CHAPTER IX - The Surprise
From the subject of the foregoing chapter, the
general endeavour to attain a relative superiority, there follows another
endeavour which must consequently be just as general in its nature: this is the
surprise of the enemy. It lies more or less at the foundation of all
undertakings, for without it the preponderance at the decisive point is not
properly conceivable.
The surprise is, therefore, not only the means to
the attainment of numerical superiority; but it is also to be regarded as a
substantive principle in itself, on account of its moral effect. When it is
successful in a high degree, confusion and broken courage in the enemy’s ranks
are the consequences; and of the degree to which these multiply a success,
there are examples enough, great and small. We are not now speaking of the
particular surprise which belongs to the attack, but of the endeavour by
measures generally, and especially by the distribution of forces, to surprise
the enemy, which can be imagined just as well in the defensive, and which in
the tactical defence particularly is a chief point.
We say, surprise lies at the foundation of all
undertakings without exception, only in very different degrees according to the
nature of the undertaking and other circumstances.
This difference, indeed, originates in the
properties or peculiarities of the Army and its Commander, in those even of the
Government.
Secrecy and rapidity are the two factors in this
product and these suppose in the Government and the Commander-in-Chief great
energy, and on the part of the Army a high sense of military duty. With
effeminacy and loose principles it is in vain to calculate upon a surprise. But
so general, indeed so indispensable, as is this endeavour, and true as it is
that it is never wholly unproductive of effect, still it is not the less true
that it seldom succeeds to a remarkable degree, and this follows from the
nature of the idea itself. We should form an erroneous conception if we
believed that by this means chiefly there is much to be attained in War. In
idea it promises a great deal; in the execution it generally sticks fast by the
friction of the whole machine.
In tactics the surprise is much more at home, for
the very natural reason that all times and spaces are on a smaller scale. It
will, therefore, in Strategy be the more feasible in proportion as the measures
lie nearer to the province of tactics, and more difficult the higher up they
lie towards the province of policy.
The preparations for a War usually occupy several
months; the assembly of an Army at its principal positions requires generally
the formation of depôts and magazines, and long marches, the object of which
can be guessed soon enough.
It therefore rarely happens that one State
surprises another by a War, or by the direction which it gives the mass of its
forces. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when War turned very much
upon sieges, it was a frequent aim, and quite a peculiar and important chapter
in the Art of War, to invest a strong place unexpectedly, but even that only
rarely succeeded.(*)
On the other hand, with things which can be done
in a day or two, a surprise is much more conceivable, and, therefore, also it
is often not difficult thus to gain a march upon the enemy, and thereby a
position, a point of country, a road, &c. But it is evident that what
surprise gains in this way in easy execution, it loses in the efficacy, as the
greater the efficacy the greater always the difficulty of execution. Whoever
thinks that with such surprises on a small scale, he may connect great
results—as, for example, the gain of a battle, the capture of an important
magazine—believes in something which it is certainly very possible to imagine,
but for which there is no warrant in history; for there are upon the whole very
few instances where anything great has resulted from such surprises; from which
we may justly conclude that inherent difficulties lie in the way of their
success.
Certainly, whoever would consult history on such
points must not depend on sundry battle steeds of historical critics, on their
wise dicta and self-complacent terminology, but look at facts with his own
eyes. There is, for instance, a certain day in the campaign in Silesia, 1761,
which, in this respect, has attained a kind of notoriety. It is the 22nd July,
on which Frederick the Great gained on Laudon the march to Nossen, near Neisse,
by which, as is said, the junction of the Austrian and Russian armies in Upper
Silesia became impossible, and, therefore, a period of four weeks was gained by
the King. Whoever reads over this occurrence carefully in the principal
histories,(*) and considers it impartially,
will, in the march of the 22nd July, never find this importance; and generally
in the whole of the fashionable logic on this subject, he will see nothing but
contradictions; but in the proceedings of Laudon, in this renowned period of
manœuvres, much that is unaccountable. How could one, with a thirst for truth,
and clear conviction, accept such historical evidence?
