The Use of the Battle
Whatever shape the conduct of war may take in particular cases, and whatever we may also have to admit in the sequel as necessary respecting it: we have only to refer to the conception of war to be convinced of what follows:
1. The destruction of the enemy’s military force is the leading principle of war, and for the whole chapter of positive action the direct way to the aim.
2. This destruction of the enemy’s force, must be principally effected by means of battle.
3. Only great and general actions can produce great results.
4. The results will be greatest when combats unite themselves in one great battle.
5. It is only in a great general action that the general-in-chief commands in person, and it is in the nature of things, that he should place most confidence in himself.
From these truths a double law follows, the parts of which mutually support each other; namely, that the destruction of the enemy’s military force is to be sought for principally by great battles, and their results; and that the chief object of great battles must be the destruction of the enemy’s military force.
No doubt the annihilation-principle is to be found more or less in other means—granted there are instances in which through favourable circumstances in a minor combat, the destruction of the enemy’s forces has been disproportionately great (Maxen), and on the other hand in a general action, the taking or holding a single post may be predominant in importance as an object—but as a general rule it remains a paramount truth, that general actions are only fought with a view to the destruction of the enemy’s army, and that this destruction can only be effected by a great battle.
The general action may therefore be regarded as war concentrated, as the centre of gravity of the whole war or campaign. As the sun’s rays unite in the focus of the concave mirror in a perfect image, and in the fulness of their heat; so the forces and circumstances of war, unite in a focus in the great battle for one concentrated utmost effort.
The very assemblage of forces in one great whole, which takes place more or less in all wars, indicates an intention to strike a decisive blow with this whole, either voluntarily as assailant, or constrained by the opposite party as defender. When this great blow does not follow, then some modifying, and retarding motives have attached themselves to the original motive of hostility, and have weakened, altered or completely checked the movement. But also, even in this condition of mutual inaction which has been the key-note in so many wars, the idea of a possible general action serves always for both parties as a point of direction, a distant focus in the construction of their plans. The more war is war in earnest, the more it is a venting of animosity and hostility, a mutual struggle to overpower, so much the more will all activities join in deadly contest, and also the more prominent in importance becomes a general action.
In general, when the object aimed at is of a great and positive nature, one therefore in which the interests of the enemy are deeply concerned, the general action offers itself as the most natural means; it is, therefore, also the best, as we shall show more plainly hereafter: and, as a rule, when it is evaded from aversion to the great decision, punishment follows.
The positive object belongs to the offensive, and therefore the general action is also more particularly his means. But without examining the conception of offensive and defensive more minutely here, we must still observe that, even for the defender in most cases, there is no other effectual means with which to meet the exigencies of his situation, to solve the problem presented to him.
The general action is the bloodiest way of solution. True, it is not merely reciprocal slaughter, and its effect is more a killing of the enemy’s courage than of the enemy’s soldiers, as we shall see more plainly in the next chapter,—but still blood is always its price, and slaughter its character as well as name; from this the man in the general recoils with horror.
But the soul of the man trembles still more at the thought of the decision to be given with one single blow. In one point of space and time all action is here pressed together, and at such a moment there is stirred up within us a dim feeling as if in this narrow space all our forces could not develop themselves and come into activity, as if we had already gained much by mere time, although this time owes us nothing at all. This is all mere illusion, but even as illusion it is something, and the same weakness which seizes upon the man in every other momentous decision may well be felt more powerfully by the general, when he must stake interests of such enormous weight upon one venture.
Thus, then, statesmen and generals have at all times endeavoured to avoid the decisive battle, seeking either to attain their aim without it, or dropping that aim unperceived. Writers on history and theory have then busied themselves to discover in some other feature in these campaigns and wars not only an equivalent for the decision by battle which has been avoided, but even a higher art. In this way, in the present age, it came very near to this, that a general action in the economy of war was looked upon as an evil, rendered necessary through some error committed, as a morbid paroxysm to which a regular prudent system of war would never lead: only those generals were to deserve laurels who knew how to carry on war without spilling blood, and the theory of war—a real business for Brahmins—was to be specially directed to teaching this.
Contemporary history has destroyed this illusion, but no one can guarantee that it will not sooner or later reproduce itself, and lead those at the head of affairs to perversities which please man’s weakness, and therefore have the greater affinity for his nature. Perhaps, by-and-bye, Buonaparte’s campaigns and battles will be looked upon as mere acts of barbarism and stupidity, and we shall once more turn with satisfaction and confidence to the dress-sword of obsolete and musty institutions and forms. If theory gives a caution against this, then it renders a real service to those who listen to its warning voice. May we succeed in lending a hand to those who in our dear native land are called upon to speak with authority on these matters, that we may be their guide into this field of inquiry, and excite them to make a candid examination of the subject.
