What are we now to understand by destruction of the enemy's Army? A
diminution of it relatively greater than that on our own side. If we
have a great superiority in numbers over the enemy, then naturally the
same absolute amount of loss on both sides is for us a smaller one than
for him, and consequently may be regarded in itself as an advantage. As
we are here considering the combat as divested of all (other) objects,
we must also exclude from our consideration the case in which the combat
is used only indirectly for a greater destruction of the enemy's force;
consequently also, only that direct gain which has been made in the
mutual process of destruction, is to be regarded as the object, for this
is an absolute gain, which runs through the whole campaign, and at the
end of it will always appear as pure profit. But every other kind of
victory over our opponent will either have its motive in other objects,
which we have completely excluded here, or it will only yield a
temporary relative advantage. An example will make this plain.

If by a skilful disposition we have reduced our opponent to such a
dilemma, that he cannot continue the combat without danger, and after
some resistance he retires, then we may say, that we have conquered
him at that point; but if in this victory we have expended just as many
forces as the enemy, then in closing the account of the campaign, there
is no gain remaining from this victory, if such a result can be called
a victory. Therefore the overcoming the enemy, that is, placing him in
such a position that he must give up the fight, counts for nothing in
itself, and for that reason cannot come under the definition of object.
There remains, therefore, as we have said, nothing over except the
direct gain which we have made in the process of destruction; but to
this belong not only the losses which have taken place in the course of
the combat, but also those which, after the withdrawal of the conquered
part, take place as direct consequences of the same.

Now it is known by experience, that the losses in physical forces in the
course of a battle seldom present a great difference between victor and
vanquished respectively, often none at all, sometimes even one bearing
an inverse relation to the result, and that the most decisive losses
on the side of the vanquished only commence with the retreat, that is,
those which the conqueror does not share with him. The weak remains of
battalions already in disorder are cut down by cavalry, exhausted men
strew the ground, disabled guns and broken caissons are abandoned,
others in the bad state of the roads cannot be removed quickly enough,
and are captured by the enemy's troops, during the night numbers lose
their way, and fall defenceless into the enemy's hands, and thus the
victory mostly gains bodily substance after it is already decided. Here
would be a paradox, if it did not solve itself in the following manner.

The loss in physical force is not the only one which the two sides
suffer in the course of the combat; the moral forces also are shaken,
broken, and go to ruin. It is not only the loss in men, horses and guns,
but in order, courage, confidence, cohesion and plan, which come into
consideration when it is a question whether the fight can be still
continued or not. It is principally the moral forces which decide here,
and in all cases in which the conqueror has lost as heavily as the
conquered, it is these alone.

The comparative relation of the physical losses is difficult to estimate
in a battle, but not so the relation of the moral ones. Two things
principally make it known. The one is the loss of the ground on which
the fight has taken place, the other the superiority of the enemy's. The
more our reserves have diminished as compared with those of the enemy,
the more force we have used to maintain the equilibrium; in this at
once, an evident proof of the moral superiority of the enemy is given
which seldom fails to stir up in the soul of the Commander a certain
bitterness of feeling, and a sort of contempt for his own troops.
But the principal thing is, that men who have been engaged for a long
continuance of time are more or less like burnt-out cinders; their
ammunition is consumed; they have melted away to a certain extent;
physical and moral energies are exhausted, perhaps their courage is
broken as well. Such a force, irrespective of the diminution in its
number, if viewed as an organic whole, is very different from what it
was before the combat; and thus it is that the loss of moral force
may be measured by the reserves that have been used as if it were on a
foot-rule.

Lost ground and want of fresh reserves, are, therefore, usually the
principal causes which determine a retreat; but at the same time we by
no means exclude or desire to throw in the shade other reasons, which
may lie in the interdependence of parts of the Army, in the general
plan, &c.

Every combat is therefore the bloody and destructive measuring of the
strength of forces, physical and moral; whoever at the close has the
greatest amount of both left is the conqueror.

In the combat the loss of moral force is the chief cause of the
decision; after that is given, this loss continues to increase until it
reaches its culminating-point at the close of the whole act. This then
is the opportunity the victor should seize to reap his harvest by the
utmost possible restrictions of his enemy's forces, the real object of
engaging in the combat. On the beaten side, the loss of all order and
control often makes the prolongation of resistance by individual units,
by the further punishment they are certain to suffer, more injurious
than useful to the whole. The spirit of the mass is broken; the original
excitement about losing or winning, through which danger was forgotten,
is spent, and to the majority danger now appears no longer an appeal to
their courage, but rather the endurance of a cruel punishment. Thus the
instrument in the first moment of the enemy's victory is weakened and
blunted, and therefore no longer fit to repay danger by danger.