When we promise ourselves great effects in a
campaign from the principle of surprising, we think upon great activity, rapid
resolutions, and forced marches, as the means of producing them; but that these
things, even when forthcoming in a very high degree, will not always produce
the desired effect, we see in examples given by Generals, who may be allowed to
have had the greatest talent in the use of these means, Frederick the Great and
Buonaparte. The first when he left Dresden so suddenly in July 1760, and
falling upon Lascy, then turned against Dresden, gained nothing by the whole of
that intermezzo, but rather placed his affairs in a condition notably worse, as
the fortress Glatz fell in the meantime.
In 1813, Buonaparte turned suddenly from Dresden
twice against Blücher, to say nothing of his incursion into Bohemia from Upper
Lusatia, and both times without in the least attaining his object. They were
blows in the air which only cost him time and force, and might have placed him
in a dangerous position in Dresden.
Therefore, even in this field, a surprise does not
necessarily meet with great success through the mere activity, energy, and
resolution of the Commander; it must be favoured by other circumstances. But we
by no means deny that there can be success; we only connect with it a necessity
of favourable circumstances, which, certainly do not occur very frequently, and
which the Commander can seldom bring about himself.
Just those two Generals afford each a striking
illustration of this. We take first Buonaparte in his famous enterprise against
Blücher’s Army in February 1814, when it was separated from the Grand Army, and
descending the Marne. It would not be easy to find a two days’ march to
surprise the enemy productive of greater results than this; Blücher’s Army,
extended over a distance of three days’ march, was beaten in detail, and
suffered a loss nearly equal to that of defeat in a great battle. This was
completely the effect of a surprise, for if Blücher had thought of such a near
possibility of an attack from Buonaparte(*) he
would have organised his march quite differently. To this mistake of Blücher’s
the result is to be attributed. Buonaparte did not know all these
circumstances, and so there was a piece of good fortune that mixed itself up in
his favour.
It is the same with the battle of Liegnitz, 1760.
Frederick the Great gained this fine victory through altering during the night
a position which he had just before taken up. Laudon was through this
completely surprised, and lost 70 pieces of artillery and 10,000 men. Although
Frederick the Great had at this time adopted the principle of moving backwards
and forwards in order to make a battle impossible, or at least to disconcert
the enemy’s plans, still the alteration of position on the night of the 14-15
was not made exactly with that intention, but as the King himself says, because
the position of the 14th did not please him. Here, therefore, also chance was
hard at work; without this happy conjunction of the attack and the change of
position in the night, and the difficult nature of the country, the result
would not have been the same.
Also in the higher and highest province of
Strategy there are some instances of surprises fruitful in results. We shall
only cite the brilliant marches of the Great Elector against the Swedes from
Franconia to Pomerania and from the Mark (Brandenburg) to the Pregel in 1757,
and the celebrated passage of the Alps by Buonaparte, 1800. In the latter case
an Army gave up its whole theatre of war by a capitulation, and in 1757 another
Army was very near giving up its theatre of war and itself as well. Lastly, as
an instance of a War wholly unexpected, we may bring forward the invasion of
Silesia by Frederick the Great. Great and powerful are here the results
everywhere, but such events are not common in history if we do not confuse with
them cases in which a State, for want of activity and energy (Saxony 1756, and
Russia, 1812), has not completed its preparations in time.
Now there still remains an observation which
concerns the essence of the thing. A surprise can only be effected by that party
which gives the law to the other; and he who is in the right gives the law. If
we surprise the adversary by a wrong measure, then instead of reaping good
results, we may have to bear a sound blow in return; in any case the adversary
need not trouble himself much about our surprise, he has in our mistake the
means of turning off the evil. As the offensive includes in itself much more
positive action than the defensive, so the surprise is certainly more in its
place with the assailant, but by no means invariably, as we shall hereafter
see. Mutual surprises by the offensive and defensive may therefore meet, and
then that one will have the advantage who has hit the nail on the head the
best.
