Airpower Theory and Practice (Strategic Studies S)

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AIRPOWER:
THEORY AND PRACTICE
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AIRPOWER
Theory and Practice
Edited by
JOHN GOOCH
FRANK CASS • LONDON

First published in 1995 in Great Britain by
FRANK CASS PUBLISHERS
Crown House, 47 Chase Side
Southgate, London N14 5BP
and in the United States of America by

FRANKCASS
c/o International Specialized Book Services, Inc.
5824 N.E. Hassalo Street
Portland, Oregon 97213-3644
Copyright © 1995 Frank Cass & Co. Ltd.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Airpower: Theory and Practice. -

(Strategic Studies, ISSN 0140-2390)
I. Gooch, John II. Series
258.4
ISBN 0-7146-4657-1 (cloth)

ISBN 0-7146-4186-3 (paper)
ISBN 978-1-135-20846-2 (ebk)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Airpower: theory and practice I edited by John Gooch.

p. em.
"This group of studies first appeared in a special issue on 'Air
theory and practice' of the Journal of strategic studies, vol. 18,
no. 1"-T.p. verso.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-7146-4657-1 (cloth.- ISBN 0-7146-4186-3 (paper)
I. Air power. 2. Air warfare-History. I. Gooch, John.
II. Journal of strategic studies. Vol. 18, no. I (Supplement)
UG630.A3826 1995
358.4-dc20 95-14978
CIP
This group of studies first appeared in a Special Issue on 'Airpower:

Theory and Practice' of The Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol. 18, No. I
(March 1995) published by Frank Cass & Co. Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, phocopying, recording or
otherwise, without the prior permission of Frank Cass and Company
Limited
Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham & Eastboume
Contents
Special Issue on
AIRPOWER: Theory and Practice
Introduction John Gooch
Proselytiser and Prophet: Alexander P. de Seversky

and American Airpower Phillip S. Meilinger 7
Institution and Airpower: The Making of the

French Air Force Pascal Vennesson 36
The Luftwaffe and the Coalition Air War

in Spain, 1936-1939 James S. Corum 68
British and American Approaches to Strategic

Bombing: Their Origins and Implementation
in the World War II Combined Bomber
Offensive Tami Davis Biddle 91
'Precision' and 'Area' Bombing:

Who Did Which, and When? W. Hays Parks 145
Atlantic Airpower Co-operation, 1941-1945 John Buckley 175
Strategic Bombers over the Missile Horizon,

1957-1963 Peter J. Roman 198
Airpower vs. Electricity: Electric Power as

a Target for Strategic Air Operations Daniel T. Kuehl. 237
Notes on Contributors 267
Index 269
Introduction
JOHN GOOCH
With the advent of the aeroplane, twentieth century warfare moved into a
third dimension. First used in action by Italy during the Libyan War of
1911-12, aeroplanes played an important part in the First World War and a
major- and still controversial- role in the Second World War. The manned
bomber, central to all theories of strategic air power, remained unchallenged
as the most powerful means of delivering ordnance from the air until the
advent of the intercontinental ballistic missile in 1957. Thereafter airpower
has had strenuously to justify its place as a co-equal in the defence triad both
in budgetary and in operational terms. To do this, airmen have deployed
history to justify their claims to parity with -or even pre-eminence over- the
other services. They have also sought to demonstrate that late twentieth
century wars have been won by strategic air power - or could have been so
won had the air ann been properly and freely used. The eight essays collected
together here range widely among these themes, casting fresh light on some
of the continuing controversies and offering insights into new areas of air-
power history.
The aeroplane was still a fledgling when General Giulio Doubet (1869-
1930) began to theorise about its properties and potential. After the First
World War, the task of explaining and extolling airpower was largely under-
taken not by Douhetian theorists but by proselytisers and propagandists,
among whose number stands the hitherto neglected figure of Alexander de
Seversky (1894-1974). Philip S. Meilinger's study of Seversky, a Russian
World War I fighter ace who settled America in 1918, accords him the crucial
role of bridging the gap between Doubet and Brigadier General William
('Billy') Mitchell (1879-1936) on the one hand and the early nuclear
theorists on the other. Never an original thinker, Seversky's status and impor-
tance derived from his considerable technological expertise and his extra-
ordinary polemical vigour. His aim was nothing less than to topple Mahanian
navalism from its dominant position in US security policy and to set airpower
in its place. Although not primarily a theorist, Seversky was able to extend
and refine some parts of the canon of Douhetian thought. The phenomenal
popularity of his book Victory Through Air Power, published in 1942 and
read by perhaps five million Americans, makes him one of the most impor-
2 AIRPOWER: THEORY AND PRACTICE
tant of those crying their wares in the early twentieth century market for
strategic ideas.
Airpower began its military life as a branch of the Army, and the attempts
made by airmen of different nationalities to break free of that subordination
have been a marked feature of its development in the first half of the
twentieth century. Pascal Venesson's case study of the French Air Force
explores the early history of an arm which, although nominally independent
from 1934, remained in thrall to the military until France collapsed in 1940.
Its missions - observation and reconnaissance, especially for the artillery -
subordinated it to the war on the ground, and its aeroplanes - most notably
the hybrid BCR multi-role plane -reflected its confused sense of purpose. In
the circumstances it is perhaps scarcely surprising that its doctrine remained
cloudy.
Technological developments alone fail to account for the particular path
taken by the French Air Force. Nor does the international situation faced by
France of itself provide a satisfactory explanation, since she might justifiably
have responded to the German and Italian threats by developing a Douhetian
bomber doctrine. In fact, Doubet and Douhetism never took root in France,
though French soldiers and sailors had certainly read its institutional meaning
aright in fearing that an independent air arm wedded to the primacy of
strategic bombing might seek to force them into subordination. As
M. Vennesson demonstrates in a contribution in which there is much of
methodological importance for airpower historians of other countries, the
source of the unhappy and ultimately fatal posture assumed by the interwar
French Air Force is to be found in the institutional matrix of defence policy-
making during the last two decades of the Third Republic.
Between the wars, airpower was most used as a cheap and effective addi-
tive in small wars and colonial policing; although it played an important role
in the Sino-Japanese War from 1931, only the few specialist observers gave
it very much more than a cursory glance there. In the West, strategic airpower
showed something of its potential only once, during the Spanish Civil War
(1936--39). The German air campaign in Spain has hitherto been regarded
either as an overture to World War II or, less commonly, as a postscript to
World War I. In his provocative study, James S. Corum departs from both
traditions to present the Luftwaffe's actions in Spain from a third perspective
- that of the first modem limited war.
In the war against the Republic, airpower was of central importance.
Professor Corum demonstrates that the success of every major defensive or
offensive operation depended on both the possession and the effective use of
air superiority. That superiority did not initially spring from numerical pre-
ponderance: in the absence of any qualitative or quantitative advantage to
either side, Nationalist Spain gained air superiority in spring 1937 chiefly
INTRODUCTION 3
thanks to superior German war doctrine. Nor were the Germans merely
masterly in the air: the Luftwaffe's commanders were no less skilful in
managing their collaboration with Franco. Latterly several authors have
allowed the German armed forces great operational virtuosity but have
charged them as seriously deficient in the realms of strategy. The Spanish
episode analysed here now provides some reason to reconsider those charges.
Strategic airpower came of age between 1940 and 1945 as Allied bombers
took to the air in ever greater numbers in the bombing campaign against
Germany. In much the same way as Allied strategy in the First World War
was for a long time presented as a struggle between 'Easterners' and
'Westerners', so the combined bomber offensive has commonly been
portrayed as sharply diverging in both preference and practice between
British 'area bombing' and American 'precision bombing'. Tami Davis
Biddle's innovative study in comparative airpower history takes the origins
of these strategies back to the formative experience of 1914-18 and to the
quite different interpretations subsequently given to a very limited body of
experience by the two air forces. The role of Marshal of the Royal Air Force
Lord Trenchard (1873-1956) in giving pride of place to the moral effect of
bombing as essence of British interwar air doctrine is well known. What is
very much less well known is how much the American preference for the
systematic bombing of industrial targets goes back to a design - the Gorrell
plan of 1917 - which borrowed heavily from a model first devised by the
British but then discarded by them in favour of the Trenchardian dogma. This
strategy was reinforced by the American bombing survey of World War I,
which found that bombing had had no decisive effects on German morale.
The potential to mislead as heuristic concepts which the terms 'area bomb-
ing' and 'precision bombing' possess becomes very clear as Dr Biddle traces
the twists and turns of British and American airpower doctrine before and
during World War II. During the 1920s- thanks partly to the proselytising
influence of Billy Mitchell as a publicist for Douhetian ideas - American
thinking on airpower began to converge with that in Britain before reverting
in the 1930s to a strategy of obliteration based on calculation. In Britain, the
Air Staff swung in 1940 to favour inflicting material destruction as well as
seeking to lower enemy morale before reverting to Trenchardism in 1941
when the Butt report demonstrated the apparent inaccuracy of Bomber
Command and its inability to hit precise targets even when it could find them.
As Tami Biddle perceptively notes, although Trenchard presided at the birth
and guided the formative early years of Britain's most technological arm, he
differed sharply from his American opposite numbers in rooting his strategic
assumptions in the nineteenth century world of Clausewitz and Napoleon.
The relationship between theory and action which is one of the themes of
this collection is also taken up by W. Hays Parks in another comparative
study which tests the veracity and the value of the established dichotomy
between British and American bombing practices in 1939-45. His explora-
tion of the operational realities which lay behind generalisations about 'area'
and 'precision' bombing begins by questioning a contemporary terminology
which in the past has been accepted all too readily by historians. As well
as making an important distinction between 'precision' and 'accuracy' in
strategic bombing, Dr Parks argues that 'selective' attack was not synony-
mous with precision bombing; nor, likewise, was 'general' attack the same
thing as area bombing. A clear-cut distinction between the American and the
British ways of air warfare, much emphasised by airmen during and after the
Second World War, is eroded by carefully examining the realities that lay
behind contemporary terminology.
All activity in war is bounded by the limits which physical possibilities set
upon intellectualised preferences. Despite its doctrinal and declaratory focus
on a policy of 'precision bombing', the United States Army Air Forces
(USAAF) were unable during their European bombing campaign to achieve
the high levels of accuracy which such a policy required for fulfilment - a
fact which they partly disguised by omitting inaccurate missions from their
accuracy analyses. Paradoxically, a most important factor in reducing
USAAF accuracy to levels considerably below its rhetorical ceiling was an
increasing dependence on radar. Bad weather and high levels of cloud cover
over north-west Europe for much of the year made high-level visual daylight
bombing impossible. The USAAF was forced to rely on radar, which its
crews were less rigorously trained to use than their British counterparts, and
by the winter of 1943 was 'blind bombing' marshalling yards. This policy
differed little in effect from the RAF's area bombing. Nor was instrument
bombing against oil targets in 1944 much more accurate. At the same time,
Pathfinder techniques were allowing Bomber Command to achieve higher
levels of accuracy in night bombing than had hitherto been possible. So,
while the differences between the American and British components of the
combined bomber offensive still remain, this exploration of comparative
practice discards sharp distinctions in favour of a more subtle and nuanced
picture of the strategic air war in Europe.
The differences and disputes between British and American airmen during
the Second World War were not limited to matters of strategic preference and
doctrinal practice, but also involved the organisation and management of
many elements of the air war. John Buckley provides a case study of an
important but hitherto somewhat neglected aspect of that war, the aerial
dimension of the Battle of the Atlantic. His essay turns on one of the most
important factors affecting all Allied co-operative endeavours: the fact that
the American armed forces were by no means united in outlook and were
frequently at daggers drawn over vital issues. No American equivalent of
INTRODUCTION 5
Coastal Command existed to fight the war over the Atlantic; instead, the
organisation of American airpower split responsibility for coastal and mari-
time operations between the US Army and the US Navy. Thus, in urging an
American Coastal Command the British got caught up in a 'turf war' between
two redoutable adversaries, Admiral Ernest J. King and General Henry H.
Arnold.
In May 1943 Admiral King finally resolved the organisational muddle
created by conflicting American authorities when he created the Tenth Fleet
to take charge of anti-submarine warfare. His reluctance to contemplate an
overall commander of Allied Air Forces Atlantic likewise dissolved at the
same time with the revelation that no Very Long Range aircraft were
operating west of Iceland and the consequent threat of presidential inter-
vention. Thereafter, opposition to such a joint appointment came from the
British (hitherto strong proponents of the idea) as they realised that the
United States would never accept one of their number in such a crucial
position. Dr Buckley concludes that greater co-operation would have brought
the Battle of the Atlantic to a speedier conclusion. Whether or not such a
development was ever realistically likely, this essay demonstrates the great
difficulties to be overcome in achieving full collaboration when several
branches of the armed forces of both allies were fighting for victory not
merely over the enemy but also frequently over one another.
The contribution made by American strategic bombing to the Second
World War in Europe and the Far East, as demonstrated in the multi-volume
United States Strategic Bombing Survey, seemed to translate Douhetian
belief in the primacy of the bomber into proven reality. Armed first with
atomic and then with hydrogen bombs, the strategic bomber became the
primary instrument of nuclear deterrence - and, if necessity demanded, of
nuclear war-fighting- in the decade after 1945. With the launching of the
sputnik satellite in October 1957, the dawning of the missile age cast a
question mark over the future of the manned strategic bomber which grew
ever larger as Admiral Arleigh A. Burke, the Chief of Naval Operations
( 1955-61 ), oversaw the development and introduction into US service of the
nuclear submarine. Peter Roman's contribution to this volume focuses on the
half-dozen critical years which followed the Soviet launch, during which the
USAF strove to increase the capabilities of manned bombers in order to hold
off the challenge of the new instruments of strategic deterrence. His is also a
tale of the successful exertion of civilian control in a contest shaped in large
part by bureaucratic politics and organisational process.
In the highly politicised budgetary contest which ensued, the USAF put
forward proposals which included the visionary conception of a permanently
airborne nuclear-powered bomber (which could thus avoid the perils of a
Soviet pre-emptive nuclear strike), the B-70 bomber and the Skybolt missile.
Dr Roman's study highlights the sensitivity shown both by President

