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Some Principles of Maritime Strategy by Julian Stafford Corbett

J >> Julian Stafford Corbett >> Some Principles of Maritime Strategy




If the object of naval warfare is to control communications, then the
fundamental requirement is the means of exercising that control. Logically,
therefore, if the enemy holds back from battle decision, we must relegate
the battle-fleet to a secondary position, for cruisers are the means of
exercising control; the battle-fleet is but the means of preventing their
being interfered with in their work. Put it to the test of actual practice.
In no case can we exercise control by battleships alone. Their
specialisation has rendered them unfit for the work, and has made them too
costly ever to be numerous enough. Even, therefore, if our enemy had no
battle-fleet we could not make control effective with battleships alone. We
should still require cruisers specialised for the work and in sufficient
numbers to cover the necessary ground. But the converse is not true. We
could exercise control with cruisers alone if the enemy had no battle-fleet
to interfere with them.

If, then, we seek a formula that will express the practical results of our
theory, it would take some such shape as this. On cruisers depends our
exercise of control; on the battle-fleet depends the security of control.
That is the logical sequence of ideas, and it shows us that the current
maxim is really the conclusion of a logical argument in which the initial
steps must not be ignored. The maxim that the command of the sea depends on
the battle-fleet is then perfectly sound so long as it is taken to include
all the other facts on which it hangs. The true function of the
battle-fleet is to protect cruisers and flotilla at their special work. The
best means of doing this is of course to destroy the enemy's power of
interference. The doctrine of destroying the enemy's armed forces as the
paramount object here reasserts itself, and reasserts itself so strongly as
to permit for most practical purposes the rough generalisation that the
command depends upon the battle-fleet.

Of what practical use then, it may be asked, is all this hairsplitting? Why
not leave untainted the conviction that our first and foremost business is
to crush the enemy's battle-fleet, and that to this end our whole effort
should be concentrated? The answer is to point to Nelson's dilemma. It was
a dilemma which, in the golden age of naval warfare, every admiral at sea
had had to solve for himself, and it was always one of the most difficult
details of every naval war plan. If we seek to ensure the effective action
of the battle-fleet by giving it a large proportion of cruisers, by so much
do we weaken the actual and continuous exercise of control. If we seek to
make that control effective by devoting to the service a large proportion
of cruisers, by so much do we prejudice our chance of getting contact with
and defeating the enemy's battle-fleet, which is the only means of
perfecting control.

The correct solution of the dilemma will of course depend upon the
conditions of each case--mainly upon the relative strength and activity of
the hostile battle-fleet and our enemy's probable intentions. But no matter
how completely we have tabulated all the relevant facts, we can never hope
to come to a sound conclusion upon them without a just appreciation of all
the elements which go to give command, and without the power of gauging
their relative importance. This, and this alone, will ultimately settle the
vital question of what proportion of our cruiser force it is right to
devote to the battle-fleet.

If the doctrine of cruiser control be correct, then every cruiser attached
to the battle-fleet is one withdrawn from its true function. Such
withdrawals are inevitable. A squadron of battleships is an imperfect
organism unable to do its work without cruiser assistance, and since the
performance of its work is essential to cruiser freedom, some cruisers must
be sacrificed. But in what proportion? If we confine ourselves to the view
that command depends on the battle-fleet, then we shall attach to it such a
number as its commander may deem necessary to make contact with the enemy
absolutely certain and to surround himself with an impenetrable screen. If
we knew the enemy was as anxious for a decision as ourselves, such a course
might be justified. But the normal condition is that if we desire a
decision it is because we have definite hopes of success, and consequently
the enemy will probably seek to avoid one on our terms. In practice this
means that if we have perfected our arrangements for the destruction of his
main fleet he will refuse to expose it till he sees a more favourable
opportunity. And what will be the result? He remains on the defensive, and
theoretically all the ensuing period of inaction tends to fall into his
scale. Without stirring from port his fleet is doing its work. The more
closely he induces us to concentrate our cruiser force in face of his
battle-fleet, the more he frees the sea for the circulation of his own
trade, and the more he exposes ours to cruiser raids.