This period, however, passes; the moral forces of the conquered will
recover by degrees, order will be restored, courage will revive, and in
the majority of cases there remains only a small part of the superiority
obtained, often none at all. In some cases, even, although rarely, the
spirit of revenge and intensified hostility may bring about an opposite
result. On the other hand, whatever is gained in killed, wounded,
prisoners, and guns captured can never disappear from the account.

The losses in a battle consist more in killed and wounded; those
after the battle, more in artillery taken and prisoners. The first the
conqueror shares with the conquered, more or less, but the second not;
and for that reason they usually only take place on one side of the
conflict, at least, they are considerably in excess on one side.

Artillery and prisoners are therefore at all times regarded as the
true trophies of victory, as well as its measure, because through these
things its extent is declared beyond a doubt. Even the degree of moral
superiority may be better judged of by them than by any other relation,
especially if the number of killed and wounded is compared therewith;
and here arises a new power increasing the moral effects.

We have said that the moral forces, beaten to the ground in the
battle and in the immediately succeeding movements, recover themselves
gradually, and often bear no traces of injury; this is the case with
small divisions of the whole, less frequently with large divisions; it
may, however, also be the case with the main Army, but seldom or never
in the State or Government to which the Army belongs. These estimate the
situation more impartially, and from a more elevated point of view,
and recognise in the number of trophies taken by the enemy, and their
relation to the number of killed and wounded, only too easily and well,
the measure of their own weakness and inefficiency.

In point of fact, the lost balance of moral power must not be treated
lightly because it has no absolute value, and because it does not of
necessity appear in all cases in the amount of the results at the
final close; it may become of such excessive weight as to bring down
everything with an irresistible force. On that account it may often
become a great aim of the operations of which we shall speak elsewhere.
Here we have still to examine some of its fundamental relations.

The moral effect of a victory increases, not merely in proportion to
the extent of the forces engaged, but in a progressive ratio--that is
to say, not only in extent, but also in its intensity. In a beaten
detachment order is easily restored. As a single frozen limb is easily
revived by the rest of the body, so the courage of a defeated detachment
is easily raised again by the courage of the rest of the Army as soon
as it rejoins it. If, therefore, the effects of a small victory are not
completely done away with, still they are partly lost to the enemy. This
is not the case if the Army itself sustains a great defeat; then one
with the other fall together. A great fire attains quite a different
heat from several small ones.

Another relation which determines the moral value of a victory is the
numerical relation of the forces which have been in conflict with each
other. To beat many with few is not only a double success, but shows
also a greater, especially a more general superiority, which the
conquered must always be fearful of encountering again. At the same time
this influence is in reality hardly observable in such a case. In the
moment of real action, the notions of the actual strength of the
enemy are generally so uncertain, the estimate of our own commonly so
incorrect, that the party superior in numbers either does not admit the
disproportion, or is very far from admitting the full truth, owing to
which, he evades almost entirely the moral disadvantages which would
spring from it. It is only hereafter in history that the truth, long
suppressed through ignorance, vanity, or a wise discretion, makes its
appearance, and then it certainly casts a lustre on the Army and its
Leader, but it can then do nothing more by its moral influence for
events long past.

If prisoners and captured guns are those things by which the victory
principally gains substance, its true crystallisations, then the plan of
the battle should have those things specially in view; the destruction
of the enemy by death and wounds appears here merely as a means to an
end.

How far this may influence the dispositions in the battle is not an
affair of Strategy, but the decision to fight the battle is in intimate
connection with it, as is shown by the direction given to our forces,
and their general grouping, whether we threaten the enemy's flank or
rear, or he threatens ours. On this point, the number of prisoners and
captured guns depends very much, and it is a point which, in many cases,
tactics alone cannot satisfy, particularly if the strategic relations
are too much in opposition to it.

The risk of having to fight on two sides, and the still more dangerous
position of having no line of retreat left open, paralyse the movements
and the power of resistance; further, in case of defeat, they
increase the loss, often raising it to its extreme point, that is, to
destruction. Therefore, the rear being endangered makes defeat more
probable, and, at the same time, more decisive.

From this arises, in the whole conduct of the War, especially in great
and small combats, a perfect instinct to secure our own line of retreat
and to seize that of the enemy; this follows from the conception of
victory, which, as we have seen, is something beyond mere slaughter.

