Defense. Policy in Perspective (1965). 

PETER PARET, Professor of History at Stanford University, has written 

numerous articles and reviews on European history and contemporary 

defense problems. He is co-author (with John Shy) of Guerrillas in the 

1960s (1962) and author of Yorck and the Era of the Prussian Re,/orm, 

1807-1815 (1966). 

Rear Admiral S. A. PEARS, C. B. E., spent a distinguished career in the 

Royal Navy from 1914 to 1956. 

E. B. POTTER, Professor and Chairman of Naval History, United States 

Naval Academy, is the co-author of American Sea Power since 1775 (1947), 

The United Statles and World Sea Power (1955), and Sea Power: A Naval 

History (1960). 

Major WILLIAM A. RAFFERTY, USA (Ret.), was graduated from the 

U. S. Military Academy in 1913. Because of physical disability he retired in 

1922 from the U. S. Army. 

DONALD M. SCHURMAN, Professor of History and Director, Institute for 

Commonwealth and Comparative Studies, Queens University, Ontario, is 

the author of The Education of a Navy: The Development of British Naval 

Strategy and Thought, 1867-1914 (19fs). 

328 
General LEO FREIHERR CEYR von SCHWEPPENBURG entered the German (Imlperial) Army in 1904. After World War I he served as German 

military attach6 in London, Brussels, and The Hague (1933-37). During 

World War I1 he was a division and corps commander. In addition to 

numerous articles and reviews in international military journals, he is the 

author of Erinnerungen eines Militiirattachb (1949) and Gebrochenes 

Schwert (1952). 

Marshal oj the Royal Air Force Sir JOHN SLESSOR, G. C. B., D. S. O., 

M. C., spent a long and distinguished career in the Royal Air Force. Among 

his numerous publications are Strategy for the West (1954) and These 

Remain: ,4 Personal Anthology (1968). 

Lieutenant General JOHANNES STEINHOFF had a distinguished record 

in the German Air Force during World War I1 as one of the outstanding 

Luftwaffe aces and commander of the first jet fighter squadron (Me-262s). 

In 1956 he joined the newly established German Air Force and in 1966 

he was named Chief of Staff of the West German Air Force. In addition 

to several articles and reviews, he is the author Die Strasse von Messina: 

Tagebuch des Kommodore (1969). 

General WALTER WARLIMONT entered the German Army in 1914. In 

1938 he was assigned to the Army Supreme Command and served as deputy 

to General Jodl, Chief of the Operations Staff (1939-1944). He is the 

author of Inside Hider’s Headquarters (1958) and a contributor to Decisive 

Battles of World War II: The German View (1965). 

Major General LEROY WATSON, USA (Ret.), served with distinction in 

the United States Army from 1915 to 1953. 

RUSSELL F. WEICLEY is Professor of History at Temple University. In 

addition to numerous articles and reviews on the history of the United 

States Army, he is the author of Towards an American Army: Military 

Thought jrom Washington to Marshall (1962) and A History of the United 

States Army (1967). 

329 
Abshagen, Karl Hcinz, 145 

Adam, Wilhelm, 119,121,144 

Africa, 276 

Ainsworth, Fred C, 23,27 

Alanbrooke, Lord ,41an Francis 

Alaska: 

Allenby, Lord Edmund H., 272,276 

Allies, 208, 222, 264, 266-267,281,282, 

Brooke, 91, 228 

Aleutian Islands, 213 

292-294298-336, 307-312, 312-314, 

315316,317-324 

Allied Expeditionary Air Force 

(AEAF), 308,309 

Chief of Staff, Supreme Allied 

Commander (COSSAC) , 308 

Combined Chiefri of Staff, 234, 238 

Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF) , 308 

21st Army Group, 309, 312 

American Expeditionary Force (AEF) , 5, 

35,37,40,45-%, 49-53,62-78 

GHQ, 68,70 

Lines of Communication (later 

Services of Supply), 68 

American Forces iii Germany (AFG) , 78 

American Expeditionary Force in 

Siberia (AEFS) ,, 58 

Anderson, Orvil A., 279, 285, 287 

Andrews, Frank M., 66 

Anvil 

See France, invasion of Southern 

coast 

Arab-Israeli War (1%7), 157 

Arbuthnot, Sir Geoffrey, 106 

Argonne offensive, 45 

Arizona: 