Experience, then, and theory alike dictate that as a general principle
cruisers should be regarded as primarily concerned with the active
occupation of communications, and that withdrawals for fleet purposes
should be reduced to the furthest margin of reasonable risk. What that
margin should be can only be decided on the circumstances of each case as
it arises, and by the personal characteristics of the officers who are
responsible. Nelson's practice was to reduce fleet cruisers lower than
perhaps any other commander. So small indeed was the margin of efficiency
he left, that in the campaign already cited, when his judgment was ripest,
one stroke of ill-luck--a chance betrayal of his position by a
neutral--availed to deprive him of the decision he sought, and to let the
enemy's fleet escape.

We arrive, then, at this general conclusion. The object of naval warfare is
to control maritime communications. In order to exercise that control
effectively we must have a numerous class of vessels specially adapted for
pursuit. But their power of exercising control is in proportion to our
degree of command, that is, to our power of preventing their operations
being interfered with by the enemy. Their own power of resistance is in
inverse proportion to their power of exercising control; that is to say,
the more numerous and better adapted they are for preying on commerce and
transports, the weaker will be their individual fighting power. We cannot
give them as a whole the power of resisting disturbance without at the same
time reducing their power of exercising control. The accepted solution of
the difficulty during the great period of Anson's school was to provide
them with a covering force of battle units specially adapted for fighting.
But here arises a correlative difficulty. In so far as we give our battle
units fighting power we deny them scouting power, and scouting is essential
to their effective operation. The battle-fleet must have eyes. Now, vessels
adapted for control of communications are also well adapted for "eyes." It
becomes the practice, therefore, to withdraw from control operations a
sufficient number of units to enable the battle-fleet to cover effectively
the operations of those that remain.

Such were the broad principles on which the inevitable dilemma always had
to be solved, and on which Anson's organisation was based. They flow
naturally from the communication theory of maritime war, and it was this
theory which then dominated naval thought, as is apparent from the
technical use of such phrases as "lines of passage and communication." The
war plans of the great strategists from Anson and Barham can always be
resolved into these simple elements, and where we find the Admiralty grip
of them loosened, we have the confusion and quite unnecessary failures of
the War of American Independence. In that mismanaged contest the cardinal
mistake was that we suffered the enemy's battle-fleets to get upon and
occupy the vital lines of "passage and communication" without first
bringing them to action, an error partly due to the unreadiness of a weak
administration, and partly to an insufficient allocation of cruisers to
secure contact at the right places.

So far, then, the principles on which our naval supremacy was built up are
clear. For the enemies with whom we had to deal Anson's system was
admirably conceived. Both Spain and France held the communication theory so
strongly, that they were content to count as success the power of
continually disturbing our control without any real attempt to secure it
for themselves. To defeat such a policy Anson's constitution and the
strategy it connoted were thoroughly well adapted and easy to work. But it
by no means follows that his doctrine is the last word. Even in his own
time complications had begun to develop which tended to confuse the
precision of his system. By the culminating year of Trafalgar there were
indications that it was getting worn out, while the new methods and
material used by the Americans in 1812 made a serious rent in it. The
disturbances then inaugurated have continued to develop, and it is
necessary to consider how seriously they have confused the problem of fleet
constitution.

Firstly, there is the general recognition, always patent to ourselves, that
by far the most drastic, economical, and effective way of securing control
is to destroy the enemy's means of interfering with it. In our own service
this "overthrow" idea always tended to assert itself so strongly, that
occasionally the means became for a time more important than the end; that
is to say, circumstances were such that on occasions it was considered
advisable to sacrifice the exercise of control for a time in order quickly
and permanently to deprive the enemy of all means of interference. When
there was reasonable hope of the enemy risking a decision this
consideration tended to override all others; but when, as in Nelson's case
in the Mediterranean, the hope was small, the exercise of control tended to
take the paramount place.

The second complexity arose from the fact that however strong might be our
battleship cover, it is impossible for it absolutely to secure cruiser
control from disturbance by sporadic attack. Isolated heavy ships, taking
advantage of the chances of the sea, could elude even the strictest
blockade, and one such ship, if she succeeded in getting upon a line of
communication, might paralyse the operations of a number of weaker units.
They must either run or concentrate, and in either case the control was
broken. If it were a squadron of heavy ships that caused the disturbance,
the practice was to detach against it a division of the covering
battle-fleet. But it was obviously highly inconvenient and contrary to the
whole idea on which the constitution of the fleet was based to allow every
slight danger to cruiser control to loosen the cohesion of the main fleet.