Eisenhower and by his successor's Defense Secretary, Robert McNamara, to
the extent of the possible cost accelerations if the untried B-70 were con-
structed; and it demonstrates their wisdom, as the Air Force rigged assump-
tions and projections to try to get their plane onto the books and into the air.
The so-called missile gap temporarily reprieved both the B-70 and Skybolt,
but both were relegated to history as the falsity of the electoral ploy of Soviet
superiority became apparent soon after President Kennedy's election in 1961.
It is a measure both of the potential and of the complexity of airpower that,
notwithstanding setbacks such as those which hindered the development of a
new generation of 'super-bombers', strategic airpower remains a prominent
weapon in the US arsenal - and one whose effect is still hotly disputed. The
failure of the 'Rolling Thunder' offensive against North Vietnam in 1965-6
was followed by the apparent success of the 'Linebacker I and II' operations
in bringing the Democratic Republic of Vietnam to agree peace terms in
January 1973. In the 1970s and 1980s, equipped with laser-guided bombs and
able to operate at stand-off range, the bomber seemed at last to possess the
accuracy and precision which American proponents of airpower had pro-
claimed, somewhat prematurely, before and during World War II.
Exploring the veracity of the most recent claims for the manned bomber,
David Kuehl assesses the success of the attempt to use strategic bombing to
fight a limited war in the Gulf in 1991 by crippling a key objective: the Iraqi
electricity grid. The obstacles which impeded the campaign included - as
they are always likely to do - political limitations on targeting. The diffi-
culties in· reaching anything more than a preliminary judgement on its effec-
tiveness are the inevitable consequence of the absence of any direct evidence
from the Iraqi side. Colonel Kuehl's essay highlights the difficulties of
assessing the so-called 'second order' effects of bombing on Iraqi military
capability and political cohesion as a consequence. His conclusion - that
there is no such thing as a 'panacea' target - would have secured unqualified
assent from Sir Arthur Harris. It also cuts to the heart of one of the most
enduring debates in the history of strategic bombing.
Taken together, the eight studies collected together here and written by
British, French and American authors, demonstrate the present vitality of air-
power historical studies. As well as making a contribution to old and new
debates, they offer also offer several models with which historians can attack
the many issues that remain to be elucidated as airpower moves into its
second century.
Proselytiser and Prophet: Alexander P. de
Seversky and American Airpower
PHILLIPS. MElLINGER
Alexander P. de Seversky was one of the best known and most popular
aviation figures in America during World War II.' He was a fighter ace and
war hero, aircraft designer, entrepreneur, stunt pilot, writer, and theorist. His
passion was airpower, and his mission was to convince the American people
that it had revolutionised warfare, becoming its paramount and decisive
factor. He pursued this goal relentlessly for over three decades. In truth,
although generally regarded as a theorist, his ideas on airpower and its role
in war were not original. Rather, he was a synthesiser and populariser, a
purveyor of secondhand ideas. His self-appointed task was to sell those ideas
to the public, who could then influence their political leaders to make more
enlightened defence decisions. At the same time, Seversky wore the mantle
of prophet, using his interpretation of history and his own logic to predict the
path that air warfare would take. Events would show that he was more
successful as a proselytiser than he was as a prophet. Like many air theorists,
his ideas outran the technology available to implement them.
Alexander was born in Tiflis, Russia, (now Tbilisi, Georgia) on 7 June
1894, but grew up near St Petersburg. His father was a wealthy poet and actor
who also had a taste for things mechanical; he purchased two aeroplanes in
1909 - purportedly the first privately owned in Russia. Alexander inherited
not only his father's theatrical flair, but also his technological inclination; he
experimented with mechanical devices as a boy, even designing several
original aeroplane models. Not atypically for a young man of his class,
Alexander went off to military school at age ten, graduating from the
Imperial Russian Naval Academy in 1914, shortly before the outbreak of the
Great War. After serving for several months in a destroyer flotilla, Ensign
Seversky transferred to the Navy's flying service, soloing in March 1915
after a total flight time of 6 minutes and 28 seconds. 2
Seversky was posted to the Baltic Sea area where his squadron's mission
was to prevent the German Imperial Navy from clearing mines that Russian
ships had laid in the Gulf of Riga. On his very first combat mission, the night
of 2 July 1915, he met with disaster. While attacking a German destroyer his
aircraft was apparently hit by antiaircraft fire and crashed into the water. The
concussion detonated one of the bombs, which killed his observer and blew
off his own right leg below the knee. Miraculously, Seversky survived, was
rescued by a Russian patrol boat, and after eight months in convalescence,
returned to active duty with an artificial limb.'
Assigned a job in aircraft production, Seversky applied his mechanical
acumen to the design of aeronautical devices that would make a pilot's job
easier, designing such things as hydraulic brakes, adjustable rudder pedals
and special bearings for flight controls. He also experimented with aircraft
skis for landing on icy surfaces and a sophisticated bombsight. His inventions
won him an award in 1916 for the top aeronautical ideas of the year:
Although designing aircraft was important work, Seversky wanted to
return to flying duty. He was told this was impossible. Nevertheless, when in
early 1916 a group of dignitaries visited his airfield to witness the test flight
of a new aircraft, Seversky surreptitiously replaced the scheduled pilot and
put the aircraft through its paces for the assembled crowd. Upon landing and
revealing himself as the pilot, there was an uproar with talk of a court-martial
for 'endangering government property'. Fortunately, Tsar Nicholas II himself
heard of the incident and deciding Russia needed colourful heroes, intervened
to have Seversky returned to combat flying duty.'
There he did well. Over the next year he flew 57 combat missions and
scored 13 kills over German aircraft. On one mission he and his wingman
bombed a German airfield, then attacked seven planes in the air, shooting
down three, while receiving over 30 bullet holes in his own aircraft. 6 For this
exploit he was presented with a gold sword by the Tsar. His wooden leg
seemed not to bother him. In fact, he would later claim the injury made him a
better flyer because it forced him to think more deeply about what he was
doing, rather than simply rely upon physical ability. Even so, the war
remained a dangerous activity for him: his good leg was broken in an acci-
dent on the ground, and on one combat sortie he was shot in the right leg -
although now he required the services of a carpenter rather than a doctor. 7
By mid-1917 the Russian monarchy had fallen and due to lack of
reinforcements, Seversky's squadrons - he was now Chief of Pursuit
Aviation for the Baltic Sea - were unable to prevent the German fleet from
encroaching into Russian waters. When his headquarters was shelled by
German ships he was forced to flee, but his damaged aircraft did not get him
far. After stripping his plane of its guns, he set it afire and began walking
back towards the Russian lines. Unfortunately, he soon ran into a band of
armed Estonian peasants who considered turning him over to the advancing
Germans for a reward. Upon learning their captive was the famed 'legless
aviator', however, Seversky was sent on his way - with his machine-guns.
This escape earned him the Cross of St George, Imperial Russia's highest
decoration.' Alexander Kerensky, head of the Provisional Government, then
SEVERSKY AND AMERICAN AIRPOWER 9
posted Lieutenant Commander Seversky to Washington as part of the

Russian naval mission. These orders were confirmed by the Bolshevik
government that took power soon after, but within a few months of his arrival
in America his mission was dissolved. Seversky elected to remain. 9
After working briefly with the American Air Service as an aircraft
inspector in Buffalo, Seversky found himself out of work. But he was young,
aggressive and ambitious, and soon opened a restaurant in Manhattan. He fell
in love with America, and when fellow emigres would complain of con-
ditions in their new home, he would grow impatient and exclaim, 'if you
don't like it in this country you can always go back to Brooklyn'. 10 'Sascha',
as friends now called him, still viewed aviation as his chief interest, and in
1921 he was introduced to Brigadier General Billy Mitchell, the controversial
and outspoken Assistant Chief of the US Air Service. Mitchell was then try-
ing to 'prove' the obsolescence of surface ships through a series of bombing
tests. However, he feared the bombs his aircraft carried were not powerful
enough to sink heavily armored war ships. Seversky later claimed he
suggested to Mitchell the idea of dropping the bombs next to the ships, not on
them, causing a 'water hammer' effect that would open the seams in the side
of the vessel below the water line. Although this idea did not originate with
Seversky, it was certainly a valid one." In July 1921 several capital ships,
including the former German battleship Ostfriesland, were sunk by
Mitchell's aircraft off the Virginia coast using the water hammer principle.
Over the next several· years Seversky worked with military airmen at
McCook Field, Ohio, designing a gyroscopic bombsight hailed by Air
Service chief Major General Mason M. Patrick. In addition, he began work
on an idea he had conceived during the war. While flying in formation with
another Russian plane one day he playfully reached up and grabbed the trail-
ing wire radio antenna of his mate, flying along 'connected' to the other plane
for several minutes. He suddenly realized that a wire or tube could also be
used to transfer fuel from one aircraft to another in flight. Combat had taught
him that bombardment aircraft were vulnerable to enemy fighter planes; thus,
escort fighters were necessary to provide protection to the bombers.
However, the smaller fighters had not the range to escort the bombers all the
way to the target and back. Air refueling offered a solution. Although his
wartime superiors would not allow him to experiment with such a device at
the time, Seversky revisited the idea when working with the Air Service. The
result was the innovative air refueling device used on the 'Question Mark'
flight of 1929 when an Air Corps aircraft remained aloft for seven days. 12 In
1927 Seversky became a naturalised US citizen and was commissioned a
major in the Air Corps reserve. He was always quite proud of regaining mili-
tary rank, and for the rest of his life preferred to be called 'major'.
In 1931 he founded Seversky Aircraft Corporation, and over the next
decade perfected a host of patents and designs including split flaps, metal
monocoque construction, a fire control unit for aircraft guns, retractable land-
ing gear and pontoons, and specialised aircraft flight instruments. 13 His talent
for design was obvious. His innovative SEV-3 amphibian set world speed
records in 1933 and 1935. Derivations of this model became the BT-8, the
first all-metal monoplane trainer built in the United States, and the remark-
able P-35.
The P-35 was the first all-metal monoplane fighter mass produced in the
United States, incorporating such innovations as enclosed cockpit, retractable
landing gear and cantilever wing. The Air Corps purchased 137 of this air-
craft type, the direct ancestor of the famed P-47 Thunderbolt.' 4 There were
two other unusual characteristics of the P-35. First, it was extremely fast, a
civilian version of it won the Bendix Air Race in 1937, 1938 and 1939. 15
Considering that contemporary fighter planes were barely able to keep pace
with new bombers like the B-17, this was quite a feat. Second, it was specifi-
cally designed for long range - it could fly from coast to coast with only two
refuelings - unlike other fighter aircraft of the day that were suitable only for
point defence purposes. Remembering his war experiences, Seversky recog-
nized the need for fighter aircraft with the range to escort the bombers. 16 One
solution was the air refueling device he had already patented, but the exten-
sive use of this system would have to wait for another two decades. It was
during the Vietnam War that tactical fighters were turned into strategic
bombers as a result of air refueling. In the late 1930s such an expedient was
considered too inefficient and costly. A method therefore had to be devised to
extend the range of aircraft without air refueling.
Most designers thought a long-range escort fighter technically impossible.
They reasoned that any plane with the necessary range would have to be
quite large in order to carry the requisite fuel. A large aircraft needed more
than one engine and might require additional crew members. This in tum
meant even larger size, more weight, more fuel, etc. In short, an escort
soon looked like the bombers it was designed to protect and thus easy
prey for enemy fighters. Seversky, virtually alone among designers, was
convinced a long-range escort was possible through the use of internal fuel
tanks, which would not sacrifice the attributes that also made a successful
fighter.
At the same time, Seversky called for increased armament on fighter
planes. Whereas standard equipment was generally two .30 caliber machine-
guns, he advocated that six to eight .50 caliber guns be included.' 7 However,
when Seversky suggested this to the Air Corps, as well as to increase range
by adding more wing fuel tanks, he was turned down. Such innovations were
not deemed 'sufficiently attractive to pursue'." This clash of opinion was
doctrinal at least as much as it was technological. American tactical airmen
such as Claire L. Chennault eschewed the concept of fighter escort. Although