So should it be, but practical life does not keep
to this line so exactly, and that for a very simple reason. The moral effects
which attend a surprise often convert the worst case into a good one for the
side they favour, and do not allow the other to make any regular determination.
We have here in view more than anywhere else not only the chief Commander, but
each single one, because a surprise has the effect in particular of greatly
loosening unity, so that the individuality of each separate leader easily comes
to light.
Much depends here on the general relation in which
the two parties stand to each other. If the one side through a general moral
superiority can intimidate and outdo the other, then he can make use of the
surprise with more success, and even reap good fruit where properly he should
come to ruin.
(*) Railways, steamships, and telegraphs have, however, enormously
modified the relative importance and practicability of surprise. (EDITOR.)
(*) Tempelhof, The Veteran, Frederick the Great. Compare also
(Clausewitz) “Hinterlassene Werke,” vol. x., p. 158.
(*) Blücher believed his march to be covered by Pahlen’s Cossacks, but
these had been withdrawn without warning to him by the Grand Army Headquarters
under Schwartzenberg.
CHAPTER X - Stratagem
Stratagem implies a concealed intention, and
therefore is opposed to straightforward dealing, in the same way as wit is the
opposite of direct proof. It has therefore nothing in common with means of
persuasion, of self-interest, of force, but a great deal to do with deceit,
because that likewise conceals its object. It is itself a deceit as well when
it is done, but still it differs from what is commonly called deceit, in this
respect that there is no direct breach of word. The deceiver by stratagem
leaves it to the person himself whom he is deceiving to commit the errors of
understanding which at last, flowing into one result, suddenly change the
nature of things in his eyes. We may therefore say, as nit is a sleight of hand
with ideas and conceptions, so stratagem is a sleight of hand with actions.
At first sight it appears as if Strategy had not
improperly derived its name from stratagem; and that, with all the real and
apparent changes which the whole character of War has undergone since the time
of the Greeks, this term still points to its real nature.
If we leave to tactics the actual delivery of the
blow, the battle itself, and look upon Strategy as the art of using this means
with skill, then besides the forces of the character, such as burning ambition
which always presses like a spring, a strong will which hardly bends &c.
&c., there seems no subjective quality so suited to guide and inspire
strategic activity as stratagem. The general tendency to surprise, treated of
in the foregoing chapter, points to this conclusion, for there is a degree of
stratagem, be it ever so small, which lies at the foundation of every attempt
to surprise.
But however much we feel a desire to see the
actors in War outdo each other in hidden activity, readiness, and stratagem,
still we must admit that these qualities show themselves but little in history,
and have rarely been able to work their way to the surface from amongst the
mass of relations and circumstances.
The explanation of this is obvious, and it is
almost identical with the subject matter of the preceding chapter.
Strategy knows no other activity than the
regulating of combat with the measures which relate to it. It has no concern,
like ordinary life, with transactions which consist merely of words—that is, in
expressions, declarations, &c. But these, which are very inexpensive, are
chiefly the means with which the wily one takes in those he practises upon.
That which there is like it in War, plans and
orders given merely as make-believers, false reports sent on purpose to the
enemy—is usually of so little effect in the strategic field that it is only
resorted to in particular cases which offer of themselves, therefore cannot be
regarded as spontaneous action which emanates from the leader.
But such measures as carrying out the arrangements
for a battle, so far as to impose upon the enemy, require a considerable
expenditure of time and power; of course, the greater the impression to be
made, the greater the expenditure in these respects. And as this is usually not
given for the purpose, very few demonstrations, so-called, in Strategy, effect
the object for which they are designed. In fact, it is dangerous to detach
large forces for any length of time merely for a trick, because there is always
the risk of its being done in vain, and then these forces are wanted at the
decisive point.
