Strategy is the employment of the battle to gain the end of the War; it
must therefore give an aim to the whole military action, which must be
in accordance with the object of the War; in other words, Strategy forms
the plan of the War, and to this end it links together the series of
acts which are to lead to the final decision, that, is to say, it makes
the plans for the separate campaigns and regulates the combats to be
fought in each. As these are all things which to a great extent can only
be determined on conjectures some of which turn out incorrect, while a
number of other arrangements pertaining to details cannot be made at
all beforehand, it follows, as a matter of course, that Strategy must go
with the Army to the field in order to arrange particulars on the spot,
and to make the modifications in the general plan, which incessantly
become necessary in War. Strategy can therefore never take its hand from
the work for a moment.

That this, however, has not always been the view taken is evident from
the former custom of keeping Strategy in the cabinet and not with the
Army, a thing only allowable if the cabinet is so near to the Army that
it can be taken for the chief head-quarters of the Army.

Theory will therefore attend on Strategy in the determination of its
plans, or, as we may more properly say, it will throw a light on things
in themselves, and on their relations to each other, and bring out
prominently the little that there is of principle or rule.

If we recall to mind from the first chapter how many things of
the highest importance War touches upon, we may conceive that a
consideration of all requires a rare grasp of mind.

A Prince or General who knows exactly how to organise his War according
to his object and means, who does neither too little nor too much, gives
by that the greatest proof of his genius. But the effects of this talent
are exhibited not so much by the invention of new modes of action, which
might strike the eye immediately, as in the successful final result of
the whole. It is the exact fulfilment of silent suppositions, it is the
noiseless harmony of the whole action which we should admire, and which
only makes itself known in the total result. Inquirer who, tracing back
from the final result, does not perceive the signs of that harmony is
one who is apt to seek for genius where it is not, and where it cannot
be found.

The means and forms which Strategy uses are in fact so extremely
simple, so well known by their constant repetition, that it only appears
ridiculous to sound common sense when it hears critics so frequently
speaking of them with high-flown emphasis. Turning a flank, which has
been done a thousand times, is regarded here as a proof of the most
brilliant genius, there as a proof of the most profound penetration,
indeed even of the most comprehensive knowledge. Can there be in the
book-world more absurd productions?(*)

(*) This paragraph refers to the works of Lloyd, Buelow,
indeed to all the eighteenth-century writers, from whose
influence we in England are not even yet free.--ED.

It is still more ridiculous if, in addition to this, we reflect that the
same critic, in accordance with prevalent opinion, excludes all moral
forces from theory, and will not allow it to be concerned with
anything but the material forces, so that all must be confined to a few
mathematical relations of equilibrium and preponderance, of time and
space, and a few lines and angles. If it were nothing more than this,
then out of such a miserable business there would not be a scientific
problem for even a schoolboy.

But let us admit: there is no question here about scientific formulas
and problems; the relations of material things are all very simple; the
right comprehension of the moral forces which come into play is more
difficult. Still, even in respect to them, it is only in the highest
branches of Strategy that moral complications and a great diversity of
quantities and relations are to be looked for, only at that point where
Strategy borders on political science, or rather where the two become
one, and there, as we have before observed, they have more influence
on the "how much" and "how little" is to be done than on the form of
execution. Where the latter is the principal question, as in the single
acts both great and small in War, the moral quantities are already
reduced to a very small number.

Thus, then, in Strategy everything is very simple, but not on that
account very easy. Once it is determined from the relations of the State
what should and may be done by War, then the way to it is easy to find;
but to follow that way straightforward, to carry out the plan without
being obliged to deviate from it a thousand times by a thousand varying
influences, requires, besides great strength of character, great
clearness and steadiness of mind, and out of a thousand men who are
remarkable, some for mind, others for penetration, others again for
boldness or strength of will, perhaps not one will combine in himself
all those qualities which are required to raise a man above mediocrity
in the career of a general.

It may sound strange, but for all who know War in this respect it is a
fact beyond doubt, that much more strength of will is required to make
an important decision in Strategy than in tactics. In the latter we are
hurried on with the moment; a Commander feels himself borne along in
a strong current, against which he durst not contend without the most
destructive consequences, he suppresses the rising fears, and boldly
ventures further. In Strategy, where all goes on at a slower rate, there
is more room allowed for our own apprehensions and those of others,
for objections and remonstrances, consequently also for unseasonable
regrets; and as we do not see things in Strategy as we do at least
half of them in tactics, with the living eye, but everything must be
conjectured and assumed, the convictions produced are less powerful. The
consequence is that most Generals, when they should act, remain stuck
fast in bewildering doubts.