believing bomber aircraft were vulnerable, they did not relish the concept of
escort that would put fighter aircraft in what they believed was an inherently
defensive and passive position. This rather peculiar notion was shared by
most Air Corps fighter pilots at the time. It was not until 1944 that American
airmen, because of operational necessity, embraced the mission of fighter
escort, reconciling need with the imperative to maintain an offensive and
aggressive character.' 9 In any event, this doctrinal disagreement had serious
consequences for the Seversky-Air Corps relationship. This relationship was
not aided by Seversky's emotional and flamboyant personality.
His heroic exploits in the war were well known, as was his prowess as a
stunt pilot. His wife, the beautiful Evelyn Olliphant, was the daughter of a
prominent New Orleans doctor, and she also became a well known figure.
After their marriage in 1925, she met many of the famous aviation figures of
the day. Too often, however, she felt herself at a loss when the men congre-
gated in comers to discuss flying. She therefore decided to take flying lessons
and surprise her husband. Her first passenger after winning her wings was
James H. Doolittle. Evelyn became a noted aviatrix in her own right,
logging several thousand hours and appearing frequently on radio and in the
newspapers to discuss her experiences and push for more women in avia-
tion.2" She and 'Sascha' were a handsome and vivacious couple, noted for
their gala parties. One magazine even referred to Alexander as 'one of the ten
most glamorous men in New York'. 21
More significantly, his technical ability as an aeronautical engineer was
obvious. His aircraft designs won him the prestigious Harmon Trophy, pre-
sented by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1939, and the Lord and Taylor
American Design Award for 1940. He was not, however, a businessman. His
corporation never made a great deal of money and was constantly behind in
its production orders. Seversky argued that this was because his aircraft were
so original they required new manufacturing techniques, and this took time. 22
The Air Corps, and indeed most of his senior colleagues in the company, dis-
agreed.
Executives at Seversky Aircraft complained that their president was too
busy designing new aircraft instead of building those already on order. He
spent too much money and traveled too frequently on publicity tours. He
was a lackadaisical manager. The Seversky Corporation was a fairly small
company during the Depression years, and the Major felt close to his labour
force. One shop worker later recalled Seversky walking into his Long Island
factory, announcing it was too nice a day for work, and ordering everyone
down to the beach for a picnic. He supplied the beer. 2' Such affability might
have won affection, but it did not fulfill military contracts. ·
General Henry H. Arnold, the chief of the Air Corps, had great respect for
the models Seversky produced, but as war approached in Europe he needed

aircraft companies ready and able to meet the challenges of greatly increased
production. The Seversky Corporation had a part to play in Arnold's future,
but only if it would restructure its senior management. 24 In short, Arnold
wanted Seversky out of Seversky. In May 1939, while he was out of the
country, the Major was removed as president by his board of directors; in
October he was ousted from the company entirely, whose name was then
changed to Republic. 25 Seversky was outraged. Moreover, upon discovering
Arnold had played a role in his removal, he never forgave him. 26 For the next
several years every deficiency, real or perceived, that Seversky found in
American airpower he blamed on Arnold. In his files he kept a list of
statements made by Arnold; after each, Seversky commented on why the
statement was wrong and/or foolish. For example, when Arnold opined that
dive-bombers might prove useful in combat, Seversky commented: 'another
demonstration of how slow his mind digests the lessons of the war.'
Similarly, when Arnold drew comparisons between different types of aircraft,
Seversky grumbled: 'these excerpts show how his mind rambles and how
reckless his statements are. ' 27
In truth, Seversky's removal from business had positive results: Republic
was reorganized to become one of the top aviation companies of the next
three decades. The P-47 Thunderbolt, the descendent of the Major's P-35,
was vital to American air success in the war. Based on his track record up
to the time of his removal, it is doubtful whether Republic would have
responded so effectively to the challenge of war under Seversky's guidance.
In addition, sudden unemployment left him with time for other pursuits.
Specifically, he used his considerable charm and communication skills to
write and talk about his favorite topic: airpower. From this point on, the
technical aspects of the Major's career faded into the background as his
primary focus became the education of the American public regarding air-
power. Events would prove Seversky had a far greater influence as an author
than he had had as a builder.
When Seversky began writing about airpower he enjoyed two advantages
over the theorists who had preceded him. First, he was not a serving military
officer and therefore did not have to fear the retaliation of irked superiors.
Remembering that Giulio Douhet and Billy Mitchell had been court-
martialed for pressing their views on airpower too strongly, this was not a
minor consideration. Second, because Seversky was a successful aeronautical
engineer and designer, he was less likely to fall into hyperbole when dis-
cussing aircraft capabilities - the blight of other airpower advocates. The
freedom to speak his mind, with formidable technical authority, coupled with
his dynamic and energetic personality, made him enormously popular in a
very short time.
Seversky's voluminous writings shared certain characteristics. First, they

demonstrated a willingness to take on military leaders and their cherished
beliefs. Second, they displayed a deep-seated anti-Navy bias that grew over
time. Seversky also employed a strategy of taking his case directly to the
American people, bypassing intermediate filters imposed by military
officials. Finally, the Major had an unshakable belief in the effectiveness and
efficiency of airpower. To illustrate:
It was a common theme among airpower theorists to criticize the conserva-
tive and traditional thinking of surface commanders. They were relics of a
bygone age who did not understand the new air weapon, seeing it merely as
an evolutionary development - a useful tool that would help them achieve
their surface goals. This was standard fare. But Seversky went a step further;
he took on the leadership of the Air Corps, accusing it of equally outdated
thinking. Specifically, he pointedly charged Arnold with stymying innovative
thought in aircraft development and of being more concerned with 'military
politics' than with building effective airpower. 28 When in June 1941 the War
Department announced a reorganisation that created the semi-autonomous
Army Air Forces, most airmen hailed it as a major step towards a separate
servi<;:e - their cherished goal. Not so Seversky. He saw it as a dangerous
half-measure, an 'administrative enslavement' to keep airmen in their place, a
ploy by Arnold to gain promotion. He did not believe it would seriously
advance the cause of airpower. In a letter to President Roosevelt he argued
the move was 'positively harmful' because it gave an illusion of progress
where none really existed. 29 As a consequence of these gratuitous and
personal attacks, Arnold kept Seversky at a distance; thus, these two powerful
voices for airpower worked at cross purposes, precisely at a time when they
should have been close allies.
Throughout his career Seversky consciously attached himself to the Billy
Mitchell legend. He said once that Mitchell was his best friend, and he
wrote several articles about the general, even dedicating his first book to
his mentor's memory. This affinity was not necessarily healthy because
Seversky inherited Mitchell's inordinate distaste for the Navy. It is said
there is no greater antipathy towards ideas than that felt by the apostate, and
in former naval officer Seversky that was certainly the case. His writings
consistently stressed the unimportance of the fleet, arguing that seapower
was obsolete and that surface ships were doomed in the face of airpower.
Like Mitchell he often compared the cost of ships to aircraft, noting that
hundreds of planes could be bought for the price of one battleship. He
even began one article with the blunt announcement: 'Our great two-ocean,
multi-billion-dollar Navy, now in construction, should be completed five or
six years from now -just in time to have all of its battleships scrapped. ' 30
However, it was not just the big gun ships he denigrated; Seversky also
questioned the utility of aircraft carriers, seeing them as little more than
attractive targets. He discounted their ability to project power ashore, arguing
that carrier planes were always inferior to land-based planes. Conveniently
ignoring the Pearl Harbor attack, he stated that if carriers attempted to strike a
land power equipped with an air force, they would be sunk long before their
planes could perform any constructive purp()se. 31 Like Mitchell, Seversky's
incessant attacks needlessly antagonised the Navy, while also spurring it to
greater activity. Indeed, although the claim that Mitchell, and by extension
Seversky, was the father of naval aviation is far too strong, it does contain a
kernel of truth.
As with most people of his generation who had lived through one world
war only to see another spawned in its wake, Seversky believed wars had
become total. There was no longer a distinction between soldier and civilian
- all people were part of the war effort. To Seversky this meant that all
citizens were liable to pay the ultimate price in war, and thus should have a
voice in how those wars were fought. In a dictatorship rulers made war with
little regard for the will of the populace, but not in a democracy. War strategy
had become far too important to be left to military leaders. The people must
be privy to the inner workings of war so they could have a voice ~n its
conduct: 'overall strategy, like any other national policy that affects the entire
nation, is the province of the people.' 32 Air war especially was too new, too
powerful, and affected people too directly for them to be ignorant of its
principles. An educated public would make their opinions known to the
politicians, who in tum were responsible for determining ,military policy.
Seversky saw it as his duty to educate the people: 'I am convinced that the
best contribution I can make to America is to draw attention to what seems to
me the need for an effective program of national defence in the air in order to
provide genuine security for our country. ' 33
Over the next decade the Major would write two books, scores of articles
and press releases, and give hundreds of radio addresses. His first literary task
upon leaving business in May 1939 was to tell of aeronautical conditions in
Europe. He had visited Britain, France, Germany and Italy, and because of
his international reputation, was able to talk with leading airmen and aircraft
manufacturers and tour their factories. He returned to America both sobered
and heartened. On the one hand, he was convinced Hitler was bent on war,
and even predicted it would break out in September of that year. 34 He did not
think the French were ready for such a war - although their Air Force had
some useful designs, political corruption prevented their mass production. He
was, however, pleased with British developments. He flew the Hurricane and
Spitfire and was impressed by their speed and armament. He ranked these air-
craft as far superior to anything the Germans had and predicted the Royal Air
Force (RAF) would prevail in any test with the Luftwaffe because of this
qualitative superiority. 15 Few were as sanguine about Britain's chances, but