The chief actor in War is always thoroughly
sensible of this sober truth, and therefore he has no desire to play at tricks
of agility. The bitter earnestness of necessity presses so fully into direct
action that there is no room for that game. In a word, the pieces on the
strategical chess-board want that mobility which is the element of stratagem
and subtility.
The conclusion which we draw, is that a correct and
penetrating eye is a more necessary and more useful quality for a General than
craftiness, although that also does no harm if it does not exist at the expense
of necessary qualities of the heart, which is only too often the case.
But the weaker the forces become which are under
the command of Strategy, so much the more they become adapted for stratagem, so
that to the quite feeble and little, for whom no prudence, no sagacity is any
longer sufficient at the point where all art seems to forsake him, stratagem
offers itself as a last resource. The more helpless his situation, the more
everything presses towards one single, desperate blow, the more readily
stratagem comes to the aid of his boldness. Let loose from all further
calculations, freed from all concern for the future, boldness and stratagem
intensify each other, and thus collect at one point an infinitesimal glimmering
of hope into a single ray, which may likewise serve to kindle a flame.
CHAPTER XI - Assembly of Forces
in Space
The best Strategy is always to be very strong,
first generally then at the decisive point. Therefore, apart from the energy
which creates the Army, a work which is not always done by the General, there
is no more imperative and no simpler law for Strategy than to keep the forces
concentrated.—No portion is to be separated from the main body unless called
away by some urgent necessity. On this maxim we stand firm, and look upon it as
a guide to be depended upon. What are the reasonable grounds on which a
detachment of forces may be made we shall learn by degrees. Then we shall also
see that this principle cannot have the same general effects in every War, but
that these are different according to the means and end.
It seems incredible, and yet it has happened a
hundred times, that troops have been divided and separated merely through a
mysterious feeling of conventional manner, without any clear perception of the
reason.
If the concentration of the whole force is
acknowledged as the norm, and every division and separation as an exception
which must be justified, then not only will that folly be completely avoided,
but also many an erroneous ground for separating troops will be barred
admission.
CHAPTER XII - Assembly of
Forces in Time
We have here to deal with a conception which in
real life diffuses many kinds of illusory light. A clear definition and
development of the idea is therefore necessary, and we hope to be allowed a
short analysis.
War is the shock of two opposing forces in
collision with each other, from which it follows as a matter of course that the
stronger not only destroys the other, but carries it forward with it in its
movement. This fundamentally admits of no successive action of powers, but
makes the simultaneous application of all forces intended for the shock appear
as a primordial law of War.
So it is in reality, but only so far as the
struggle resembles also in practice a mechanical shock, but when it consists in
a lasting, mutual action of destructive forces, then we can certainly imagine a
successive action of forces. This is the case in tactics, principally because
firearms form the basis of all tactics, but also for other reasons as well. If
in a fire combat 1000 men are opposed to 500, then the gross loss is calculated
from the amount of the enemy’s force and our own; 1000 men fire twice as many
shots as 500, but more shots will take effect on the 1000 than on the 500
because it is assumed that they stand in closer order than the other. If we
were to suppose the number of hits to be double, then the losses on each side
would be equal. From the 500 there would be for example 200 disabled, and out
of the body of 1000 likewise the same; now if the 500 had kept another body of
equal number quite out of fire, then both sides would have 800 effective men; but
of these, on the one side there would be 500 men quite fresh, fully supplied
with ammunition, and in their full vigour; on the other side only 800 all alike
shaken in their order, in want of sufficient ammunition and weakened in
physical force. The assumption that the 1000 men merely on account of their
greater number would lose twice as many as 500 would have lost in their place,
is certainly not correct; therefore the greater loss which the side suffers
that has placed the half of its force in reserve, must be regarded as a
disadvantage in that original formation; further it must be admitted, that in
the generality of cases the 1000 men would have the advantage at the first
commencement of being able to drive their opponent out of his position and force
him to a retrograde movement; now, whether these two advantages are a
counterpoise to the disadvantage of finding ourselves with 800 men to a certain
extent disorganised by the combat, opposed to an enemy who is not materially
weaker in numbers and who has 500 quite fresh troops, is one that cannot be
decided by pursuing an analysis further, we must here rely upon experience, and
there will scarcely be an officer experienced in War who will not in the
generality of cases assign the advantage to that side which has the fresh
troops.