Douglas, 73 

Army War College 

See U. S. Army 

Arnold, Henry H., 279, 283 

Aron, Raymond, 46 

Arran, Isle, 104 

Asquith, Herbert H., % 

Atlantic Ocean: 

Battle of, 311 

trade routes, 97 

Austria, 121, 156 

Anschluss, 164 

Army, 74,86 

Pola, 86 

Baker Mission, 56 

Baldwin, Stanley, 81,255 

Balkans, 274 

Bannister, G. E., 11&113 

Barnett, Corelli, 92 

Barrow, James G., 25 

Barth, Charles E., 54 

Beacham, Joseph, 71 

Beatty, Sir David, 81-90, 92-96, 

Beaver, Daniel R., 5, 44-47, 50 

Bechtolsheim, Gustave von, 171 

Beck, Ludwig, 121, 122, 127, 130, 131, 132, 

97-115,214 

133, 136, 156, 159, 160, 162-163, 

169, 172-174, 184,188, 1%191, I94 

141, 162 

194,202 

Beck-Oster Circle, 130, 134, 137, 139, 

Belgium, 74, 143, 167, 170-171, 182, 187, 

Bell, J. Franklin, 36, 63 

Bellairs, Roger, 82, 101, 102 

Bennett, D. C. T., 270 

Berghof Conference, 167 

Bethesda Naval Hospital, Maryland, 210 

Bibliography and Reference Notes, 24-27, 

41-43, 56-61, 90, 143-146, 160, 167, 175, 

312, 324 

188, 203, 218-219, 239, 250, 286-287, 291, 

Bjornstad, Alfred W., 40, 52, 54, 56, 60 

Blackman, C. M., 108-110 

Blaskowitz, Johannes, 141, 146,186 

Blatchford, R. M., 68 

Blomberg, Werner von, 123-128, 144, 166, 

Bock, Fedor yon, 136,138, 145, 173,186 

Boehm, Hans O., 324 

Borkum Island, 83 

184 

330 
Bormann, Martin, 129 

Bradley, Omar N., 41,66,72-73 

Brauchitsch ,Walther von, 127, 131, 133-140, Cline, Roy S., 26 

163,170, 1177. 180, 186.187, 193-197.202 Coffman. Edward M.. 5.35-43 

153, 164,233, 234,269,270,271, 

276, 290, 294,310 

Bredow, Kurt von, 121, 183,184 

British Army, 97, 171, 186-187, 196, 202 

General St&, 169 

Brown, Albert E., 58 

Brown, Preston, 40, 54, 55,56,59.60. 

Bruening, Heinrich, 150 

Bryant, Arthur, 91 

Buchheit, Gert, 144. 145 

Buddecke, AJbert, 36 

Bullard, Robert L., 38, 58,65 

Bundy, Omar, 78 

Burgdorf, Wilhelm, 142 

Burke, Arleigh, 230 

Burney, Sir Charles, 82 

Burwell, Hairvey S., 67 

Busch, Emst, 131 

69,78 

California: 

Berkeley, 212 

San Diego, 64 

San Francisco, 212 

Treasure Island, 212 

Quebec, 2!55 

Vancouver, 278 

Canaris, Wilhelm, 126, 128, 129, 135, 

136, 137, 139, 141, 163, 191 

Carney, Robert B., 239-244 

reply to, 244-250 

Carraway, William, 61 

Carr-Sanders, A. M., 25 

Carson, Sir Edward, 93 

Carter, William H., 18, 19, 25, 26, 56 

Casablanca Conference 

See Morocco 

Castelan, G., 144 

Castner, Joseph E., 59 

Cate, James L., 287 

Catholic Church, 148, 174 

See also Italy, Vatican 

Chalmers, William S., 94 

Charles, T. Pi., 287 

Chatfield, Sir Ernle, 84, 89, 90, 

Chenvell, Lord Frederick A., 310 

Chicago Strike, 15 

China, 122, 149 

China Station, 108 

Churchill, Sir Winston, 93,%, 97, 113, 

Canada, 240 

99, 102,106 

.. 