It was necessary, then, to give cruiser lines some power of resistance.
This necessity once admitted, there seemed no point at which you could stop
increasing the fighting power of your cruisers, and sooner or later, unless
some means of checking the process were found, the distinction between
cruisers and battleships would practically disappear. Such a means was
found in what may be called the "Intermediate" ship. Frigates did indeed
continue to increase in size and fighting power throughout the remainder of
the sailing era, but it was not only in this manner that the power of
resistance was gained. The evil results of the movement were checked by the
introduction of a supporting ship, midway between frigates and true
ships-of-the-line. Sometimes classed as a battleship, and taking her place
in the line, the 50-gun ship came to be essentially a type for stiffening
cruiser squadrons. They most commonly appear as the flagships of cruiser
commodores, or stationed in terminal waters or at focal points where
sporadic raids were likely to fall and be most destructive. The strategical
effect of the presence of such a vessel in a cruiser line was to give the
whole line in some degree the strength of the intermediate ship; for any
hostile cruiser endeavouring to disturb the line was liable to have to deal
with the supporting ship, while if a frigate and a 50-gun ship got together
they were a match even for a small ship-of-the-line.

In sailing days, of course, this power of the supporting ship was weak
owing to the imperfection of the means of distant communication between
ships at sea and the non-existence of such means beyond extreme range of
vision. But as wireless telegraphy develops it is not unreasonable to
expect that the strategic value of the supporting or intermediate ship will
be found greater than it ever was in sailing days, and that for dealing
with sporadic disturbance the tendency will be for a cruiser line to
approximate more and more in power of resistance to that of its strongest
unit.

For fleet service a cruiser's power of resistance was hardly less valuable;
for though we speak of fleet cruisers as the eyes of the fleet, their
purpose is almost equally to blindfold the enemy. Their duty is not only to
disclose the movements of the enemy, but also to act as a screen to conceal
our own. The point was specially well marked in the blockades, where the
old 50-gun ships are almost always found with the inshore cruiser squadron,
preventing that squadron being forced by inquisitive frigates. Important as
this power of resistance in the screen was in the old days, it is tenfold
more important now, and the consequent difficulty of keeping cruisers
distinct from battleships is greater than ever. The reason for this is best
considered under the third and most serious cause of complexity.

The third cause is the acquisition by the flotilla of battle power. It is a
feature of naval warfare that is entirely new.[10] For all practical
purposes it was unknown until the full development of the mobile torpedo.
It is true that the fireship as originally conceived was regarded as having
something of the same power. During the Dutch wars--the heyday of its
vogue--its assigned power was on some occasions actually realised, as in
the burning of Lord Sandwich's flagship at the battle of Solebay, and the
destruction of the Spanish-Dutch fleet at Palermo by Duquesne. But as the
"nimbleness" of great-ships increased with the ripening of seamanship and
naval architecture, the fireship as a battle weapon became almost
negligible, while a fleet at anchor was found to be thoroughly defensible
by its own picket-boats. Towards the middle of the eighteenth century
indeed the occasions on which the fireship could be used for its special
purpose was regarded as highly exceptional, and though the type was
retained till the end of the century, its normal functions differed not at
all from those of the rest of the flotilla of which it then formed part.

[10] But not without analogous precedent. In the later Middle Ages small
craft were assigned the function in battle of trying to wedge up the
rudders of great ships or bore holes between wind and water. See Fighting
Instructions (Navy Record Society), p. 13.

Those functions, as we have seen, expressed the cruising idea in its purest
sense. It was numbers and mobility that determined flotilla types rather
than armament or capacity for sea-endurance. Their primary purpose was to
control communications in home and colonial waters against weakly armed
privateers. The type which these duties determined fitted them adequately
for the secondary purpose of inshore and despatch work with a fleet. It
was, moreover, on the ubiquity which their numbers gave them, and on their
power of dealing with unarmed or lightly armed vessels, that we relied for
our first line of defence against invasion. These latter duties were of
course exceptional, and the Navy List did not carry as a rule sufficient
numbers for the purpose. But a special value of the class was that it was
capable of rapid and almost indefinite expansion from the mercantile
marine. Anything that could carry a gun had its use, and during the period
of the Napoleonic threat the defence flotilla rose all told to considerably
over a thousand units.