In this way it becomes evident how the employment
of too many forces in combat may be disadvantageous; for whatever advantages
the superiority may give in the first moment, we may have to pay dearly for in
the next.
But this danger only endures as long as the
disorder, the state of confusion and weakness lasts, in a word, up to the
crisis which every combat brings with it even for the conqueror. Within the
duration of this relaxed state of exhaustion, the appearance of a proportionate
number of fresh troops is decisive.
But when this disordering effect of victory stops,
and therefore only the moral superiority remains which every victory gives,
then it is no longer possible for fresh troops to restore the combat, they
would only be carried along in the general movement; a beaten Army cannot be
brought back to victory a day after by means of a strong reserve. Here we find
ourselves at the source of a highly material difference between tactics and
strategy.
The tactical results, the results within the four
corners of the battle, and before its close, lie for the most part within the
limits of that period of disorder and weakness. But the strategic result, that
is to say, the result of the total combat, of the victories realised, let them
be small or great, lies completely (beyond) outside of that period. It is only
when the results of partial combats have bound themselves together into an
independent whole, that the strategic result appears, but then, the state of
crisis is over, the forces have resumed their original form, and are now only
weakened to the extent of those actually destroyed (placed hors de combat).
The consequence of this difference is, that
tactics can make a continued use of forces, Strategy only a simultaneous one.(*)
If I cannot, in tactics, decide all by the first
success, if I have to fear the next moment, it follows of itself that I employ
only so much of my force for the success of the first moment as appears
sufficient for that object, and keep the rest beyond the reach of fire or
conflict of any kind, in order to be able to oppose fresh troops to fresh, or
with such to overcome those that are exhausted. But it is not so in Strategy.
Partly, as we have just shown, it has not so much reason to fear a reaction
after a success realised, because with that success the crisis stops; partly
all the forces strategically employed are not necessarily weakened. Only so
much of them as have been tactically in conflict with the enemy’s force, that
is, engaged in partial combat, are weakened by it; consequently, only so much
as was unavoidably necessary, but by no means all which was strategically in
conflict with the enemy, unless tactics has expended them unnecessarily. Corps
which, on account of the general superiority in numbers, have either been
little or not at all engaged, whose presence alone has assisted in the result,
are after the decision the same as they were before, and for new enterprises as
efficient as if they had been entirely inactive. How greatly such corps which
thus constitute our excess may contribute to the total success is evident in
itself; indeed, it is not difficult to see how they may even diminish
considerably the loss of the forces engaged in tactical, conflict on our side.
If, therefore, in Strategy the loss does not
increase with the number of the troops employed, but is often diminished by it,
and if, as a natural consequence, the decision in our favor is, by that means,
the more certain, then it follows naturally that in Strategy we can never
employ too many forces, and consequently also that they must be applied
simultaneously to the immediate purpose.
But we must vindicate this proposition upon
another ground. We have hitherto only spoken of the combat itself; it is the
real activity in War, but men, time, and space, which appear as the elements of
this activity, must, at the same time, be kept in view, and the results of
their influence brought into consideration also.
Fatigue, exertion, and privation constitute in War
a special principle of destruction, not essentially belonging to contest, but
more or less inseparably bound up with it, and certainly one which especially
belongs to Strategy. They no doubt exist in tactics as well, and perhaps there
in the highest degree; but as the duration of the tactical acts is shorter,
therefore the small effects of exertion and privation on them can come but
little into consideration. But in Strategy on the other hand, where time and
space, are on a larger scale, their influence is not only always very
considerable, but often quite decisive. It is not at all uncommon for a
victorious Army to lose many more by sickness than on the field of battle.