commentary on, 4447,4-61,62-78 

Collingwood, Lord Cuthbert, 114 

Collins, Edgar T., 56 

Conner, Fox, 37, 45, 55, 69, 76 

Connor, William D., 50, 69 

Corbin, Henry C., 25 

Corbett, Sir Julian, 92, 93 

Corlett, Charles H., 58 

Covell, William E. R., 76-77 

Craig, Malin, 39, 55, 5&69 

Crane, William C., 67 

Craven, Wesley F., 287 

Crete, 276 

Crittenberger, Willis D., 65, 67 

Cuba, 44 

Cunningham, Lord Andrew B., 99 

CunninghameGraham, Sir Angus, 110-113 

Cushman, Robert E., 26 

Czechoslovakia, 129, 130,131,151, 156, 164, 

185, 194, 195, 276 

Santiago, 17 

D-Day 

Dardanelles, 95-96 

Davidson, Howard C., 62-67 

Denmark, 143, 194 

DeSalis, R. H. F., 113-115 

Deutrich, Mabel E., 27 

Deutsch, Harold C., 6, ll%l% 

See France, Normandy invasion 

commentary on, 147-160,161-167, 

168-175, 175-183, 183-188, 189-198, 

199-203 

Devers, Jacob L., 65 

Dewitt, Calvin Jr., 56 

Dickman, Joseph T., 65 

Dill, Sir John, 169 

Dodge, Julian, 64 

Doe, Jens A., 59 

Dogger Bank, 9695,105 

Dohnanyi, Frau Christine vun, 144 

Dohnanyi, Hans yon, 125-126, 129, 137 

Dollniann, Friedrich, 174 

Donelly, Howard, 77 

Doolittle, Jimmy, 283 

Douhet, Giulio, 255, 256, 266, 268, 271, 

Dowding, Sir Hugh, 280, 287 

Dreyer, Sir Frederic Charles, 88, 101-104 

Drum, Hugh A., 37,40,41,46, 55,60, 

277, 278, 280, 289, 303 

6344,69,71,76 

331 
Dulles. Allen, 271 

Duncan, George S., '77 

Dyer, George C., 208-210, 217,218, 

219,241-242,244 

Eaker, Ira C, 7,285,, 312-314 

reply to, 315-316 

Eccles, Henry, 223 

Edison, Charles, 240 

Egypt, 124,217 

Alexandria, 217 

Megiddo, 272,276 

Eisenhart-Rothe, Hans Henning, 144 

Eisenhower, Dwight D., 65, 207, 218,310, 

Eltinge, LeRoy, 37, 515, 56 

Ely, Hanson E., 54, 55, 56, 59, 60,69 

Emerson, William R,, 287 

EngIand, 130, 131, 134, 137,141, 163, 

165, 169,170, 187, 195,244 254, 

273, 313, 317 

Air Ministry, 269, 290 

Andover, 308 

Battle of Britain, :!74, 275,290, 

291,294, 301,318,319, 321 

Camberley, 308 

Cambridge, 269 

House of Commonia, 81, 99 

London, 93,99,143,272,294,308 

Oxford, 262, 269 

Sheffield, 103 

War Cabinet, 86 

Winchester, 269 

Whitehall, 95, 96 

See also Royal Navy; British Army 

English Channel, 97,108, 217, 312,313 

312 

Fahey, James C., 2861 

Farago, Ladislas, mi', 218 

Far East, 270,275 

Federal Trade Commiission, 21, 22, 33 

Findlay, Paul, 324 

Finley, Thomas D., 58 

Firth of Forth, 107, 1.08 

Fisher, John Arbuthnot, 91,93, 103 

Fiske, Harold B., 52, 56 

Fleming, Donald, 25 

Flying Fortress 

Food Administration, 22 

Ford, Henry 11,223 

Forrestel, Emmett P., 218, 239 

Foulois, Benjamin, 58, 286 

France, 38,44, 51, 58, 62-78, 134,135, 

See U.S. Air Force, 517 

141, 165, 182, 188, 195, 201,266, 

273, 276, 300, 310 

Aisne, 45 

Amiens, 202 

Army, 186187,194, 1% 

Caen, 311 

Chaumont, 39,45,58 

Dun-Sur-Meuse, 65 

Langres, 38,67,69 

Mediterranean Fleet, 217 

Metz, 38 

Moselle, 38 

Nancy, 37 

Normandy invasion, 269, 281, fM18,290, 

Paris, 154 

Kouen, 319 

Sedan, 202 

Third Republic, 119 

Touloun, 217 

Witlich, 65 

291, 308, 312,320 

Frank, Walter H., 278,286 

Frankland, Noble, 7, 253-267, 307, 

commentary on, 268-277, 277-287, 

289-291,292-298,298-306,307,312, 

315,317-324 

Frederick the Great (Frederick I1 of 

Fredette, Raymond H., 290, 291 

Freeman, Douglas, 236 

Freud, Sigmund, 224 

Fritsch, Werner Freiherr von, 121,124-129, 

. 