the Major's prediction proved accurate.
Exactly what form Seversky expected the war would take during its initial
stages is unclear. Certainly, he believed airpower would play a key role, but
there is no indication he embraced the concept of strategic bombing. Indeed,
despite his connections with Billy Mitchell, his concentration as an engineer
on fighter aircraft and the technological challenges they presented would
indicate he had not given a great deal of thought to the issue of strategic air-
power.
This changed when war broke out in September 1939. Five campaigns par-
ticularly impressed him. First, Germany's quick defeat of Poland convinced
him airpower dominated ground forces, and this lesson was reinforced by the
French campaign the following May and June. Most of the world was
shocked by France's rapid collapse, but Seversky simply remarked that the
Maginot Line had become the tomb for a nation that had refused to look sky-
ward.16 As in World War I the French had relied on their army. This stubborn
attachment to tradition proved disastrous.
Two other campaigns gave different lessons: Norway (April-June 1940)
and Crete (May-June 1941) demonstrated to him the superiority of airpower
over naval forces. In both instances the Royal Navy, reputedly the finest in
the world, had been decisively repulsed - not by German or Italian seapower
which had been quickly disposed of- but by the Luftwaffe. The British Fleet
was helpless in the face of an enemy that controlled the air. 37 Off Crete, for
example, the Luftwaffe sank three British cruisers, six destroyers and dis-
abled an aircraft carrier, while severely damaging several other major ships.
Even with such staggering losses - the worst defeat of the war for the Royal
Navy -the fleet was still unable to prevent the island's loss. Later, the sink-
ing of the British capital ships Prince of Wales and Repulse off the Malayan
coast (10 December 1941) by Japanese land-based aircraft served to heighten
Seversky's scorn for the capital ship.
Seversky also argued that the rescue of the British Army from Dunkirk
was only possible because the RAF controlled the air above the beaches. Air
superiority permitted the Royal Navy to move in close to shore and evacuate
over 300,000 troops. 38 Had the Luftwaffe owned the skies, the British would
not have dared attempt such an operation; if they had, the results would have
been similar to those at Norway and Crete. Airpower had saved the remnants
of the British Army.
The Battle of Britain was also compelling. It demonstrated how improperly
structured and poorly led airpower could squander a numerical advantage.
Of interest, although Seversky had predicted Britain would be victorious,
another famous American aviator, Charles Lindbergh, argued instead that
nothing could stand up to the Luftwaffe's might. Moreover, he believed that
because Britain was doomed the United States should cut ties with her and
instead build up her own air strength. 39 Seversky countered that airpower had
shrunk the globe to such an extent that American isolation was a thing of the
past. America could no longer sit behind its oceans and ignore the affairs of
Europe; rather, the United States must support England because her fight
would, inevitably, one day be America's. 40
In February 1942 Seversky collected these lessons, combined them with
his ideas on airpower, and produced Victory Through Air Power. The purpose
of this book was twofold: to alert America to the challenges of a modern,
total war that she was now involved in, and to offer a strategy based on air-
power for fighting that new form of war.
Victory first takes the reader through a brief, and selective, history of the
war. Much of this repeats what Seversky had been saying for the previous
year, and those who had followed his many magazine and newspaper articles
would have learned little new in this historical survey. Seversky reasserted
that the key to victory was airpower and that traditional forms of land and sea
warfare had been eclipsed by the airplane. Retold are the stories of Poland,
Norway, France, Crete and the Battle of Britain. Derided are the generals and
admirals who attempted to fight with the methods and tactics of previous
wars: 'the lessons of this war can't be shouted down by invoking the glories
of the past. ' 4 ' Although others at the time were beginning to awake to this
new form of war and sense its implications, Seversky was emphatic that it
was a revolution demanding equally revolutionary responses. Unfortunately,
America was not prepared for this challenge.
Perhaps because he was still obsessed with what he considered unfair treat-
ment by the USAAF, Seversky felt the need to recount the story of his
unsuccessful attempts to sell advanced fighter aircraft to the government. In
detail the reader is regaled with Seversky's ideas for increasing the range and
firepower of American planes, only to be snubbed by military officials. These
sections smack of self-justification and are of limited value. In fact, because
Seversky insisted on singling out Hap Arnold for attack, his message was not
well received by military airmen. 42 Once again he was alienating the very
people he should have been courting. On the other hand, he was performing a
useful service by calling attention to problems that existed in America's air-
craft rearmament program.
Seversky pointed out that American fighter planes were inferior to those
of the other major belligerents. They had not the speed, range, altitude
capability or armament to contest with front-line enemy fighters. Yet, press
releases emanating from the Army Air Force, the government, and industry
pretended American planes were the best in the world. 43 Seversky rejected
such claims with disdain: 'No one in his senses would pretend that the P-40 is
a match for the Messerschmitt or the Spitfire. ' 44 Others accused him of a lack
of patriotism, of lowering the morale of American airmen, and of disclosing

important information to the enemy. The Major dismissed these charges by
maintaining it was the people's right to know the truth; otherwise, problems
would never be corrected. 45
Besides presenting a bleak picture intending to alert the public to the back-
ward state of American airpower, Seversky also expressed his views on the
nature of air warfare. His most important idea was that airpower was an
inherently strategic weapon. By this he meant that airpower's ability to fly
over enemy armies and navies enabled it to strike directly at a country's most
vital areas: its capital, industry, government, etc. Surface forces, on the other
hand, generally fought only at the tactical level of war - force against force -
hoping through an accumulation of victories in battle to position themselves
for strategic, or decisive, military operations. Surface commanders realised,
however, that their operations would be far easier and more successful if
airpower supported them. Seversky cautioned against this. To support
an army tactically was squandering airpower's greatest and most unique
capability. Airpower must be employed primarily as a strategic weapon and
used against targets that had strategic significance. Similarly, Seversky
rejected the view that the objective of war was to occupy territory; that was
an outdated concept. Strategic airpower could destroy the facilities and
structures that made an area useful to the enemy: 'Having knocked the
weapons out of his hands and reduced the enemy to impotence, we can starve
and beat him into submission by air power. ' 46 Once this was accomplished,
the only type of occupation necessary was of a humanitarian or political
nature: the Red Cross or similar organizations would be sufficient for this
purpose.
Second in importance, Seversky stressed the necessity of air superiority.
The first two years of the war clearly demonstrated that whoever controlled
the air also controlled the land and sea below. The French campaign
especially illustrated the price an army had to pay when the sky above it was
dominated by the enemy air force. To Seversky, the most effective method of
preventing this and protecting friendly soldiers was to gain and maintain air
superiority at the outset of a campaign.
Seversky argued this key battle for air superiority must be sought as early
as possible and conducted with utmost vigour. Other air theorists, notably
Mitchell and Douhet, had advocated achieving air superiority by attacking
enemy airfields and aircraft factories, not by engaging the air force itself.
Their rationale for this approach was twofold: first, before the invention of
radar it was considered nearly impossible to force an aerial battle. In
Douhet's formulation, a stronger air force could safely ignore its weaker
opponent, while the weaker air force would be foolish to look for a fight it
would probably lose}7 The second reason they avoided discussion of an air
battle was because it tended to contradict one of their basic premises of air
warfare- that it eliminated the bloody and prolonged counter-force battle.
Seversky rejected these arguments. Enjoying the hindsight provided by the
first two years of the war, he saw that an air battle not only could occur, but
indeed generally would. As a consequence, Seversky insisted the air battle
must be resolved sooner rather than later. In fact, he later maintained that it
was a mistake for the RAF to stop its daylight bombing operations and retreat
to the safety of night. This merely delayed the air battle; it did not eliminate
it. 48 British Bomber Command eventually suffered greater losses in its night
operations than did the American Eighth Air Force attacking in daylight.
Significantly, Seversky even implied that air superiority could become an end
in itself: once a country had lost its air force and the enemy could devastate it
at will, a rational government would sue for peace. In other words, although
Seversky claimed airpower could avoid the prolonged battle between armies,
his call for an air battle re-introduced it, only now it would take place at
20,000 feet.
Seversky did not claim in Victory that airpower alone could win the war.
Rather, he maintained that the aeroplane had become the dominant and
decisive element in modem war. The vital role of land and sea forces was to
hold the enemy in place while airpower pounded him into submission. In
addition, the Army and Navy were required to seize and hold airbases from
which strategic air strikes could be launched against the enemy's heartland.
He saw this strategy as then being carried out in the Pacific: the war against
Japan was essentially a struggle for air bases. The far-flung enemy islands
were in themselves of little strategic consequence; their main significance
was as airbases for striking the Japanese home islands.
As a way of lessening the dependence of airpower on these overseas air-
bases, Seversky pushed for the development of 'inter-hemispheric' bombers
that could strike the enemy from the United States. He stated that such global
bombers would 'change the whole picture of law enforcement'; the mere
threat of American airpower would be enough to keep the peace.<• He pointed
to the massive B-19 and Martin flying boat as examples of the type of long-
range aircraft he envisioned. He claimed these behemoths had a payload
capacity of over 30,000 pounds while also enjoying an unrefuelled range of
8,000 miles. Seversky wanted thousands of such aircraft built. Unfortunately,
his technical expertise deserted him in this instance. Both these aircraft were
underpowered and had structural shortcomings; they never came close to the
performance Seversky claimed for them and were not put into production.
To utilise airpower effectively, Seversky called for a defence department
with equal branches for land, sea and air. He was convinced the older
services would never allow airpower to reach its full potential as a strategic
weapon, simply because they did not understand it. Similarly, it was also
necessary for airpower to remain separate and distinct at the theatre and tacti-
callevels. Because of airpower's great speed, range and flexibility it should
be centralised and used en masse over the entire depth and breadth of a
theatre. If controlled by land or sea commanders airpower would be relegated
to the tactical level and not utilized to its maximum effectiveness.
Seversky's last message in Victory Through Air Power regarded targeting.
If airpower was indeed an inherently strategic weapon then great care must
be taken to determine the proper objectives for an air campaign. Just because
bombers could strike anything did not mean they should strike everything.
Most air theorists addressed this issue by remarking that all countries
had vital centres that allowed the state to function effectively: government,
industry, transportation networks, financial systems, power grids, etc. But
precisely which of those objectives were the most vital, and which specific
targets within those categories should be attacked and in what priority, was
not made clear. Doubet, for example, merely stated that the will of the
civilian population was the key objective, but left it to the 'genius of the
commander' to determine how best to affect that will. 5°
Seversky was similarly vague. He did, however, reject popular will
as a specific target, although not for humanitarian reasons. The war had
demonstrated that people had a surprising resiliency, and prewar predictions
of how quickly urban populations would panic and break under air attack had
proven wrong. Seversky therefore emphasised the importance of industrial
targets. In truth, this had been American Air Corps doctrine for at least
a decade prior to the war, and Seversky was merely echoing this basic
philosophy. Unfortunately, like most air theorists, he did not specify what
part of the enemy's industry should be targeted. Debates were then raging
among Allied air planners as to the proper objectives to be struck; candidates
included oil, electricity, chemicals, rubber and ball bearings. Seversky did not
contribute to this debate, opting instead for an air campaign to obliterate all
aspects of an industrial infrastructure. Given the size and complexity of a
modern state's industrial base, combined with the limited destructive capacity
and accuracy of contemporary bombs, this was a highly simplistic and
unsophisticated approach. Seversky, like so many air thinkers, over-estimated
the physical damage of bombing.
The critical response to Victory Through Air Power was divided.
Predictably, soldiers and sailors found it both inaccurate and dangerous. They
questioned Seversky's claims regarding the effectiveness of airpower in the
war, and totally rejected his prophecies of air dominance. One naval advocate
sniffed that although the book 'purports to be a serious study' it was actually
'a slipshod affair' with a 'Jules Verne' quality about it. 5 ' A Navy public
relations official candidly admitted, however, that the book posed a 'special
threat' because it 'reaches the popular mind, and the popular mind reacts on
Congressmen, and the first thing you know you are going to have Congress
telling you and your colleagues in the Navy that you are not abreast of
modem trends of thought in the matter of how to make war.' 52 Airmen were
also concerned about the book, but for different reasons. Although they
welcomed the call for a separate Air Force, they were troubled by Seversky's
stinging attacks on Arnold. As a result, the official AAF position was to
ignore the book, although behind the scenes attempts were made to discredit
it. 53 One Seversky supporter deplored such machinations and wrote: 'The
drive to "destroy" Seversky is the symptom of a deeper struggle, under the
surface, between military diehards and military progressives. ' 54
On the other hand, several informed commentators found the book both
fascinating and significant. For example, one wrote: 'it is the duty of every
adult citizen who can lay his hands on $2.50 to buy it and ponder its
message.' Another commented: 'While many specific statements of this book
may be questioned, an open-minded reader is obliged to conclude that the
author is more nearly right than wrong in his views.' Finally, one said simply:
'it is more important for Americans th~n all the other war books put
together. ' 55
The public's response to Victory was enthusiastic. Because it was chosen
as a Book of the Month Club selection, it was guaranteed a wide and literate
audience. It was even brought out in paperback - a rare occurrence for a
serious work at that time. Consequently, it is estimated over five million
Americans read it. Given Seversky's many other articles and radio addresses,
George Gallup estimated that over 20 million people knew of Seversky and
his message, an astounding figure in the days before television. 56 As a
consequence, Walt Disney approached Seversky with a plan to tum Victory
into a movie.
The famed cartoon film maker was interested in contributing to the war
effort by making military training films. Donald Duck had already gone to
war to fight the Nazi menace, Mickey Mouse admonished everyone to pay
their taxes promptly, and over 1,200 military insignia bearing Disney cartoon
characters were designed for various units. 57 Disney himself later said that he
had been deeply interested in aviation for years and 'had sensed that air
power held the key to the outcome of this war' .5K Although millions had read
the major's book, Disney realised there were millions of others who could not
read, and his unique ability to use visual images and cartoons would serve to
educate them as well. Disney believed he would probably lose money on the
movie, but stated, 'I'm concerned that America should see it, and now is no
time to think of personal profits. ' 59
The movie, which opened on 17 July 1943, began with a cartoon intro-
duction to the history of flight up to World War II. The picture then switches
to Seversky, shown in his office surrounded by world maps, airplane models
and blueprints. The Major relates his message of airpower and its importance
to modem war. 60 Superb graphics illustrate his ideas. Nazi Germany is
depicted as a huge iron wheel with factories at the hub pumping planes,
tanks, ships and other war equipment down the spokes to be used along the
thick rim. Allied armies chip away at this rim by attacking individual tanks
and planes, but the Nazis react by simply redirecting war material from one
spoke to another to counter the threat; the rim is too strong to be broken.
Aircraft then bomb the factories of the hub directly, destroying them and
causing the spokes to weaken and the rim to collapse. In another particularly
memorable sequence, Disney animated the image depicted in the book of
Japan as an octopus with its tentacles stretched across the Pacific encircling
dozens of helpless islands. Allied armies and navies attempt to hack away at
these thick tentacles and free the islands, but it is futile. American airpower,
represented by a fierce and powerful eagle, then repeatedly strikes the head of
the octopus with its sharp talons, forcing the beast to release its hold on its
outlying possessions and attempt to defend itself. However, it is unable to
fend off the eagle and eventually expires under the attacks. Victory is
achieved through the air. Even today, the movie is an extremely powerful
piece of airpower propaganda.
Although the film was not a commercial success, it had a significant
impact. Possibly because two of his old friends on the AAF staff came to talk
with him and ask him to go easy, Seversky removed all personal bile from the
movie version - Arnold and the growing pains encountered by American
aviation are not even mentioned. As a result, the Air Force embraced the film
and found it useful as a training film to educate recruits on airpower. 6 ' Air
Marshal Sir John Slessor, himself a noted air theorist and then commander
of RAF Coastal Command, wrote to congratulate Seversky, stating: 'it is
certainly first-class educational value to people who are capable of thinking
reasonably clearly for themselves. ' 62 Winston Churchill saw the film and was
so impressed he insisted that President Roosevelt watch it with him during
their summit meeting at Quebec in August 1943. 63 Soon after the war ended
Seversky interviewed Emperor Hirohito, who claimed to have watched the
movie himself and been deeply troubled by its predictions concerning the fate
of his country at the hands of American airpower. 64 Nonetheless, there were
serious problems with the movie.
In keeping with Seversky's antipathy towards the Navy, seapower is
shown in a hopelessly weak and ineffective light - most of the surface ships
depicted in the movie are resting on the bottom of the ocean. The Army fares
little better; its tanks are mere toys easily pushed over by attacking aircraft. In
fact, although the movie took only three months to produce, it was a further
ten months before it cleared the military censors. The Army and Navy
hierarchy apparently pressured Disney to stop the project.65 In addition, the
accuracy and effectiveness of bombing attacks are grossly exaggerated.