Not only the conception of war but experience also leads us to look for a great decision only in a great battle. From time immemorial, only great victories have led to great successes on the offensive side in the absolute form, on the defensive side in a manner more or less so. Even Buonaparte would not have seen the day of Ulm, unique in its kind, if he had shrunk from shedding blood; it is rather to be regarded as only a second crop from the victorious events in his preceding campaigns. It is not only bold, rash, and presumptuous generals who have sought to complete their work by the great venture of a decisive battle, but also fortunate ones as well; and we may rest satisfied with the answer which they have thus given to this vast question.
Let us not hear of generals who conquer without bloodshed. If a bloody slaughter is a horrible sight, then that is a ground for paying more respect to war, but not for making the sword we wear blunter and blunter by degrees from feelings of humanity, until some one steps in with one that is sharp and lops off the arm from our body.
We look upon a great battle as a principal decision, but certainly not as the only one necessary for a war or a campaign. Instances of a great battle deciding a whole campaign, have only been frequent in modern times, those which have decided a whole war, belong to the class of rare exceptions.
A decision which is brought about by a great battle depends naturally not on the battle itself, that is on the mass of combatants engaged in it, and on the intensity of the victory, but also on a number of other relations between the military forces opposed to each other, and between the states to which these forces belong. But at the same time that the principal mass of the force available is brought to the great duel, a great decision is also brought on, the extent of which may perhaps be foreseen in many respects, though not in all, and which although not the only one, still is the first decision, and as such, has an influence on those which succeed. Therefore a deliberately planned great battle, according to its relations, is more or less, but always in some degree, to be regarded as the leading means and central point of the whole system. The more a general takes the field in the true spirit of war as well as of every contest, with the feeling and the idea that is the conviction that he must and will conquer, the more he will strive to throw every weight into the scale in the first battle, hope and strive to win everything by it. Buonaparte hardly ever entered upon a war without thinking of conquering his enemy at once in the first battle; and Frederick the Great, although in a more limited sphere, and with interests of less magnitude at stake, thought the same when, at the head of a small army, he sought to disengage his rear from the Russians or the Federal Imperial Army.
The decision which is given by the great battle, depends, we have said partly on the battle itself, that is on the number of troops engaged, and partly on the magnitude of the success.
How the general may increase its importance in respect to the first point is evident in itself, and we shall merely observe that according to the importance of the great battle, the number of cases which are decided along with it increases, and that therefore generals who, confident in themselves have been lovers of great decisions, have always managed to make use of the greater part of their troops in it without neglecting on that account essential points elsewhere.
As regards the consequences, or speaking more correctly, the effectiveness of a victory, that depends chiefly on four points:
1.—On the tactical form adopted as the order of battle.
2.—On the nature of the country.
3.—On the relative proportions of the three arms.
4.—On the relative strength of the two armies.
A battle with parallel fronts and without any action against a flank will seldom yield as great success as one in which the defeated army has been turned, or compelled to change front more or less. In a broken or hilly country the successes are likewise smaller, because the power of the blow is everywhere less.
If the cavalry of the vanquished is equal or superior to that of the victor, then the effects of the pursuit are diminished, and by that great part of the results of victory are lost.
Finally it is easy to understand that if superior numbers are on the side of the conqueror, and he uses his advantage in that respect to turn the flank of his adversary, or compel him to change front, greater results will follow than if the conqueror had been weaker in numbers than the vanquished. The battle of Leuthen may certainly be quoted as a practical refutation of this principle, but we beg permission for once to say what we otherwise do not like, no rule without an exception.
In all these ways, therefore, the commander has the means of giving his battle a decisive character; certainly he thus exposes himself to an increased amount of danger, but his whole line of action is subject to that dynamic law of the moral world.
There is then nothing in war which can be put in comparison with the great battle in point of importance, and the acme of strategic ability is displayed in the provision of means for this great event in the skilful determination of place and time, and direction of troops, and in the good use of success.
But it does not follow from the importance of these things that they must be of a very complicated and recondite nature; all is here rather simple, the art of combination by no means great; but there is great need of quickness in judging of circumstances, need of energy, steady resolution, a youthful spirit of enterprise—heroic qualities, to which we shall yet have often to refer. There is, therefore, but little wanted here of that which can be taught by books, and there is much that, if it can be taught at all, must come to the general through some other medium than printer’s type.
The impulse towards a great battle, the voluntary, sure progress to it, must proceed from a feeling of innate power and a clear sense of the necessity; in other words, it must proceed from inborn courage and from perceptions sharpened by contact with the higher interests of life.
Great examples are the best teachers, but it is certainly a misfortune if a cloud of theoretical prejudices comes between, for even the sunbeam is refracted and tinted by the clouds. To destroy such prejudices, which many a time rise and spread themselves like a miasma, is an imperative duty of theory, for the misbegotten offspring of human reason can also be in turn destroyed by pure reason.