Prussia) , 158 

132, 136, 138, 144, 149,152, 166, 

172,174, 177-180, 184,185 

F'romm, Fritz, 142, 145, 177 

Fuel Administration, 22 

Fuller, J. F. C., 278 

Funston, Frederick, 63 

Fittrell, Frank R., 277-287 

commentary on, 288-291, 317-324 

(iaiser, Gerd, 324 

Calland, Adolf, 7, 298-306, 320, 324 

Canoe, William A., 24 

Geffen, William, 34,655. 161, 168, 175, 

George, David Lloyd, % 

George, Hal O., 279 

German Air Force, 187,256,257, 279-286, 

183, 189,199,292, 298,317 

289-291,292-298,298-306,307-312, 

312-314, 317-324 

Aircraft: 

Do-18,293 

Dornier, 258 

332 
FW-190,322 

Gotha, 272 

Heinklel, 258 

Ju-88,296 

Ju-89,293 

Me-109,322 

Me-110,318 

Me-%;!, 293, 301, 302,318, 323 

Abwehr, 126, 128,129, 137, 139, 

Army Group A, 188 

Army Group C, 139 

XIV Armiored Corps, 170 

General Staff, 18,19, 119, 121, 

123,132,148,163,166,168, 

177. 183, 1%, 197, 203 

Gestapo, 126,190,194,197 

Reichswehr, 120, 125, 149-152,165, 

Report on organization of, 18, 25 

SS, 124, 1139, 173, 181, 185, 186, 

7th Army, 174 

Storm Troopers, 121,181,183, 

Tank Warfare School, 177 

3rd Armored Division, 168, 170, 172 

War Academy, 169 

Fehrmuc he, 121, 123, 125, 128, 135, 

German Army 4,6,%, llP-203 

143, 189 

169,176,177,191-192,199,200 

1% 

184,1% 

151, 159, 169,174,187 

German Navy, 83-89,92-%, 97-115 

Germany, 6,44,65, 83,253-329 

Baden, 103 

A frika-Korps, 320 

Bamberg,, 177 

Berlin, 126, 130,137, 143, 154 171, 

173,179, 185, 186, 257, 261, 264 

Bundeswshr. 174 

Cuxhaven, 84 

Dresden, 262 

Dusseldorf, 168 

Eisenach, 177 

Elbe River, 140 

Foreign Office. 148 

Garmisch, 121 

Hamburg, 261 

Munich, 133, 186 

Nuremburg, 264 

Nazi Regime, 119-203 

Potsdam, 179 

PotsdamXrampnitz, 177 

Putsch, l¶Q 

Rathenow, 176,177 

Regensburg, 285,286 

Reichsbank, 173 

Reichstag, 135 

Rhineland, 122 

Ruhr, 261,313 

Schweinfurt, 257, 261, 263, 265, 282, 

285,286,296,319 

U-boat warfare, 274 

War Ministry, 177 

Weimar Republic, 119, 120, 155, 176, 199 

Wilhelmshaven, 84 

Zossen, 14Q, 141, 146, 197 

Gilbert Islands, 214 

Gisevius, Hans Bernd, 144, 1% 

Glassford, Pelham D., 58 

Goebbels, Josef, 201 

Goerdeler, Carl, 123,140, 142-143,148, 162 

Goering, Hermann, 124, 125, 127, 173, 183, 

Goethals, George W., 47 

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 147 

Goodenough, Sir William, 83, 90, 102 

Gordon, Walker H., 71 

Gordon, Walter A., 59 

Grand Fleet 

Graves, Sidney C., 57, 58 

Great Britain 

Greece, 276 

Greer, Allen J., 52, 56, 60 

Grey, Sir Edward, % 

Groener, Wilhelm, 159, 176 

Groscurth, Helmuth, 137,139, 140, 

143-144,145,1%,1% 

Gross, Charles P., 70 

Guadalcanal, Battle of, 213, 238 

Guderian, Heinz. 173 

Gurtner, Franz, 125, 129 

Haan, William G., 65 

Halder, Franz, 129, 130, 131, 132, 134, 

184, 282-283,289-290, 314, 320-321 

See Royal Na7 

See England 

137-142,145,1%,162-164, 171-174, 

178-180,185,187,189-198,201-203 

Halifax, Lord Edward, 130 

Halsey, William (“Bull”), 7, 214-218, 