Every bomb dropped in the movie hits its target - all of which are arms
factories or railroad yards - nothing falls in urban residential areas. In a
surprising sequence, the film depicts the new inter-hemispheric bomber advo-
cated by Seversky. Hundreds of these huge aircraft, based in Alaska, relent-
lessly pummel Japan. But they are not escorted. Instead, the bombers bristle
with radar-controlled machine-guns that shoot down enemy interceptors by
the droves. Considering Seversky's spirited push for long-range escort and
his claims that bombers would be unable adequately to defend themselves,
this scene can only be regarded as bizarre.""
For the rest of the war Seversky continued to call for a strategy dominated
by airpower. He wanted military leaders to emphasise emerging weapons, not
obsolescent ones, but his pleas were largely rejected. Like Douhet and
Mitchell before him, Seversky saw little need for historical precedents to
buttress his theories. Using history would lead to employing strategies of the
past. Why, generals actually continued to discuss the campaigns of 1918;
they might as well examine those of ancient Greece and Persia for all their
relevance to World War 11. 67 At one point he wrote in exasperation: 'We are
stabbing the enemy with penknives, trying to bleed him to death, instead of
wielding the axe of true air power. ' 68
When the war ended Seversky visited both theatres and for nearly eight
months wandered the defeated countries, talked to survivors, saw scores of
bombed out cities and factories, and interviewed high-ranking military and
civilian leaders. He concluded, not surprisingly, that airpower had been the
decisive factor in victory by destroying the will of the German and Japanese
leadership. 69 He did not denigrate the efforts of the other services, which he
saw as essential, but he nonetheless saw airpower as the instrument primarily
responsible for bringing victory. This was especially the case in Japan where
the atomic strikes eliminated the need for a bloody invasion of the home
islands by giving the Emperor, as he put it, 'an excuse to make peace'.
Seversky conceded, however, that Japan was an easier opponent. It had a far
smaller military and industrial capacity, and its airpower was qualitatively
inferior to that of America. The Japanese simply did not understand airpower.
This situation was exacerbated by the decision to disperse their industry
into small 'cottage factories' throughout the cities. This not only curtailed
production, but made area attacks almost inevitable: the Japanese committed
'industrial hara-kiri'. 70
Surprisingly, however, Seversky was sceptical about the power and signifi-
cance of the atomic bombs. Expecting to find Hiroshima and Nagasaki
'vaporized,' he found instead burned out rubble characteristic of cities
throughout Germany that had suffered extensive aerial or artillery bombard-
ment. This led him to conclude that the importance of atomic bombs was
being greatly exaggerated; to him, it was just another weapon. In fact, in one
interview he referred to it as a mere 'firecracker' that created much noise and
light, but little else. This stance gained him much criticism from both
scientists and political leaders and actually put him in the unusual position of
being labeled a military conservative!"
Seversky's argument on this subject was not a mature one. Although the
ability to use the medium of the air had revolutionised the nature of war, it
was simplistic to dismiss atomic bombs as being merely new weapons of
little import. The air medium must be exploited, and this could only be done
through the actual employment of weaponry. Thus, the development of air
weapons should have been of great importance to airmen. Such was not the
case. Little effort had been exerted to develop aerial bombs between the
world wars. The iron blockbusters of 1917 were quite similar to those of
1945 - indeed, they would remain so for another three decades. This was a
major oversight. Without effective weapons, airpower was often wasted.
Thus, although the Allies had air superiority over Germany and Japan, they
could not force a rapid decision because their bombs were not effective
enough to do so. Initially, Seversky too fell into the myopic snare of not
recognizing the importance of radical new air weapons like the atomic bomb.
He did, however, change his views when the hydrogen bomb, hundreds of
times more powerful than the atomic devices detonated over Japan, was
introduced into the American arsenal.
Confrontation with the Soviet Union quickly turned Seversky into a Cold
War warrior, profoundly suspicious of the Kremlin's motives: 'they would
break every promise they make if it suits them. ' 72 One can certainly wonder
whether his Russian heritage gave him special insights or peculiar biases.
Pessimistically, he saw the Soviet world view as irreconcilable with the
West's, thus making violent confrontation inevitable. If this were true, then
his arguments regarding the folly of contesting with a powerful land foe by
building a large army seemed appropriate. To Seversky it was common sense
to face such an enemy utilising America's unique strength - aeronautical
technology.
Seversky believed that America was inherently an airpower nation. Young
people from an early age should see their destinies in the sky - this was a
notion he had fostered since before the war. In fact, some of his earliest radio
broadcasts were on programmes for young listeners where he explained how
airplanes worked, how he had become interested in them, and why airpower
was essential to America's future. 73 His persuasion extended to adults as well:
'In this aeronautical age we ought to become a nation of aviators, in order to
achieve mastery of the sky - just as in the past, in the age of sea power,
England was a nation of sailors.' He then expanded on this analogy: Rome
had been the master on land, England on sea, and now America in the air. All
used this mastery of a particular medium to dominate the world and give it
peace. 74
Seversky was convinced America had the advantage in this crucial area.
Not only had she employed strategic airpower in the war while Russia had
not, but she was also fortunate in having friendly neighbors. The Soviets, on
the other hand, had to build a large army to protect vulnerable and extensive
borders. Like Douhet, Mitchell and Mahan, Seversky clearly saw the signifi-
cance of geopolitical factors and was writing for the peculiar American
situation. 75 In his view, airpower, especially armed with nuclear weapons,
seemed the only sane path to provide the world a 'Pax Democratica' .76 This
theme was a variation of one Seversky had been repeating for years: airpower
and technology were related in an unusually close and symbiotic fashion. To
a far greater degree than with surface forces, airpower was dependent on a
strong and vibrant scientific and industrial base. America possessed such a
base; Russia did not. Moreover, when Seversky contemplated the future of
space - which he considered merely an extension of terrestrial airpower- he
was even more convinced of America's potential dominance.
Like most people at the time, Seversky was surprised by the North Korean
invasion of South Korea in June 1950. He immediately rejected arguments
for American involvement, believing it played into Soviet hands. The United
States would be slowly bled white and drained of its resources fighting a
peripheral war against Soviet proxies. 77 Significantly, his second book, Air
Power: Key to Survival, published soon after the outbreak of the war,
prophesied that Korea would be a mistake for America that would fester
inconclusively for years. According to Seversky, the Book of the Month Club
wanted to publish his new work as their main selection under the title, Peace
Through Air Power, but were displeased with his comments regarding the
Korean War. Their contacts with military and political leaders in Washington
assured them the Korean police action was a minor distraction that would be
over quickly. They therefore asked Seversky to modify his strident views on
Korea to conform to conventional wisdom. When he refused, Club officials
backed out of their offer to feature the book. Seversky noted ruefully that
because he told the truth no one wanted to hear, his book sold 30,000 copies
instead of 600,000. 78
Sounding almost isolationist, Seversky argued against US involvement
throughout the Korean War. He was angered by General Douglas
MacArthur's relief- a man for whom he had great respect- but thought it
justified if it led to a serious reappraisal of American policy." This
reappraisal did in fact occur, but much to Seversky's chagrin, the climactic
hearings before the Senate tended to ratify the limited war policy so abhorred
by MacArthur. The Major's proposed solution was far more direct.
Air Power: Key to Survival argued that 'triphibious operations', the
synergistic actions of air, land and sea forces - which he admitted were
necessary in World War II - were now a thing of the past. In a favorite
analogy, he likened the situation to the man who wanted to cross a river. One
contractor tells him to build a tunnel under the water; another suggests a ferry
to cross on the surface of the water; while the third proposes a bridge to span
above the river. Perplexed and indecisive, the man elects to pursue all three
ideas, at enormous cost and effort. Seversky saw this happening with
American defence policy. Instead, he maintained that as airpower increased
its range to a truly global scale, there would be little need for vulnerable
surface forces that would play bit parts in a major war against the Soviet
Union. Why have a navy when there were no sea routes to protect and no
enemy fleet to contest them? In a vicious comment he dismissed fleets as
henceforth existing merely in 'vestigial form as a transport auxiliary of air
power, but even that will be temporary' .80 Indeed, he was convinced that the
Air Force (an independent service since 1947) should be dominant within the
defence establishment, and was suspicious of calls for greater 'unification' of
the armed forces. Like the old Army Air Forces idea of 1941, Seversky
thought unification was a trick to keep airpower tied to the surface: 'Because
their primary functions have been obsoleted by science, the older services are
trying to perpetuate them by bureaucratic law'. America was more than ever
an airpower nation whose destiny was in the air and space. Calls for
'balanced forces' were an archaic and uninspired method of defence planning
that diluted the potent and decisive aspects of airpower. 81
When 'massive retaliation' became official US strategy during the
Eisenhower administration, Seversky embraced it (indeed, his writings since
the end of World War II had called for much the same thing, though without
the catchy title). He rejected notions of limited war, stating they inevitably
ended in stalemate. Moreover, the special advantages of airpower were lost
in such conflicts; Korea was an aberration, and it must stay that way.
Unfortunately, Korea would lead 'orthodox thinkers' to believe such con-
ventional war was still likely. On the other hand, in an era of decreasing
defence budgets but increasing commitments, he - as well as the new
president and his advisers- saw airpower as the only plausible solution. Such
a strategy also necessitated a technologically first-rate air force that was ready
to fight at a moment's notice.
Clearly, Seversky had come a long way since before World War II when
he called for a balanced defence of land, sea and air forces, while also reject-
ing suggestions that airpower alone could win wars. By the mid-1950s he saw
global airpower as the solution to America's security needs. In some of his
more outrageous suggestions he called for a Department of the Air Force that
contained a Bureau of Ships, a Bureau of Ground Forces, and bureaus 'for
other auxiliary units'. The Navy would be drastically reduced so that only its
antisubmarine warfare activities and naval logistics functions remained. As