In this effort we see, therefore, the first immediate purpose in the
combat, and one which is quite universal. No combat is imaginable in
which this effort, either in its double or single form, does not go hand
in hand with the plain and simple stroke of force. Even the smallest
troop will not throw itself upon its enemy without thinking of its line
of retreat, and, in most cases, it will have an eye upon that of the
enemy also.

We should have to digress to show how often this instinct is prevented
from going the direct road, how often it must yield to the difficulties
arising from more important considerations: we shall, therefore, rest
contented with affirming it to be a general natural law of the combat.

It is, therefore, active; presses everywhere with its natural weight,
and so becomes the pivot on which almost all tactical and strategic
manoeuvres turn.

If we now take a look at the conception of victory as a whole, we find
in it three elements:--

1. The greater loss of the enemy in physical power.

2. In moral power.

3. His open avowal of this by the relinquishment of his intentions.

The returns made up on each side of losses in killed and wounded, are
never exact, seldom truthful, and in most cases, full of intentional
misrepresentations. Even the statement of the number of trophies
is seldom to be quite depended on; consequently, when it is not
considerable it may also cast a doubt even on the reality of the
victory. Of the loss in moral forces there is no reliable measure,
except in the trophies: therefore, in many cases, the giving up the
contest is the only real evidence of the victory. It is, therefore, to
be regarded as a confession of inferiority--as the lowering of the
flag, by which, in this particular instance, right and superiority are
conceded to the enemy, and this degree of humiliation and disgrace,
which, however, must be distinguished from all the other moral
consequences of the loss of equilibrium, is an essential part of the
victory. It is this part alone which acts upon the public opinion
outside the Army, upon the people and the Government in both belligerent
States, and upon all others in any way concerned.

But renouncement of the general object is not quite identical with
quitting the field of battle, even when the battle has been very
obstinate and long kept up; no one says of advanced posts, when they
retire after an obstinate combat, that they have given up their object;
even in combats aimed at the destruction of the enemy's Army, the
retreat from the battlefield is not always to be regarded as a
relinquishment of this aim, as for instance, in retreats planned
beforehand, in which the ground is disputed foot by foot; all this
belongs to that part of our subject where we shall speak of the separate
object of the combat; here we only wish to draw attention to the fact
that in most cases the giving up of the object is very difficult to
distinguish from the retirement from the battlefield, and that the
impression produced by the latter, both in and out of the Army, is not
to be treated lightly.

For Generals and Armies whose reputation is not made, this is in itself
one of the difficulties in many operations, justified by circumstances
when a succession of combats, each ending in retreat, may appear as
a succession of defeats, without being so in reality, and when that
appearance may exercise a very depressing influence. It is impossible
for the retreating General by making known his real intentions to
prevent the moral effect spreading to the public and his troops, for
to do that with effect he must disclose his plans completely, which
of course would run counter to his principal interests to too great a
degree.

In order to draw attention to the special importance of this conception
of victory we shall only refer to the battle of Soor,(*) the trophies
from which were not important (a few thousand prisoners and twenty
guns), and where Frederick proclaimed his victory by remaining for five
days after on the field of battle, although his retreat into Silesia had
been previously determined on, and was a measure natural to his whole
situation. According to his own account, he thought he would hasten a
peace by the moral effect of his victory. Now although a couple of
other successes were likewise required, namely, the battle at Katholisch
Hennersdorf, in Lusatia, and the battle of Kesseldorf, before this peace
took place, still we cannot say that the moral effect of the battle of
Soor was nil.

(*) Soor, or Sohr, Sept. 30, 1745; Hennersdorf, Nov. 23,
1745; Kealteldorf, Dec. 15, 1745, all in the Second Silesian
War.

If it is chiefly the moral force which is shaken by defeat, and if the
number of trophies reaped by the enemy mounts up to an unusual height,
then the lost combat becomes a rout, but this is not the necessary
consequence of every victory. A rout only sets in when the moral force
of the defeated is very severely shaken then there often ensues a
complete incapability of further resistance, and the whole action
consists of giving way, that is of flight.

Jena and Belle Alliance were routs, but not so Borodino.

Although without pedantry we can here give no single line of separation,
because the difference between the things is one of degrees, yet still
the retention of the conception is essential as a central point to give
clearness to our theoretical ideas and it is a want in our terminology
that for a victory over the enemy tantamount to a rout, and a conquest
of the enemy only tantamount to a simple victory, there is only one and
the same word to use.