221-222,225,226,230,232,237, 

239-244,245-250 

El Toro, 221 

121,127, 199 

Hammerstein, Christian Freiherr von, 

Hammond, Paul Y., 11,24,25,32 

Hankey, Sir Maurice, 94, 112 

Hansel], Haywood S., 279, 283,286, 287 

333 
Harbord, James G., 37,45,55,69 

Harris, Sir Arthur, 268, 269, 290 

Haselof, Kurt, 145 

Hassell, Ulrich von, 152 

Hawaii, 23, 234 

Pearl Harbor, 238 

Hawke, Sir Edward H., 98 

Hays, Samuel P., 24 

Hegel, Georg W., 158 

Heintzelmann, Stuart, 56 

Heinz, Friedrich W., 130 

Heligoland Bight, 83-84, 99,105, 111 

Henderson, Sir David, 271 

Herring, Pendleton, 26 

Herron, Charles ID,, 39, 55,67, 71, 76 

Heusinger, Adolf, 160, 199-203 

Hewitt, Ludlow, 268 

Hibbs, Louis E., 56, 59,60 

Higham, Robin, 7, 268-277,290,315-316, 

commentary on, :!89-291, 307-312, 

312-314 

Hill, Hany W., 233-239 

Himmler, Heinrich,, 124, 139, 141, 

Hindenburg, Paul iron, 123, 127, 152, 184, 

Hitler, Adolf, 6, 119-1%, 147-153, 

166, 183, 184 

199 

153-160, 161-167, 168-174,175-183, 

183-188, 189-198~,199-203,289-290, 

294, 295, 324 

Hitler Youth, 185 

Hittle, J. D., 18,25 

Hogarth, William, 208 

Hoge, William H., 59 

Hoicombe, WiUiam H., 59 

Holland, 74, 138, 14~3, 167, 170-171, 182 

Antwerp, 202 

Maastricht, 170 

Meuse River, 202 

Homestead Strike, 1.5, 32 

Hiipner, Erich, 168 

Horns Reef, 85 

Hossbach Conference, 122, 123, 124 

Hossbach, Friedrich, 144,151,160, 184 

Howe, Richard, 92 

Huerta, Victoriano, 63 

Hunt, Ore E., 62,63 

Huntington, Samuel P., 25 

Hurley, Alfred F., 286 

Hurley, Patrick, 278 

Idaho, 14 

Inchkeith Island, 107 

India, 308 

Interstate Commerce Commission, 21,22, 

Italy, 158, 266, 273, 276, 305, 309 

33-34 

Army, 320 

Fiume, 86 

Messina, 321 

Naples, 321 

Navy, 99 

Salerno, 210 

Sardinia, 321 

Sicily, 320, 321 

Rome, 138 

Vatican, 138, 142, 143 

Iwo Jima campaign, 237 

Jackson, Sir Henry, 90, 93 

Jacksonian Era, 16-17 

James, Sir William, 97 

Janowitz, Morris, 8, 24, 56 

Japan, 122,208,216,234,237,243,266 

Army, 63,214 

atomic attack on, 247 

bases, 215 

battleships, 

Yamamoto, 237-238, 247 

Musashi, 247 

Zero, 270 

Java Island, 208 

Jeismann, Karl E., 160 

Jellicoe, Sir John, 81-90, 92-96, 

Jessup, Philip C., 25 

Jews, 155, 182 

Jodl, Alfred, 125, 127, 136, 163, 166, 

178, 200, 202 

Johnson, A. B., 67 

Johnson, Hugh, 47 

Joint Chiefs of Staff 

See United States 

Jutland, Battle of, 82, 87, 89, 91, 

94-%,97, 100-101, 102,105-108, 

97-115,214 

112 

Kaiser, Hermann, 144 

Kansas, 38 

Kapp, Wolfgang, 171 

Karl, Barry D., 26 

Keitel, Wilhelm, 125, 127, 139, 144, 

163, 166, 178 

Kempenfelt, Richard, 92 

Keppel, Augustus, 99 

Keys, Geoffrey, 65 

King, Edward L., 56 

King, Ernest J., 207-212,221-222,225, 

228,233-236,238,239,24&241,249 

334 
Kingciton-McCloughry, E. J., 7, 307312 

Kinkaid, Thomas C., 226,247-249 

Kluclc, Alexander von, 74 

Kolkal, Gabriel, 26 

Kordt, Theo. 130 

Korean War, 284 

Krautinick, Helmut, 144 

Kuhn., Joseph E., 63 

Kuter, Laurence S., 279 