If, therefore, we look at this sphere of
destruction in Strategy in the same manner as we have considered that of fire
and close combat in tactics, then we may well imagine that everything which
comes within its vortex will, at the end of the campaign or of any other
strategic period, be reduced to a state of weakness, which makes the arrival of
a fresh force decisive. We might therefore conclude that there is a motive in
the one case as well as the other to strive for the first success with as few
forces as possible, in order to keep up this fresh force for the last.
In order to estimate exactly this conclusion,
which, in many cases in practice, will have a great appearance of truth, we
must direct our attention to the separate ideas which it contains. In the first
place, we must not confuse the notion of reinforcement with that of fresh
unused troops. There are few campaigns at the end of which an increase of force
is not earnestly desired by the conqueror as well as the conquered, and indeed
should appear decisive; but that is not the point here, for that increase of
force could not be necessary if the force had been so much larger at the first.
But it would be contrary to all experience to suppose that an Army coming fresh
into the field is to be esteemed higher in point of moral value than an Army
already in the field, just as a tactical reserve is more to be esteemed than a
body of troops which has been already severely handled in the fight. Just as
much as an unfortunate campaign lowers the courage and moral powers of an Army,
a successful one raises these elements in their value. In the generality of
cases, therefore, these influences are compensated, and then there remains over
and above as clear gain the habituation to War. We should besides look more
here to successful than to unsuccessful campaigns, because when the greater
probability of the latter may be seen beforehand, without doubt forces are
wanted, and, therefore, the reserving a portion for future use is out of the
question.
This point being settled, then the question is, Do
the losses which a force sustains through fatigues and privations increase in
proportion to the size of the force, as is the case in a combat? And to that we
answer “No.”
The fatigues of War result in a great measure from
the dangers with which every moment of the act of War is more or less
impregnated. To encounter these dangers at all points, to proceed onwards with
security in the execution of one’s plans, gives employment to a multitude of
agencies which make up the tactical and strategic service of the Army. This
service is more difficult the weaker an Army is, and easier as its numerical
superiority over that of the enemy increases. Who can doubt this? A campaign
against a much weaker enemy will therefore cost smaller efforts than against
one just as strong or stronger.
So much for the fatigues. It is somewhat different
with the privations; they consist chiefly of two things, the want of food, and
the want of shelter for the troops, either in quarters or in suitable camps.
Both these wants will no doubt be greater in proportion as the number of men on
one spot is greater. But does not the superiority in force afford also the best
means of spreading out and finding more room, and therefore more means of
subsistence and shelter?
If Buonaparte, in his invasion of Russia in 1812,
concentrated his Army in great masses upon one single road in a manner never
heard of before, and thus caused privations equally unparalleled, we must
ascribe it to his maxim that it is impossible to be too strong at the decisive point.
Whether in this instance he did not strain the principle too far is a question
which would be out of place here; but it is certain that, if he had made a
point of avoiding the distress which was by that means brought about, he had
only to advance on a greater breadth of front. Room was not wanted for the
purpose in Russia, and in very few cases can it be wanted. Therefore, from this
no ground can be deduced to prove that the simultaneous employment of very
superior forces must produce greater weakening. But now, supposing that in
spite of the general relief afforded by setting apart a portion of the Army,
wind and weather and the toils of War had produced a diminution even on the
part which as a spare force had been reserved for later use, still we must take
a comprehensive general view of the whole, and therefore ask, Will this
diminution of force suffice to counterbalance the gain in forces, which we,
through our superiority in numbers, may be able to make in more ways than one?
But there still remains a most important point to
be noticed. In a partial combat, the force required to obtain a great result
can be approximately estimated without much difficulty, and, consequently, we
can form an idea of what is superfluous. In Strategy this may be said to be
impossible, because the strategic result has no such well-defined object and no
such circumscribed limits as the tactical. Thus what can be looked upon in
tactics as an excess of power, must be regarded in Strategy as a means to give
expansion to success, if opportunity offers for it; with the magnitude of the
success the gain in force increases at the same time, and in this way the
superiority of numbers may soon reach a point which the most careful economy of
forces could never have attained.