for the Army, it should number a maximum of 250,000 and its primary
mission would be to 'maintain order in our country during an atomic holo-
caust, as well as to protect our domestic air and missile bases'. Obviously, he
was now consigning the Army and its leaders to the same dustbin as the
Navy. Generals George Marshall had 'infantryitis', Omar Bradley ('the old
monkey') possessed a weak intellect, and Dwight Eisenhower would 'destroy
and slaughter our youth' in areas like Korea if he were elected president. (As
noted above, he miscalculated dramatically regarding Eisenhower's inten-
tions and was pleasantly surprised by most of his defence policies.) The
Army would, however, also serve as an occupying police force after decision
had been reached through the air. 8' This in tum would be accomplished by an
Air Force that received two-thirds of the defence budget and that contained
not a 'mere' 300 B-36 bombers then in procurement plans, but 3,000 such
goliaths to demolish potential adversaries with nuclear weapons from bases
in the United StatesY
His beliefs on the targeting strategy behind such strikes were interesting.
After achieving air superiority, global airpower (exemplified initially by
manned bombers and later by long-range guided missiles) would strike the
industrial center of the enemy. He did not advocate merely bombing cities or
targeting the population. Such moves would be counter-productive because
'dead people don't revolt'. Instead, he wanted to drive a wedge between the
people and their leaders by attacking communications and transportation net-
works, by 'disarming the govemment'. 84 This would result in an 'internal
blockade' of a country causing paralysis and an inability to conduct the war
effectively. This emphasis was clearly different than that espoused by Douhet
who called for attacks on the population in order to foment rebellion. It was
also in contrast to the theorists of the Air Corps Tactical School in the 1930s
who concentrated on enemy industry as a means of breaking the capability,
not the will, of an enemy to fight. Consequently, Seversky offered a unique
theory of strategic airpower, related to but distinct from, his precursors.
The USAF was also studying the idea of 'air policing' in the early 1950s.
Air planners had looked at the experiences of the Royal Air Force in the
Middle East between the wars. In some cases the RAF had been quite
successful at controlling large tribal areas through the threat, and if necessary
the discrete use, of air attack. Significantly, they were able to maintain order
in places like Iraq and Transjordan at a fraction of the cost it would have
taken for ground forces to perform the same mission. In the early 1950s the
Air Staff considered resurrecting this idea, terming it Project Control, and
Seversky was chosen to participate as a member of the lengthy study that
ensued. The basic premise of Control was that airpower could be used to
pressure the Soviet Union into following policies favorable to the West. If
persuasion and threats were unsuccessful, then selective strikes, using atomic
weapons if necessary, would put teeth in the threats. It was assumed Soviet
leaders would react as had the backward tribal chieftains of the 1920s.85 This
Project Control proposal, which sounded to some extent like Seversky's
'internal blockade' plan, was of course never implemented, although it was
seriously considered by the Truman and Eisenhower administrations.
This entire idea of persuasion or 'air policing' signified an evolution in
Seversky's thought. In Victory he had discussed only two methods of apply-
ing military force: occupation, the traditional strategy of ground warfare, and
destruction, which now was possible through airpower. Over the next decade
he modified this view, seeing that 'neutralisation' of an enemy was possible
through airpower, but also that there were peaceful applications of airpower
that could achieve national objectives. Viewing airpower as an enormously
effective propaganda tool, he advocated the delivery of 'ideas' as well as
essentials such as food, clothing, and medicine via airpower to win friends
and undermine enemies. When testifying before Congress in 1951 he
exclaimed that too many people saw airpower as nothing more than 'bombs,
bombs, bombs.' 86 Yet he himself was guilty of this tendency. Indeed,
his advocacy of massive retaliation at the same time he was calling for a
relatively benign air policing strategy was a contradiction Seversky never
resolved.
This ambivalence may have been partly due to Seversky's role as a transi-
tional figure. He joined the military theorists and doctrine formulators of the
1920s and 1930s - represented by Doubet, Mitchell and the instructors at the
Air Corps Tactical School - and the civilian academicians of the 1950s and
1960s - characterised by Bernard Brodie and Herman Kahn. Physically and
intellectually he had a foot in both camps: as a former combat pilot and
reserve officer he could relate to the military pilots of the Air Corps; as a
businessman, designer and writer he was also at home with the civilian
thinkers who devised elaborate models to describe 'the balance of terror'.
Seversky continued to write at a frenetic pace until the mid-1960s, publish-
ing one more book in 1961, America- Too Young to Die, and scores more
articles. 87 Although he continued to move in and out of various business
ventures, his heart never seemed in it; preaching the gospel of airpower
remained his primary interest. In truth, his writings became increasingly
repetitious and technologically dated. The Major was not an expert in jet
engine technology and the airframe design it required, and his writings on
guided missiles and space flight were embarrassingly off the mark. 88 By the
late 1950s little of what Seversky wrote was either original or interesting,
although he did play a useful role at Maxwell Air Force Base where he
periodically lectured young officers on airpower theory. Over the years he
lectured to over I 00,000 officers, reminding them it was their duty to study
and promote airpower. Even in his seventies he could deliver a spell-binding