Kwajalein Island, 213-214 

LaFollette, Robert, 30 

Lanchester, F. W., 271 

Lane, Arthur H., 59 

Langley Field, Virginia, 278 

Leahy, William D., 233-234 

Leavernworth Clique, 5, 35-43,45-47, 

4&55,62-78 

Leavenworth, Fort, 37, 38, 44-47 

Lebensraum, 121 

Lee, Willis A., 236,245,246,247 

Leeb, Ritter von, 178,201 

Leeb, Wilhelm von, 136,139, 163, 

LeJeune, John A., 76 

Lenin,, Madimir I., 152 

Leonard, John W., 58, 59, 60 

Ley, Robert, 183 

Leyte Gulf, Battle of, 215, 216, 226, 227, 

240,243,247 

LiddeNl Hart, Basil H., 170.222 

Liebmann, Curt, 145 

Liggett, Hunter, 38.40, 69 

Lodge, John C., 29.32 

Luftwaffe 

Luther, Martin, 157-158, 160 

Luttichau, Charles V. P. von, 6,147-153, 

Liittwitz, Freiherr Walther von, 171 

173,, 174, 186 

See German Air Force 

175,, 199 

McAdams, J. P., 56 

McAndrew, James W., 37,55,69 

MacArthur, Douglas, 35,40,44,65, 71, 

MacArthur, Mrs. Douglas, 44 

McCoy, Frank, 50,56 

Machiavelli, Niccolo, 157-158,223 

Mackensen, August von, 184 

McNarney, Joseph T., 59.66 

Madden, Sir Charles, 86, 90 

Maginot Line, 136,200,202 

Mahan, Alfred T., 29,30,33, 110,223, 224, 

Mahail, Dennis H., 16 

213, 239 

229,256,266,268,277,289 

Mallory, Leigh, 310 

Malone, Paul B., SO, 56,58,59 

Malta Island, 105 

Mammach, Klaus, 1% 

Mandelbaum, Seymour, 24 

Manstein, Erich von, 183-188, 202 

Manteuffel, Hasso, 175 

March, Peyton C., 58 

Marder, Arthur $., 5.81-90 

commentary on, 91-%,97-115 

Mariana Islands campaign, 236,237 

Marne, Battle of, 74 

Marshall, George C., 36,%, 76, 77, 

227,228,256 

Marshall Islands, 213,237 

Marx, Karl, 224 

Matapan Cape, 99 

Maxwell Field, Alabama, 278 

Mediterrnean Sea, 86,95,305,309,321 

Meuse-Argonne offensive, 39 

Mexican Border, 73-74 

Mexico, 58.63.78 

Dublan, 64-65 

Vera Cruz, 63 

Middle East, 274,275 

Midway, Battle of, 212, 215, 226 

Milch, Erhard, 7,292-298 

Miles, Milton E., 228 

Millett, Allan R., 27 

Millis, Walter, 3,8, 56, 225 

Mitchell, William (“Billy”), 255, 

Mitscher, Marc, 232, 236, 245-248, 250 

Model, Walter, 142 

Monroe, Thomas H., 57. 58,59 

Montesquieu, Charles de, 157 

Montgomery, Sir Bernard L., 311,312 

Moore Sir Archibald, 95 

More, Sir Thomas, 157, 158 

Morgan, Sir Frederick, 273,308 

Morison, Samuel E., 208,218,219,248, 

250 

Morocco 

Casablanca, 258,259,283,309 

Morris, William H. H., 57, 59 

Morrison, John F., 36, 57,63 

Morton, Louis, 5, 28-34,228 

Moseley, Van Horn, 56,69 

Moses, Raymond G., 59 

Mountbatten, Lord Louis, 112 

Miiller, Josef, 138 

Miiller, Vincenz, 1% 

277,278,286 

Napier, Sir Trevylan, 102 

Napoleon Bonaparte, 224 

335 
National Guard, 46, 52, 70,75 

NATO, 297 

Nazism 

Nebraska, 14 

Nelson, Donald, 287 

Nelson, Horatio, 82, 92,98,99,112,217 

Nelson, Otto L Jr., 24, 26 

Neo-Hamiltonianism, 11.32 

Netherlands 

Nevins, Allan. 12, 24 

New Hebrides, 208 

New Mexico 

Columbus, 64 

Newcomer, Francis IS., 67 

Newell, Sir Cyril, !Xi9 

Nimitz, Chester, 210-214,221-222,!2!24, 

235-238,240,249,w) 