Formidable and effective as was a flotilla of this type for the ends it was
designed to serve, it obviously in no way affected the security of a
battle-fleet. But so soon as the flotilla acquired battle power the whole
situation was changed, and the old principles of cruiser design and
distribution were torn to shreds. The battle-fleet became a more imperfect
organism than ever. Formerly it was only its offensive power that required
supplementing. The new condition meant that unaided it could no longer
ensure its own defence. It now required screening, not only from
observation, but also from flotilla attack. The theoretical weakness of an
arrested offensive received a practical and concrete illustration to a
degree that war had scarcely ever known. Our most dearly cherished
strategical traditions were shaken to the bottom. The "proper place" for
our battle-fleet had always been "on the enemy's coasts," and now that was
precisely where the enemy would be best pleased to see it. What was to be
done? So splendid a tradition could not lightly be laid aside, but the
attempt to preserve it involved us still deeper in heresy. The vital, most
difficult, and most absorbing problem has become not how to increase the
power of a battle-fleet for attack, which is a comparatively simple matter,
but how to defend it. As the offensive power of the flotilla developed, the
problem pressed with an almost bewildering intensity. With every increase
in the speed and sea-keeping power of torpedo craft, the problem of the
screen grew more exacting. To keep the hostile flotilla out of night range
the screen must be flung out wider and wider, and this meant more and more
cruisers withdrawn from their primary function. And not only this. The
screen must not only be far flung, but it must be made as far as possible
impenetrable. In other words, its own power of resistance must be increased
all along the line. Whole squadrons of armoured cruisers had to be attached
to battle-fleets to support the weaker members of the screen. The crying
need for this type of ship set up a rapid movement for increasing their
fighting power, and with it fell with equal rapidity the economic
possibility of giving the cruiser class its essential attribute of numbers.

As an inevitable result we find ourselves involved in an effort to restore
to the flotilla some of its old cruiser capacity, by endowing it with gun
armament, higher sea-keeping power, and facilities for distant
communication, all at the cost of specialisation and of greater economic
strain. Still judged by past experience, some means of increasing numbers
in the cruising types is essential, nor is it clear how it is possible to
secure that essential in the ranks of the true cruiser. No point has been
found at which it was possible to stop the tendency of this class of vessel
to increase in size and cost, or to recall it to the strategical position
it used to occupy. So insecure is the battle-squadron, so imperfect as a
self-contained weapon has it become, that its need has overridden the old
order of things, and the primary function of the cruising ship inclines to
be no longer the exercise of control under cover of the battle-fleet. The
battle-fleet now demands protection by the cruising ship, and what the
battle-fleet needs is held to be the first necessity.

Judged by the old naval practice, it is an anomalous position to have
reached. But the whole naval art has suffered a revolution beyond all
previous experience, and it is possible the old practice is no longer a
safe guide. Driven by the same necessities, every naval Power is following
the same course. It may be right, it may be wrong; no one at least but the
ignorant or hasty will venture to pass categorical judgment. The best we
can do is to endeavour to realise the situation to which, in spite of all
misgivings, we have been forced, and to determine its relations to the
developments of the past.

It is undoubtedly a difficult task. As we have seen, there have prevailed
in the constitution of fleets at various times several methods of
expressing the necessities of naval war. The present system differs from
them all. On the one hand, we have the fact that the latest developments of
cruiser power have finally obliterated all logical distinction between
cruisers and battleships, and we thus find ourselves hand in hand with the
fleet constitution of the old Dutch wars. On the other, however, we have
armoured cruisers organised in squadrons and attached to battle-fleets not
only for strategical purposes, but also with as yet undeveloped tactical
functions in battle. Here we come close to the latest development of the
sailing era, when "Advanced" or "Light" squadrons began to appear in the
organisation of battle-fleets.