By means of his enormous numerical superiority,
Buonaparte was enabled to reach Moscow in 1812, and to take that central
capital. Had he by means of this superiority succeeded in completely defeating
the Russian Army, he would, in all probability, have concluded a peace in
Moscow which in any other way was much less attainable. This example is used to
explain the idea, not to prove it, which would require a circumstantial
demonstration, for which this is not the place.(*)
All these reflections bear merely upon the idea of
a successive employment of forces, and not upon the conception of a reserve
properly so called, which they, no doubt, come in contact with throughout, but
which, as we shall see in the following chapter, is connected with some other
considerations.
What we desire to establish here is, that if in
tactics the military force through the mere duration of actual employment
suffers a diminution of power, if time, therefore, appears as a factor in the
result, this is not the case in Strategy in a material degree. The destructive
effects which are also produced upon the forces in Strategy by time, are partly
diminished through their mass, partly made good in other ways, and, therefore,
in Strategy it cannot be an object to make time an ally on its own account by
bringing troops successively into action.
We say on “its own account,” for the influence
which time, on account of other circumstances which it brings about but which
are different from itself can have, indeed must necessarily have, for one of
the two parties, is quite another thing, is anything but indifferent or
unimportant, and will be the subject of consideration hereafter.
The rule which we have been seeking to set forth
is, therefore, that all forces which are available and destined for a strategic
object should be simultaneously applied to it; and this application will be so
much the more complete the more everything is compressed into one act and into
one movement.
But still there is in Strategy a renewal of effort
and a persistent action which, as a chief means towards the ultimate success,
is more particularly not to be overlooked, it is the continual development of
new forces. This is also the subject of another chapter, and we only refer to
it here in order to prevent the reader from having something in view of which
we have not been speaking.
We now turn to a subject very closely connected
with our present considerations, which must be settled before full light can be
thrown on the whole, we mean the strategic reserve.
(*) See chaps. xiii., and xiv., Book III and chap. xxix. Book V.—TR.
(*) Compare Book VII., second edition, p. 56.
CHAPTER XIII - Strategic
Reserve
A reserve has two objects which are very distinct
from each other, namely, first, the prolongation and renewal of the combat, and
secondly, for use in case of unforeseen events. The first object implies the
utility of a successive application of forces, and on that account cannot occur
in Strategy. Cases in which a corps is sent to succour a point which is
supposed to be about to fall are plainly to be placed in the category of the
second object, as the resistance which has to be offered here could not have
been sufficiently foreseen. But a corps which is destined expressly to prolong
the combat, and with that object in view is placed in rear, would be only a
corps placed out of reach of fire, but under the command and at the disposition
of the General Commanding in the action, and accordingly would be a tactical
and not a strategic reserve.
But the necessity for a force ready for unforeseen
events may also take place in Strategy, and consequently there may also be a
strategic reserve, but only where unforeseen events are imaginable. In tactics,
where the enemy’s measures are generally first ascertained by direct sight, and
where they may be concealed by every wood, every fold of undulating ground, we
must naturally always be alive, more or less, to the possibility of unforeseen
events, in order to strengthen, subsequently, those points which appear too
weak, and, in fact, to modify generally the disposition of our troops, so as to
make it correspond better to that of the enemy.
Such cases must also happen in Strategy, because
the strategic act is directly linked to the tactical. In Strategy also many a
measure is first adopted in consequence of what is actually seen, or in
consequence of uncertain reports arriving from day to day, or even from hour to
hour, and lastly, from the actual results of the combats it is, therefore, an
essential condition of strategic command that, according to the degree of
uncertainty, forces must be kept in reserve against future contingencies.
In the defensive generally, but particularly in
the defence of certain obstacles of ground, like rivers, hills, &c., such
contingencies, as is well known, happen constantly.