North Africa, 281,309,320 

North Sea, 85,92,94,95,97,101 

Norway, 97,143,156 

Stavanger, 111 

Norwich, Lord George, 110 

Nova Scotia, 278 

Nuremberg Trials, 185 

O’Connor, Raymond G., 7,220429,230, 

Office of Strategic Services (OSS), 228 

Okinaws campaign, 237, 239,241 

Oklahoma, 65 

ORANGE War Plan (Japan), 234 

Oster Circle 

Oster, Hans, 126, 1213, 129, 130, 138, 140, 

Overlord 

See Germany, Nazi regime 

See Holland 

239 

See Beck-Oster Circle 

143,152,162-163,188,191 

See France, Normandy invasion 

Pacific Ocean, war in, 224,221,233,236, 

238 

South Pacific, 208,213, 242-243 

Central Pacific, 213, 214,241, 2&245 

North Pacific, 213 

Southwest Pacific, 249 

Paget, Bernard, 169 

Pakenham, Sir William C., 83 

Palmer, Frederick, 35,40,44,49-50,56 

Palmer, John M., 20., 26,36,37,%, 52, 55 

Panama Canal, 44 

Papen, Franz von, 120, 151 

Paret, Peter, 6, 153-160 

Passchendaele, Third Battle of, 93 

Patch, Alexander M., 67 

Patton, George S., Jr., 65,232 

Paulus, Friedrich, 170, 173 

Pears, S. A., 101-108 

Pershing, John J., 37, 38, 39, 40, 45-47, 

58,64-65,67,72,74 

Punitive Expedition, 64-65) 78 

Peter, Karl Heinz, 145 

Philippine Insurrection, 49,51,63, 78 

Philippine Islands, 44, 235 

Bataan, 208 

Mindanao, 78 

Surigao Strait, 247 

236,250 

Surigao Strait, 247 

San Bernardino Strait, 247,248,249 

Pile, Sir Frederick, 270 

Pius XII, Pope, 138 

Pogue, Forest, 228 

Poland, 134, 135, 137,139, 141.156, 164, 

Philippine Sea, Battle of, 216,218,235, 

167,174,186,187,194-195,201, 

276,300 

Danzig, 134, 165 

German campaign in, 172,201 

Gleiwitz, 135 

Sudetenland, 134,186 

Polish Corridor, 134,165 

Populist Revolt, 15 

Portal, Sir Charles, 268, 269 

Potter, E. B., 7, 207-219 

commentary on, 220-229, 230-232, 

reply to commentary, 244-250 

233438,239-244 

Pound, Roscoe, 25 

Priller, Fips, 320, 324 

Progressive Era, 5, 11-12, 13-14, 17-18, 

Protestant Church, 148, 158, 174 

Prussia, 158, 165, 194 

Puerto Rico, 44 

21-24,28-31 

Quebec Conference (1943), 228 

Rafferty, William A., 68-71 

Reed, Alfred Z., 25 

Reichnau, Walter von, 120, 127, 131, 

136-137,145, 150,163, 165-167, 

169-170, 178,182,198,20&%1 

Reinhart, Stanley E., 58 

Richardson, Lorrain T., 63 

Richardson, Robert C. Jr., 235 

Richelieu, Armand Cardinal, 157-158 

Richmond, Herbert, 82,86,90 

Roehm, Emst, 121,149,180,184 

Rommel, Erwin, 276 

336 
Roosevelt, Franklin D., 182,233 

Roosevelt, Theodore, 17, 30.32 

Root, Elihu, 4, 11,12, 13,17-22,25, 

Saipan, 216,236,245 

Savill, Mew, 324 