The system arose towards the end of the eighteenth century in the
Mediterranean, where the conditions of control called for so wide a
dispersal of cruisers and so great a number of them, that it was almost
imperative for a battle-squadron in that sea to do much of its own
scouting. It was certainly for this purpose that the fastest and lightest
ships-of-the-line were formed into a separate unit, and the first
designation it received was that of "Observation Squadron." It remained for
Nelson to endeavour to endow it with a tactical function, but his idea was
never realised either by himself or any of his successors.

Side by side with this new element in the organisation of a battle-fleet,
which perhaps is best designated as a "Light Division," we have another
significant fact. Not only was it not always composed entirely of
ships-of-the-line, especially in the French service, but in 1805, the year
of the full development, we have Sir Richard Strachan using the heavy
frigates attached to his battle-squadron as a "Light Division," and giving
them a definite tactical function. The collapse of the French Navy put a
stop to further developments of either idea. Whither they would have led we
cannot tell. But it is impossible to shut our eyes to the indication of a
growing tendency towards the system that exists at present. It is difficult
at least to ignore the fact that both Nelson and Strachan in that
culminating year found the actuality of war calling for something for which
there was then no provision in the constitution of the fleet, but which it
does contain to-day. What Nelson felt for was a battleship of cruiser
speed. What Strachan desired was a cruiser fit to take a tactical part in a
fleet action. We have them both, but with what result? Anson's
specialisation of types has almost disappeared, and our present fleet
constitution is scarcely to be distinguished from that of the seventeenth
century. We retain the three-fold nomenclature, but the system itself has
really gone. Battleships grade into armoured cruisers, armoured cruisers
into protected cruisers. We can scarcely detect any real distinction except
a twofold one between vessels whose primary armament is the gun and vessels
whose primary armament is the torpedo. But even here the existence of a
type of cruiser designed to act with flotillas blurs the outline, while, as
we have seen, the larger units of the flotilla are grading up to cruiser
level.

We are thus face to face with a situation which has its closest counterpart
in the structureless fleets of the seventeenth century. That naval thought
should have so nearly retraced its steps in the course of two centuries is
curious enough, but it is still more striking when we consider how widely
the underlying causes differ in each case. The pressure which has forced
the present situation is due most obviously to two causes. One is the
excessive development of the "intermediate" ship originally devised for
purposes of commerce protection, and dictated by a menace which the
experience of the American War had taught us to respect. The other is the
introduction of the torpedo, and the consequent vulnerability of
battle-squadrons that are not securely screened. Nothing of the kind had
any influence on the fleet constitution of the seventeenth century. But if
we seek deeper, there is a less obvious consideration which for what it is
worth is too striking to be ignored.

It has been suggested above that the constitution of fleets appears to have
some more or less recognisable relation to the prevalent theory of war.
Now, amongst all our uncertainty we can assert with confidence that the
theory which holds the field at the present day bears the closest possible
resemblance to that which dominated the soldier-admirals of the Dutch war.
It was the "Overthrow" theory, the firm faith in the decisive action as the
key of all strategical problems. They carried it to sea with them from the
battlefields of the New Model Army, and the Dutch met them squarely. In the
first war at least their commerce had to give place to the exigencies of
throwing into the battle everything that could affect the issue. It is not
of course pretended that this attitude was dictated by any clearly
conceived theory of absolute war. It was due rather to the fact that, owing
to the relative geographical conditions, all attempts to guard trade
communications were useless without the command of the home waters in the
North Sea, and the truth received a clinching moral emphasis from the
British claim to the actual dominion of the Narrow Seas. It was, in fact, a
war which resembled rather the continental conditions of territorial
conquest than the naval procedure that characterised our rivalry with
France.

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President Obama teams up with one of Marvel's greatest heroes, reports Alison Flood
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

Murder One closing so did we commit this crime?

Barack Obama is teaming up with Spider-Man in a new comic from Marvel, which will see the future president exchanging a fist-bump with Peter Parker's alter ego.

The five-page story takes place in Washington DC on inauguration day, when one of Spidey's oldest enemies, the Chameleon, attempts to stop Obama's swearing-in ceremony. Fortunately, Peter Parker is covering the event as a photographer, and jumps in to save the day.