speech laced with his own peculiar brand of humour and metaphor. At
Maxwell, he felt at home.
The Major died in 1974 at the age of 80. His wife Evelyn, who took her
own life due to despondency over a long illness, had preceded him, seven
years earlier.
Alexander de Seversky was the most effective and prolific airpower advo-
cate of his era. His hundreds of articles and lectures reached millions. It is
important to re-emphasise that he was not writing to influence military
leaders - they were a hopeless case - he was writing for the man in the street.
Because of his homey, down-to-earth style, he spoke the language average
Americans could understand.
His ideas on airpower were not original. Virtually everything he proposed
had already been articulated by someone else. Doubet, Mitchell, Hugh
Trenchard, General Ira Eaker, even his bete noir 'Hap' Arnold, had already
written of the unique characteristics and capabilities of airpower, its revolu-
tionary nature, and how it had forever changed the face of war. His calls for
air superiority, global range and an industrial-based targeting scheme were
not new. Seversky's role was to take these ideas, re-package them, cover
them with a modicum of technical credibility, and then sell them to the
American people. His popularity was enormous, and his publication record
was staggering - over one hundred major articles and several hundred more
lesser ones. Scarcely a month went by during World War II and the decade
after when his articles did not appear in major magazines. Because his target
audience was the average American, he wrote for publications like American
Mercury, Readers' Digest, The Atlantic, Ladies Home Journal and Look- a
huge and diverse readership. Tens of millions of Americans knew of
Seversky, and he enjoyed an access to the media and the people that was the
envy of anyone attempting to influence public policy. Although he was
certainly not the sole cause, Gallup polls showed that the number of
Americans supporting an independent air force jumped from 42 per cent in
August 1941 to 59 per cent in August 1943."9
The ideas Seversky was selling were basic and uncomplicated. War had
become total, involving all the resources and people of a nation. In such a
titanic struggle, America must maximise its unique strength, technological
superiority granted by airpower. Others might be willing to pay a heavy price
in blood and treasure to achieve their aims, but America must not. She must
restructure her defence and devise strategies that relied on airpower. Because
an air force was fundamentally different from armies and navies, it must be a
separate service and commanded by airmen who understood its unique
qualities: most importantly, its ability to operate routinely as a strategic
weapon. Because of this, airpower offered the hope of avoiding the bloody
and protracted land battles of the world wars. To enhance airpower's ability
to avoid such battles, it must be given global range. As long as aircraft were
shackled to airfields near the enemy, surface forces would be required to
seize and defend those airfields; and that could precipitate the prolonged land
campaign he was hoping to avoid. Inter-hemispheric bombers must be built
whose primary aim was to gain control of the air; when that was achieved, an
enemy was helpless. Perhaps most importantly, these were all ideas that the
American public, not just military and political leaders, must understand. In
order to ensure this was the case, America must see itself as an airpower
nation whose destiny lay in the sky.
Like many other air theorists, Seversky exaggerated the effectiveness and
efficiency of airpower. He over-estimated the physical and psychological
effects of strategic bombing. In this sense he shared the shortcomings of his
air theory predecessors. Like Doubet, and to some extent Billy Mitchell,
Seversky understood the importance of morale and will, realising that some-
how the enemy's will must be modified or bent. Unlike them, however, he
rejected the notion that this could best be effected by urban area bombing.
Instead, he opted for airpower's use against enemy industry or infrastructure.
The ~,tltimate goal of all these men was the same - to break, or at least shape,
enemy will - but the mechanism they chose to reach that goal was different.
In short, they identified different key centers against which airpower should
concentrate.
Again like Doubet and Mitchell, Seversky combined this emphasis on
psychological goals with a penchant for selecting highly mechanistic
methods. The Major was convinced that a finite number of planes and bombs,
delivered on a variety of targets, would equate to victory. Air strategy con-
sisted of destroying target sets. The result was a curious blend of psychology
and science. In the parlance of more classical military theory, he melded
Clausewitz and Jomini. The product was not altogether satisfactory. For
example, he never seemed to appreciate that nuclear weapons had an even
greater impact on the human mind than on physical structures. They
represented a threshold, and discussions about their use far transcended con-
siderations of military effectiveness.
Seversky clearly misjudged the technical obstacles to building large air-
craft. His trumpeting of the Douglas B-19 and Martin flying boat was
premature. He himself designed a 'superclipper' in the late 1930s, but it
never got off the drawing board due to technical difficulties. Although the
B-29 was a significant advance over the B-17 and B-24, it did not approach
the capabilities Seversky was calling for in an inter-hemispheric bomber.
Even the massive B-36, which was not a viable weapon until 1950, fell short
of his predictions. In sum, building large aircraft was a significantly different
challenge than that of designing fighter planes. Even today the difficulty
experienced by McDonald Douglas with the new C-17 airlifter illustrates this
fact.
He did not foresee that precisely because total war, especially in the
nuclear age, was 'unprofitable', warfare would be limited or driven down to
the unconventional level; and in such wars airpower's advantages were
dissipated. Seversky argued passionately against America's involvement in
limited wars like those in Korea and Vietnam. This was due partly to cogent
strategic reasons: if the major threat was in Europe from the Soviets, then it
was unwise to become distracted by relatively minor conflicts is Asia. On the
other hand, his admission that strategic airpower was most effective against
'modem industrialised nations was a tacit admission that it was ineffective
against poor agrarian societies. To admit that future wars were likely to be
limited and of 'low intensity' would be to admit that airpower had clear
limitations. That was unacceptable.
Finally, to an illogical and unreasonable degree he denigrated the impor-
tance of armies and navies. Even in the total wars he predicted, surface forces
would have played a greater role than merely serving as airfield gate guards
and bomb transporters. It is one of the distressing tendencies of airpower
theorists to argue themselves into a position of claiming too much for. their
chosen weapon. Airpower does not have to win wars alone in order to be
decisive any more than does an army. True unification - what today we
would call 'jointness' - recognises that all weapons and services have unique
strengths and weaknesses. The wise commander chooses those weapons and
capabilities that will most effectively and efficiently accomplish his
objectives. In the type of war imagined by Seversky, the unique capabilities
of airpower were at a premium - but it still could not do it alone.
Nonetheless, Alexander P. de Seversky was able to capture the essence
of a new weapon of war, and peace, and then convey an understanding of
that essence to millions of Americans like no one else before him or since.
He made terms like 'victory through airpower' and 'peace through airpower'
familiar to an entire generation. As a prophet he was mediocre. As a prosely-
tiser he was exceptional.
NOTES
I. I want to thank the following individuals who have contributed their criticisms, ideas and
support to this essay: Duane Reed of the US Air Force Academy special collections branch,
Ron Wyatt of the Nassau County Library, Josh Stoff from the Cradle of Aviation Museum,
Steve Chun from the Air University Library, Lt. CoL Dan Kuehl and Lt. CoL Pat Pentland,
Maj. Pete Faber, Dr Dave Mets, and Russell Lee.
Regarding sources: Seversky died in 1974 without heirs. Apparently, most of his files and
personal papers were then deposited in the Republic Aircraft Corporation archives on Long
Island, NY. When that company went defunct a decade later, what was left of Seversky's
papers went to the Nassau County Library, also on Long Island. The collection is incom-
plete: much if it is taken up with copies of the several hundred articles, press releases,
speeches and radio broadcasts Seversky gave over the years. Although these papers are of
great value, virtually nothing of a personal nature is contained therein; nor is there much in
the way of official correspondence. Material of a technical nature regarding Seversky' s
patents and aircraft designs have been transferred to the Cradle of Aviation Museum, located
in a hangar on the old Mitchell Field, Long Island.
2. 'Alexander P. de Seversky', US Air Services, Aug. 1937, pp.l8-19.
3. Samuel Taylor Moore, 'Amazing Adventures of Legless Aviator', Every Week Magazine,
1929, undated clipping in Seversky papers, 'Cradle' archives; Chloe Arnold, 'An Ace With
One Leg and Nine Crosses,' New York Sun, 20 Oct. 1918, p.9.
4. Alexander P. de Seversky (hereafter APS), 'I Owe My Career to Losing My Leg', Ladies
Home Journal, May 1944, p.l07.
5. James Farber, 'Major de Seversky-Engineer', Popular Aviation, Aug. 1935, p.88; Paul
Harvey, 'One Bootstrap', Flying, Sept. 1957, p.26.
6. Aeronautics, 23 Aug. 1916, p.l6. Seversky's wartime exploits are also documented in a
letter from Rear Adm. B. Doudoroff, his former commander, to the US Embassy, dated 30
March 1918 and located in 'Cradle' archives.
7. APS, Radio broadcast transcript, 7 Oct. 1938, Nassau archives. Interestingly, Seversky's
father and brother were also military pilots; in fact, the former was a member of Alexander's
squadron and thus a subordinate!
8. APS, Radio broadcast transcript, 1932, Nassau archives. Seversky also received the Orders
of St Ann, St Stanislaus and St Vladimir.
9. Officially, his name was Alexander Procofieff-Seversky. However, when passing through
Paris in 1918, French authorities inadvertently replaced the hyphen with a 'de'. Seversky
liked the change and from then on relegated Procofieff to a middle name and used the 'de'.
'Mr Procofieff from the North,' New Yorker, 5 Oct. 1940, p.l4. His trip out of Russia was
actually an escape. As an aristocrat, local Bolshevik officials viewed him with distrust,
despite his war record.
10. Ibid.
II. APS, 'I Remember Billy Mitchell', Air Power Historian, Oct. 1956, p.l79; 'Alexander P. de
Seversky', (Note 2) p.l9; APS, 'Sky Blazers' radio address transcript, 24 Aug. 1940, Nassau
archives.
12. APS, Radio broadcast transcript, 9 Jan. 1940, Nassau archives; 'Military Men Favor Air
Refueling Flights', New York Times, 17 Aug. 1930, p.17. For the bombsight see Maj. Gen.
Patrick to Adjutant General, 18 Sept. 1924, 'Cradle' archives; undated memo (c. Oct 1941),
by C.L. Paulus, Materiel Div., regarding Seversky's employment at McCook Field, Ohio, in
the Seversky file, Air Force Museum archives, Wright-Patterson AFB, Ohio. The Air
Service became the Air Corps in 1926 and the Army Air Forces in June 1941.
13. A.D. McFadyn, 'Major Alexander de Seversky', Journal of the Patent Office Society, April
1937' 273--6.
14. For a good description of the P-35 and its lineage see Joshua Stoff, The Thunder Factory: An
Illustrated History of Republic Aviation Corporation (Osceola, WI: Motorbooks, 1990),
pp.ll-35; and Edward T. Maloney, Sever the Sky: Evolution of Seversky Aircraft (Corona
del Mar, CA: World War II Publications, 1979).
15. The Bendix Race was flown between Burbank and Cleveland, Ohio, 2,045 miles. Of interest,
when told by the Air Corps the P-35 was too advanced for Army pilots, Seversky asked
aviatrix Jackie Cochran to fly the plane and demonstrate its simplicity and reliability.
Cochran flew the P-35 to victory in the 1938 Bendix. Dan Dwiggins, They Flew the Bendix
Race (Philadelphia, PA: Lippincott, 1965), pp.94-110.
16. Seversky to Air Vice-Marshal Sholto Douglas, RAF, 8 Aprill939, 'Cradle' archives.
17. In a speech to the US Naval War College on 28 April 1967, Seversky recalled experimenting
with 37mm and 82mm cannon mounted on flying boats in 1917. Speech located in Seversky
papers, Nassau archives. Seversky argued for greatly increased armament, including rockets,
on fighter aircraft as early as 1934. 'How Can Pursuit Aviation Regain Its Tactical
Freedom?' US Air Services, March 1934, pp.l6-17. He reiterated this idea in 'Lest We
Forget', US Air Services, Jan. 1937, pp.l6-17.
18. Seversky wrote letters to several high ranking Air Corps officers, including at least four to
the chief of the Materiel Div., in May and June 1938 making such suggestions, but it appears
the only response was from a Lt-Col Volandt at Wright Field who stated the Air Corps was
simply not interested. Copies of all letters are in the 'Cradle' archives.
19. Capt. Claire L. Chennault, 'Special Support for Bombardment', US Air Services, Jan. 1934,
pp.18-24; Stephen L. McFarland and Wesley Newton, To Command the Sky: The Battle for
Air Superiority Over Germany, 1942-44 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian, 1991).
20. Evelyn Seversky, Radio broadcast transcript, 22 June 1933, Nassau archives. In addition,
both the Severskys generally took their cocker spaniel, 'Vodka', along on their flights; she
logged over 1,000 flying hours.
21. 'Presenting Alexander P. de Seversky', Pathfinder, 13 Feb. 1942; p.l6; New York Daily
News, I Aug. 1967, p.l2; APS, 'Scoring the Stunt Contest', The Sportsman Pilot, May-June
1933, pp.10--12, 45-8; John F. Whiteley, 'Alexander de Seversky: A Personal Portrait,'
Aerospace Historian, Falll977, pp.l55-7.
22. Interview, Alexander de Seversky, by Murray Green, New York, NY, 16 Apr 1970, located
in Green papers, USAF Academy archives. The difficulties and bickering between Seversky
and the Air Corps over the BT-8 contract's fulfillment is illustrative and is related in a series
of letters and reports dated Oct. 1935 - March 1936, located in the 'Cradle' archives.
Seversky also received the Harmon Trophy in 1947 when President Truman lauded his tire-
less efforts during the war to alert the American public to the importance of airpower.
23. Interview, H.H. Arnold, Jr., by Murray Green, Sheridan, Wyoming, 29 Aug. 1972, located in
Green papers, USAF Academy archives; Landers to Seversky, 6 April 1942, 'Cradle'
archives, contains attachments that are affidavits regarding Seversky' s lawsuit against
Republic. The various charges and counter charges are spelled out here, including the record
of a phone conversation between Seversky's lawyer and Gen. Arnold in which the latter
gives credit to Seversky as an engineer, but notes that 'someone else should handle other
parts of the business.' Wattes to Seversky, 26 Nov. 1938, 'Cradle' archives tells him he is
spending too much money on his business trips.
24. Arnold's motives are confirmed by his wartime Chief of Staff, Lt. Gen. Barney Giles, in an
interview with Murray Green, San Antonio, Texas, 12 May 1970, located in Green papers,
USAF Academy archives. It should also be noted, however, that in an effort to boost
company profits, Seversky sold 20 aircraft to Japan in 1938, a move not welcomed by the
Air Corps. Stoff, The Thunder Factory (note 14), p.23.
25. 'The Founder Complains,' Time, 2 Sept. 1940, pp.56-7; press release from H.A. Bruno and
Associates (Seversky's lawyers), 22 Aug. 1940, 'Cradle' archives.
26. Even 30 years after these events, Seversky's 1970 interview is laced with anger and bitter-
ness towards Arnold for taking his company away from him. On the other hand, Arnold
asked his Materiel Div. to search their records and talk to personnel who had worked with
Seversky and get all available information on his employment at McCook Field in the 1920s.
Unsigned memo, 8 Oct. 1941, Seversky file, Air Force Museum archives, Wright-Patterson
AFB,Ohio.
27. APS, 'Analysis of Statements Made by General H.H. Arnold', 24 May 1943, Nassau
archives.
28. APS, 'The Ordeal of American Air Power', American Mercury, July 1941, pp.7-l4; APS,
'Victory Through Air Power!' American Mercury, Feb. 1942, p.149.
29. Seversky to FDR, 11 July 1941, copy in Green papers, USAF Academy archives; 'Seversky
Calls Army Air Set-Up No "Unification", but Misnomer', New York Herald Tribune, 3 July
1941, np.
30. APS, 'The Twilight of Sea Power', American Mercury, June 1941, p.647.
31. APS, 'Navies Are Finished', American Mercury, Feb. 1946, p.137; APS, 'Ten Air Power
Lessons for America,' Flying and Popular Aviation, July 1941, p.62; APS, 'When Will
America Be Bombed?' American Mercury, April1942, p.415.
32. APS, 'Air Power and Space Supremacy,' speech to Virginia Military Institute, 7 March
1958; his wife expressed the same views in a radio broadcast, 2 June 1942, both in Nassau
archives.
33. APS, 'I am an American' radio broadcast transcript, 27 July 1941, Nassau archives.
34. 'Seversky Fears September War', New York Post, 13 July 1939.
35. APS, 'My Thoughts on the War', Popular Aviation, April 1940, p.l9; 'Seversky Feels
British Could Balk Invasion', New York Herald Tribune, I June 1940, p.5; APS, Radio
broadcast transcript, 20 June 1940, Nassau archives.
36. 'Ten Air Power Lessons', (note 31) p.l4; APS, 'America Repeats Europe's Aviation
Mistakes', American Mercury, Oct. 1941, pp.401-4.
37. APS, 'Hard Facts on Air Power', American .Mercury, Aug. 1940, pp.406-14; '"Umbrella"
of Air Held Vital to Navy,' New York World Telegram, 4 June 1940, np; APS, Radio broad-
cast transcript, 26 May 1941, Nassau archives.
38. APS, 'The Twilight of Sea Power,' American Mercury, June 1941, pp.648-9.
39. APS, 'Why Lindbergh is Wrong,' American Mercury, May 1941, pp.519-32; APS, 'Why
the Luftwaffe Failed', The Atlantic, March 1942, pp.293-302.
40. APS, 'Aviation vs. Isolation', Vital Speeches of the Day, 1 July 1941; pp.557-8.
41. APS, Radio broadcast transcript, 26 May 1941, Nassau archives.
42. The previous month Seversky had written to Congress, once again recounting his plans for a
long-range heavily armed escort fighter in 1938, and complaining that Arnold had rejected
his offers. Seversky to Truman Committee Investigating National Defense, 18 Jan. 1942,
Nassau archives.
43. APS, Victory Through Air Power (NY: Simon & Schuster, 1942), pp.213-53; see also APS,
'Aviation Ballyhoo vs. Aviation Facts', American Mercury, Sept. 1942, pp.263-74.
44. 'Seversky's Reply to Critics', New York Herald Tribune, 25 Aug. 1942; np. This is
apparently a response to a statement made by Arnold in a book he co-authored the previous
year: 'Comparative tests indicate there is little difference and no great disparity between
them [the P-40 and Spitfire] in speed, climb and maneuverability.' Maj. Gen. H.H. Arnold
and Col. Ira Eaker, Winged Wmfare (NY: Harper, 1941), p.22.
45. 'Wing Tips', Steel 14 Sept. 1942, p.lOO; David Brown, 'Victory Through Hot Air Power',
Pic, !5 Jan. 1943, pp.7-9.
46. APS, Victory (note 43), p.307.
47. Giulio Douhet, 'Recapitulation' in Command of the Air (Washington: GPO, 1983),
pp.244-50.
48. APS, 'World War III and How to Win It', Coronet, Jan. 1955, p.ll8.
49. APS, 'Memo on Enforcement of Peace Through Air Power', 6 Jan 1943, Nassau archives.
50. Douhet, 'Command of the Air' in Command of the Air, p.50.
51. Hanson Baldwin, 'Victory Through Air Power? No!' Sea Power, June 1942, pp.6-8;
Hoffman Nickerson, 'Seversky: Air Power! Nickerson: Not Enough!' Field Artillery
Journal, July 1942, pp.543-9. The most vicious response was by Maj. Gen. Paul B. Malone,
'Victory Through Air Prophets?' Skyways, Nov. 1942; pp.6-9, 74-5.
52. Quoted in Russell Lee, 'Victory Through Air Power: American Army Air Forces, Navy and
Public Reactions to the Book and Film During World War II', MA Thesis, George Mason
Univ., 1992, p.87.
53. Ibid., pp.54-62. After the war Arnold wrote to Gen. Carl Spaatz, his successor as command-
ing general of the AAF, that Seversky was 'dangerous' because of his incessant carping on
the alleged failures of American airpower during the war. Arnold to Spaatz, 9 March 1946,
copy in Green papers, USAF Academy archives. Of interest, Seversky had great respect for
Gen. Frank M. Andrews (1884-1943), Arnold's contemporary, who was commander of the
Caribbean theater in 1942 and then CINC US Forces in Europe. Andrews died in a plane
crash over Iceland, 3 May 1943.
54. William Bradford Huie, 'What's Behind the Attacks on Seversky?' American Mercury, Feb.
1943, p.l56.
55. Ibid., p. 155. Clifton Fadiman, New Yorker, 25 April 1942., pp.74-6; Donald W. Mitchell,
The Nation, 23 May 1942, p.604.
56. Lee 'Victory' (note 52), p.34; Richard Shale, Donald Duck Joins Up (Ann Arbor: UMI,
1982), p.69. That was approximately one of every six Americans at the time.
57. Walton Rawls, Disney Dons Dog Tags (NY: Abbeville, 1992), p.6. Perhaps the most well-
known Disney military insignia was that used by the Flying Tigers, the famed fighter unit
based in China, formed and led by Claire L. Chennault 1941-45.
58. BBC Radio broadcast transcript, 17 Sept. 1943, Nassau archives.