Scapa Flow, 81, 101,108,111.1l2,113 

28-34,46,48-49,72 Schacht, Hjh, 122,135,140,173,175 

reforms Scheer, Reinhard von, 100 

See U. S. Army Schellendorf, Paul B. von, 18 

Rosinski, Herbert, 26 Schleicher, Kurt von, 121,150, 183,184 

Roskill, Stephen W., 272 Schlieffen, Alfred von, 174 

Rothfels, Hans, 149 Schlieffen Society, 121,184 

Royal Air Force, 259-267, 277-287,28&291, Schmundt, Rudolf, 125,200 

292-298,298-306,307-312,312-314, Schoerner, Ferdinand, 142 

315-316,317424 School of Application for Infantry 

Aircraft of: and Cavahy 

Blenbeim, 259 

Halifax, 263, 270,275 

Hampden, 258 

Hurricane, 270 

Lancaster, 258, 259.263, 264,267, 

275,295,305 

Manchester, 263 168-175 

Mosquito, 270,275, 315 Scotland 

Spitfire, 280, 290, 320 Lamlash, 104 

Stirling, 263, 270,275 Rusyth, 102, 107 

Wellington, 258, 259, 260 Scott, Hugh, 44,47 

Whitney, 258 Scott, Winfield, 15 

Air Stag, 259, 265 Seeckt, Hans von, 176, 192 

Bomber Command, 26&261,269, 270, 272, Seversky, Alexander P. de, 255,277 

See U. S. Army 

Schumacher, Kurt, 199 

Schurman, Donald M., 5.91-96.108 

commentary on, 110-113, 113-115 

Schwan, Theodore, 18, 25.26 

Schweppenburg, Leo Freiherr Geyr von, 

280-281,290,310 

Coastal Command, 273 

Fighter Command, 273,280 

Royal Naval Air Service, 273 

Royal Navy, 5-6,81-90,91-%, 97-115, 

214 

Atlantic Fleet, 113 

Battle Cruiser Fleet, 82, 85, 108 

2d Battle Squadron, 103,113 

4th Battle Squadron, 98 

First Destroyer Flotilla, 108 

Grand Fleet, 106 

HMS Fnlmouth, 102,105 

HMS Hercules, 101,113 

HMS King George V, 104 

HMS New Zealand, 113 

HMS Nottingham, 105 

HMS Oak, 102,107 

HMS P,rince of Wales, 113-114 

HMS R~yd Oak, 113 

Rublee, George, 26 

Rundstedt, Gerd von, 127, 136,139,151, 

Russell, George L., 208, 210 

Russia 

Russo-Japanese War, 63 

Ryan, William Ord, 60 

177-178,186,188 

See USSR 

Seymour, Ralph, 83,95 

Sharfman, I. L., 27 

Sherman, Forrest, 227,235 

Sherman, William T., 15 

Shyrock, Richard H., 25 

Sibert, Franklin C., 57,58, 59 

Simonds, George S., 56, 59 

Simpson, William H., 65 

Sims, William S., 210 

Slessor, Sir John, 7, 271, 280, 287, 

Sloan, Alfred P., 233 

Smith, Constance B., 270 

Smuts, Jan C., 255,271 

Snow, Charles P., 223 

Solomon Islands, 208 

Soviet Union 

See USSR 

Spaatz, Carl, 65,264,282, 287, 312,314 

Spain, 119, 122 

Spanish-American War, 15, 17,32,36,49, 

Spaulding, Oliver J., 67 

Speer, Albert, 290,314 

Speidel, Hans, 160 

Spruance, Raymond A., 213-219,Zl-228, 

230,232,235-238,241,245 

Stalin, Joseph V., 134, 233,234 

288-291 

51, 78 

337