Now let us cast a glance at history--upon Frederick the Great's campaign
of 1760, celebrated for its fine marches and manoeuvres: a perfect
masterpiece of Strategic skill as critics tell us. Is there really
anything to drive us out of our wits with admiration in the King's first
trying to turn Daun's right flank, then his left, then again his right,
&c.? Are we to see profound wisdom in this? No, that we cannot, if we
are to decide naturally and without affectation. What we rather admire
above all is the sagacity of the King in this respect, that while
pursuing a great object with very limited means, he undertook nothing
beyond his powers, and JUST ENOUGH to gain his object. This sagacity of
the General is visible not only in this campaign, but throughout all the
three Wars of the Great King!

To bring Silesia into the safe harbour of a well-guaranteed peace was
his object.

At the head of a small State, which was like other States in most
things, and only ahead of them in some branches of administration; he
could not be an Alexander, and, as Charles XII, he would only, like him,
have broken his head. We find, therefore, in the whole of his conduct
of War, a controlled power, always well balanced, and never wanting in
energy, which in the most critical moments rises to astonishing deeds,
and the next moment oscillates quietly on again in subordination to the
play of the most subtle political influences. Neither vanity, thirst for
glory, nor vengeance could make him deviate from his course, and this
course alone it is which brought him to a fortunate termination of the
contest.

These few words do but scant justice to this phase of the genius of the
great General; the eyes must be fixed carefully on the extraordinary
issue of the struggle, and the causes which brought about that issue
must be traced out, in order thoroughly to understand that nothing but
the King's penetrating eye brought him safely out of all his dangers.

This is one feature in this great Commander which we admire in the
campaign of 1760--and in all others, but in this especially--because in
none did he keep the balance even against such a superior hostile force,
with such a small sacrifice.

Another feature relates to the difficulty of execution. Marches to turn
a flank, right or left, are easily combined; the idea of keeping a small
force always well concentrated to be able to meet the enemy on equal
terms at any point, to multiply a force by rapid movement, is as easily
conceived as expressed; the mere contrivance in these points, therefore,
cannot excite our admiration, and with respect to such simple things,
there is nothing further than to admit that they are simple.

But let a General try to do these things like Frederick the Great. Long
afterwards authors, who were eyewitnesses, have spoken of the danger,
indeed of the imprudence, of the King's camps, and doubtless, at the
time he pitched them, the danger appeared three times as great as
afterwards.

It was the same with his marches, under the eyes, nay, often under the
cannon of the enemy's Army; these camps were taken up, these marches
made, not from want of prudence, but because in Daun's system, in his
mode of drawing up his Army, in the responsibility which pressed upon
him, and in his character, Frederick found that security which
justified his camps and marches. But it required the King's boldness,
determination, and strength of will to see things in this light, and
not to be led astray and intimidated by the danger of which thirty years
after people still wrote and spoke. Few Generals in this situation would
have believed these simple strategic means to be practicable.

Again, another difficulty in execution lay in this, that the King's Army
in this campaign was constantly in motion. Twice it marched by wretched
cross-roads, from the Elbe into Silesia, in rear of Daun and pursued by
Lascy (beginning of July, beginning of August). It required to be always
ready for battle, and its marches had to be organised with a degree of
skill which necessarily called forth a proportionate amount of exertion.
Although attended and delayed by thousands of waggons, still its
subsistence was extremely difficult. In Silesia, for eight days before
the battle of Leignitz, it had constantly to march, defiling alternately
right and left in front of the enemy:--this costs great fatigue, and
entails great privations.

Is it to be supposed that all this could have been done without
producing great friction in the machine? Can the mind of a Commander
elaborate such movements with the same ease as the hand of a land
surveyor uses the astrolabe? Does not the sight of the sufferings of
their hungry, thirsty comrades pierce the hearts of the Commander and
his Generals a thousand times? Must not the murmurs and doubts which
these cause reach his ear? Has an ordinary man the courage to demand
such sacrifices, and would not such efforts most certainly demoralise
the Army, break up the bands of discipline, and, in short, undermine its
military virtue, if firm reliance on the greatness and infallibility of
the Commander did not compensate for all? Here, therefore, it is that
we should pay respect; it is these miracles of execution which we should
admire. But it is impossible to realise all this in its full force
without a foretaste of it by experience. He who only knows War from
books or the drill-ground cannot realise the whole effect of this
counterpoise in action; WE BEG HIM, THEREFORE, TO ACCEPT FROM US ON
FAITH AND TRUST ALL THAT HE IS UNABLE TO SUPPLY FROM ANY PERSONAL
EXPERIENCES OF HIS OWN.

This illustration is intended to give more clearness to the course of
our ideas, and in closing this chapter we will only briefly observe that
in our exposition of Strategy we shall describe those separate subjects
which appear to us the most important, whether of a moral or material
nature; then proceed from the simple to the complex, and conclude with
the inner connection of the whole act of War, in other words, with the
plan for a War or campaign.

OBSERVATION.