But this uncertainty diminishes in proportion as
the strategic activity has less of the tactical character, and ceases almost
altogether in those regions where it borders on politics.
The direction in which the enemy leads his columns
to the combat can be perceived by actual sight only; where he intends to pass a
river is learnt from a few preparations which are made shortly before; the line
by which he proposes to invade our country is usually announced by all the
newspapers before a pistol shot has been fired. The greater the nature of the
measure the less it will take the enemy by surprise. Time and space are so considerable,
the circumstances out of which the action proceeds so public and little
susceptible of alteration, that the coming event is either made known in good
time, or can be discovered with reasonable certainty.
On the other hand the use of a reserve in this
province of Strategy, even if one were available, will always be less
efficacious the more the measure has a tendency towards being one of a general
nature.
We have seen that the decision of a partial combat
is nothing in itself, but that all partial combats only find their complete
solution in the decision of the total combat.
But even this decision of the total combat has
only a relative meaning of many different gradations, according as the force
over which the victory has been gained forms a more or less great and important
part of the whole. The lost battle of a corps may be repaired by the victory of
the Army. Even the lost battle of an Army may not only be counterbalanced by
the gain of a more important one, but converted into a fortunate event (the two
days of Kulm, August 29 and 30, 1813(*)). No one
can doubt this; but it is just as clear that the weight of each victory (the
successful issue of each total combat) is so much the more substantial the more
important the part conquered, and that therefore the possibility of repairing
the loss by subsequent events diminishes in the same proportion. In another
place we shall have to examine this more in detail; it suffices for the present
to have drawn attention to the indubitable existence of this progression.
If we now add lastly to these two considerations the
third, which is, that if the persistent use of forces in tactics always shifts
the great result to the end of the whole act, law of the simultaneous use of
the forces in Strategy, on the contrary, lets the principal result (which need
not be the final one) take place almost always at the commencement of the great
(or whole) act, then in these three results we have grounds sufficient to find
strategic reserves always more superfluous, always more useless, always more
dangerous, the more general their destination.
The point where the idea of a strategic reserve
begins to become inconsistent is not difficult to determine: it lies in the
SUPREME DECISION. Employment must be given to all the forces within the space
of the supreme decision, and every reserve (active force available) which is
only intended for use after that decision is opposed to common sense.
If, therefore, tactics has in its reserves the
means of not only meeting unforeseen dispositions on the part of the enemy, but
also of repairing that which never can be foreseen, the result of the combat,
should that be unfortunate; Strategy on the other hand must, at least as far as
relates to the capital result, renounce the use of these means. As A rule, it
can only repair the losses sustained at one point by advantages gained at
another, in a few cases by moving troops from one point to another; the idea of
preparing for such reverses by placing forces in reserve beforehand, can never
be entertained in Strategy.
We have pointed out as an absurdity the idea of a
strategic reserve which is not to co-operate in the capital result, and as it
is so beyond a doubt, we should not have been led into such an analysis as we
have made in these two chapters, were it not that, in the disguise of other
ideas, it looks like something better, and frequently makes its appearance. One
person sees in it the acme of strategic sagacity and foresight; another rejects
it, and with it the idea of any reserve, consequently even of a tactical one.
This confusion of ideas is transferred to real life, and if we would see a
memorable instance of it we have only to call to mind that Prussia in 1806 left
a reserve of 20,000 men cantoned in the Mark, under Prince Eugene of
Wurtemberg, which could not possibly reach the Saale in time to be of any use,
and that another force Of 25,000 men belonging to this power remained in East
and South Prussia, destined only to be put on a war-footing afterwards as a
reserve.
After these examples we cannot be accused of
having been fighting with windmills.
(*) Refers to the destruction of Vandamme’s column, which had been
sent unsupported to intercept the retreat of the Austrians and Prussians from
Dresden—but was forgotten by Napoleon.—EDITOR.