"Ya hear that, Chameleon? The president-elect here just appointed me ... secretary of shuttin' you up," Spider-Man says as he thwacks the Chameleon in the face. "I hope this doesn't ruin the inauguration for you," he tells Obama, as the Chameleon is led away by security officials. "Honestly, I'm more upset by the Chameleon's shockingly deficient understanding of the electoral process," Obama replies.

Spidey then cedes the limelight to Obama. "This is your day, after all, and I know it wouldn't look good to be seen palling around with me," he says, in a nod to Sarah Palin's comment that the then presidential candidate had been "palling around with terrorists".

The story, written by Zeb Wells and illustrated by Todd Nauck and Frank D'Armata, will appear as a bonus feature in Amazing Spider-Man 583, which goes on sale on 14 January.

"When we heard that president-elect Obama is a collector of Spider-Man comics, we knew that these two historic figures had to meet in our comics' Marvel Universe," said Marvel's editor-in-chief Joe Quesada. "A Spider-Man fan moving into the Oval Office is an event that must be commemorated in the pages of Amazing Spider-Man."

In October, graphic novel biographies of Obama and his then rival John McCain were published by IDW. April will see Michelle Obama appearing in the Female Force comic book series.

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Poetry Workshop creature features

For many years my local corner shop displayed a large sign in its window telling local residents to "use us or lose us!" It always looked a rather toothless threat to me. After all, if I didn't use them, what difference would it make to me if they weren't there? And surely a corner shop, one that had been there for years, would have enough customers to survive without recourse to such apocalyptic warning? But it didn't and was soon converted into flats.

This community shop was destroyed not so much by the pressures of the supermarkets or people's commuting patterns, but simply by customer apathy. It's something to think about as crime writers and readers across the world mourn the imminent passing of Maxim Jakubowski's celebrated Charing Cross Road bookshop in London, Murder One.

Apathy is a strange word to connect to a bookstore that thrives on passion. It's noticeable when you walk through the door, when you speak to the friendly, knowledgeable staff, when you look at the shelves and see the vast range of titles on offer. This isn't your regular kind of bookstore: the first time I visited spent a whole lunch break looking up and down, from floor to ceiling from table to table; it was an hour that changed my perception of both crime writing and of bookselling.

Murder One was – and for a few weeks will remain – a shop that took crime seriously. Not in the sense that it intellectualised it, or made unsubstantiated claims for its importance, but in the way that it treated crime writing with the respect it was due. With a genre that has so many off-shoots, branches and sub-genres, it took a shop of Murder One's calibre to show just how diverse, interesting and mentally stimulating crime could be – far more than the guilty pleasure I had, until then, considered it.

Thanks to judicious recommendations, enticing table displays and hours of foraging among the stacks, I discovered writers that I would never have picked up, let alone read. You could always get the latest blockbuster, but delve a little deeper and you'd find books that were not stocked anywhere else, novels that, like the perfect crime, were hidden from public view. The Martin Beck novels by Sjöwall & Wahlöö – probably my favourite sequence of novels in any genre – were introduced to me via Murder One, as were Kem Nunn, Sue Grafton, and Henning Mankell. It's also the staff of Murder One who piqued my interest in the inimitable Fred Vargas, and I can't thank them enough for the introduction.

Inclusive and without snobbery, Murder One amply demonstrated that the best bookshops are places not just of commerce, but of community; places that make feel you belong. It's the kind of store that bibliophiles dream about: well-stocked, well-staffed and shabby enough to lose days browsing within. It's just unfortunate that such shops don't have enough paying customers to keep them afloat, or that these customers visit all too infrequently – something of which I'm certainly guilty.

These kinds of shops are facing a long, bloody battle – and one which, without significant reinforcements, they are likely to lose. As we hear of the travesty of another brilliant independent going down, we'll mourn the loss, wring our hands and damn Amazon and the supermarkets and Waterstone's. Yet perhaps the most important detail we'll probably keep under wraps: the last time we actually spent any money there.

Murder One closing its doors for the final time is undoubtedly a .38 shell for independent bookshops, but whether it's body blow or a warning shot all depends upon us, the consumers. No one, no matter how iconic or established, can exist on fond memories alone: just ask Woolworths. Use these shops now, because it doesn't take a master sleuth to deduce what will happen if we don't.

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