In an earlier manuscript of the second book are the following passages
endorsed by the author himself to be used for the first Chapter of the
second Book: the projected revision of that chapter not having been
made, the passages referred to are introduced here in full.

By the mere assemblage of armed forces at a particular point, a
battle there becomes possible, but does not always take place. Is that
possibility now to be regarded as a reality and therefore an effective
thing? Certainly, it is so by its results, and these effects, whatever
they may be, can never fail.

1. POSSIBLE COMBATS ARE ON ACCOUNT OF THEIR RESULTS TO BE LOOKED UPON AS
REAL ONES.

If a detachment is sent away to cut off the retreat of a flying enemy,
and the enemy surrenders in consequence without further resistance,
still it is through the combat which is offered to him by this
detachment sent after him that he is brought to his decision.

If a part of our Army occupies an enemy's province which was undefended,
and thus deprives the enemy of very considerable means of keeping up
the strength of his Army, it is entirely through the battle which our
detached body gives the enemy to expect, in case he seeks to recover the
lost province, that we remain in possession of the same.

In both cases, therefore, the mere possibility of a battle has produced
results, and is therefore to be classed amongst actual events. Suppose
that in these cases the enemy has opposed our troops with others
superior in force, and thus forced ours to give up their object without
a combat, then certainly our plan has failed, but the battle which we
offered at (either of) those points has not on that account been without
effect, for it attracted the enemy's forces to that point. And in case
our whole undertaking has done us harm, it cannot be said that these
positions, these possible battles, have been attended with no results;
their effects, then, are similar to those of a lost battle.

In this manner we see that the destruction of the enemy's military
forces, the overthrow of the enemy's power, is only to be done through
the effect of a battle, whether it be that it actually takes place, or
that it is merely offered, and not accepted.

2. TWOFOLD OBJECT OF THE COMBAT.

But these effects are of two kinds, direct and indirect they are of the
latter, if other things intrude themselves and become the object of the
combat--things which cannot be regarded as the destruction of enemy's
force, but only leading up to it, certainly by a circuitous road, but
with so much the greater effect. The possession of provinces, towns,
fortresses, roads, bridges, magazines, &c., may be the IMMEDIATE object
of a battle, but never the ultimate one. Things of this description
can never be, looked upon otherwise than as means of gaining greater
superiority, so as at last to offer battle to the enemy in such a way
that it will be impossible for him to accept it. Therefore all these
things must only be regarded as intermediate links, steps, as it were,
leading up to the effectual principle, but never as that principle
itself.

3. EXAMPLE.

In 1814, by the capture of Buonaparte's capital the object of the War
was attained. The political divisions which had their roots in Paris
came into active operation, and an enormous split left the power of the
Emperor to collapse of itself. Nevertheless the point of view from which
we must look at all this is, that through these causes the forces and
defensive means of Buonaparte were suddenly very much diminished,
the superiority of the Allies, therefore, just in the same measure
increased, and any further resistance then became IMPOSSIBLE. It was
this impossibility which produced the peace with France. If we suppose
the forces of the Allies at that moment diminished to a like extent
through external causes;--if the superiority vanishes, then at the same
time vanishes also all the effect and importance of the taking of Paris.

We have gone through this chain of argument in order to show that this
is the natural and only true view of the thing from which it derives
its importance. It leads always back to the question, What at any given
moment of the War or campaign will be the probable result of the great
or small combats which the two sides might offer to each other? In the
consideration of a plan for a campaign, this question only is decisive
as to the measures which are to be taken all through from the very
commencement.

4. WHEN THIS VIEW IS NOT TAKEN, THEN A FALSE VALUE IS GIVEN TO OTHER
THINGS.

If we do not accustom ourselves to look upon War, and the single
campaigns in a War, as a chain which is all composed of battles strung
together, one of which always brings on another; if we adopt the idea
that the taking of a certain geographical point, the occupation of an
undefended province, is in itself anything; then we are very likely to
regard it as an acquisition which we may retain; and if we look at
it so, and not as a term in the whole series of events, we do not ask
ourselves whether this possession may not lead to greater disadvantages
hereafter. How often we find this mistake recurring in military history.

We might say that, just as in commerce the merchant cannot set apart and
place in security gains from one single transaction by itself, so in
War a single advantage cannot be separated from the result of the whole.
Just as the former must always operate with the whole bulk of his means,
just so in War, only the sum total will decide on the advantage or
disadvantage of each item.

If the mind's eye is always directed upon the series of combats, so far
as they can be seen beforehand, then it is always looking in the right
direction, and thereby the motion of the force acquires that rapidity,
that is to say, willing and doing acquire that energy which is suitable
to the matter, and which is not to be thwarted or turned aside by
extraneous influences.(*)

(*) The whole of this chapter is directed against the
theories of the Austrian Staff in 1814. It may be taken as
the foundation of the modern teaching of the Prussian
General Staff. See especially von Kammer.--ED.