59. APS, Radio broadcast transcripts, 13 Aug. 1943 and 30 Jan. 1944, both in Nassau archives;
APS, 'Walt Disney: An Airman in His Heart', Aerospace Historian, Spring 1967, p.7.
60. Seversky had taken a Dale Carnegie course in 1933 to improve his public speaking skills.
Nonetheless, when rehearsing the script for the movie he stated that German troops landed
on Norway's beaches - pronouncing that word as if it were a female dog - it was then
decided by Disney that Sascha needed elocution lessons. APS, 'In the Lyons Den', unpub.
essay dated 14 Aug. 1943, Nassau archives.
61. Memo, Kuter to Arnold, 23 June 1943, copy in Green papers, USAF Academy archives. The
two officers were Gens. Larry Kuter and Hal George. Interview, Gen. Laurence Kuter, by
Murray Green, NYC, 17 April 1970, located in Green papers, USAF Academy archives;
Lee, 'Victory' (note 52), p.78-83.
62. Slessor to Seversky, 29 Sept. 1943, Nassau archives. Slessor had written a volume on air-
power theory between the wars that is still considered a classic, Air Power and Armies
(London: Oxford, 1936).
63. Kuter interview; John Gunther, Taken at the Flood: The Story of Albert D. Lasker (NY:
Harper & Row, 1960), p.281--6.
64. Seversky interviewed Hirohito on 2 Nov. 1945. Radio broadcast transcript, I Nov. 1945;
APS, 'Report to Secretary Patterson on the Pacific War,' II Feb. 1946, p.6, both in Nassau
archives. The Emperor reputedly added that he was convinced early on that airpower would
eventually determine the outcome of the war.
65. Lee, 'Victory' (note 52) pp.43-50.
66. The 'superplane' is mentioned in the book, but does not play as prominent a role as it does in
the movie. APS, Victory, (note 8), p.316. When asked later about this seeming contradiction
in his stance on the need for escort at that point in the war, Seversky maintained they had
attempted several ways to explain this problem in the film but all such solutions were too
complex. They therefore decided to go with the easy, and admittedly fanciful, depiction in
the movie. APS, 'Air Power and the Future', lecture at Royal Canadian Air Force Staff
College, 25 Aug. 1947, Nassau archives.
67. APS, Notes labeled 'Outlines, quotations, lessons, etc.,' no date, but probably 1945, Nassau
archives.
68. APS, 'Bomb the Axis From America', American Mercury, Dec. 1943, p.680. It is an
interesting paradox that Seversky advocated 'precision bombing' at the same time he
spoke of obliteration and destruction from the sky. To a far greater degree than his AAF con-
temporaries he saw airpower as a blunt instrument rather than as a rapier. Given the tech-
nology of the time, Seversky was the more realistic on this issue.
69. APS, 'Report to Secretary of War Patterson', 10 Sept. 1945, pp.3-4, Nassau archives.
70. APS, 'Report to Secretary Patterson on the Pacific War', II Feb. 1946, pp.2-7, Nassau
archives.
71. Patterson Pacific Report, Supplement on Atomic Bombings, Nassau archives; APS, 'Atomic
Bomb Hysteria', Readers' Digest, Feb. 1946, pp.l21--6; APS, Radio broadcast transcript,
Nassau archives. Of note, it was a long-time naval adversary who accused Seversky of con-
servatism. Fletcher Pratt, 'Seversky and the Bomb', New Republic, 11 March 1946, p.41. At
this point Seversky did not understand the danger posed by nuclear radiation.
72. APS, 'The Only Way to Rearm Europe', American Mercury, March 1949, p.269.
73. APS, Radio broadcast transcripts, 17 Aug. 1940, 27 July 1941, 10 Aug. 1941 and 7 Feb.
1942, all in Nassau archives.
74. APS, Radio broadcast transcript, 27 July 1941 and speech to The Conference Board, NYC,
19 March 1942, both in Nassau archives.
75. APS, King Features Syndicate article, 12 Sept. 1952, Nassau archives. Seversky wrote
several dozen essays for King Features, most of which were published as newspaper edi-
torials.
76. This philosophy is fully developed in Seversky's second book, Air Power: Key to Survival;
(NY: Simon & Schuster, 1950). See also APS, 'The US Air Force in Power Politics'. Air
Affairs, Winter 1949, pp.477-90.
77. APS, 'Wonder Weapons Can't Win a War', This Week, 10 Sept. 1950, pp.4-8; 'Korea
Proves Our Need for a Dominant Air Force', Readers' Digest, Oct. 1950, p.6--10.
78. APS, 'Evaluation of the Air Weapon', lecture to Air War College, Maxwell AFB, 19 Nov.
1953, pp.4-5.
79. APS, King Features Syndicate article, 16 April 51, Nassau archives; APS, 'Build an
Invincible Air Force Now', Vital Speeches of the Day, I Jan. 1951, p.176.
80. APS, Air Power (note 76), pp.68-79; APS, 'Navies are Finished,' American Mercury, Feb.
1946, p.143. Not surprisingly, Seversky would later be strongly opposed to American
involvement in Vietnam, for much the same reasons. 'Dealing with a Major Subject', New
York News, 20 June 1971, pp.7-9; APS, Speech to Squadron Officer School, Maxwell AFB,
AL, 18 March 1971, Nassau archives.
81. APS, 'Our Current Inferiority is Not Scientific', Vital Speeches of the Day, Feb. 1958,
p.238-42; APS, 'Our Antiquated Defense Policy', American Mercury, April 1949,
pp.389-99.
82. APS, Transcript of interview with Mike Wallace, 20 Sept. 1957; APS, memo for record, IS
Apr. 1951, record of telephone conversation with Gen. Albert C. Wedemeyer, 11 April
1951, all in Nassau archives. Seversky's choice for the Republican nomination in 1952 was
Robert A. Taft.
83. 'Build an Invincible Air Force Now' (note 79), p.175.
84. APS, 'New Concepts of Air Power,' lecture to Army War College, Carlisle Barracks, PA, 18
March 1952, pp.I0-16; 'Evaluation of the Air Weapon,' pp.ll-12; Air Power: Key to
Survival (note 76), pp.183-90.
85. For the best discussion of the British Air Control ex.periences of the 1920s and 1930s see
David E. Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Control: The Royal Air Force, 1919-1939 (NY:
StMartin's, 1990). For the best discussion of Project Control, see Maj George R. Gagnon,
'Air Control: Strategy for a Smaller Air Force', Masters Thesis, School of Advanced
Airpower Studies, Maxwell AFB, AL, 1993.
86. APS, transcript of testimony before Senate Armed Services and Foreign Relations
Committees, 21 Feb. 1951, p.734, Nassau archives.
87. APS, America- Too Young to Die (NY: McGraw-Hill, 1961) is a highly polemical piece, as
the name would suggest, and contained few new ideas. It did, however, call attention to the
growing importance of electronic warfare in airpower employment.
88. See, e.g., APS, 'Artificial Gravity for Spaceships', Science Digest, Oct. 1946, pp.S-8; APS,
'Your Trip to Mars', Pageant, Aug. 1952; pp.S-15.
89. George H. Gallup, The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935-1971, 3 vols. (NY: Random
House, 1972), Vol.l, pp.293, 399.
Institution and Airpower:
The Making of the French Air Force
PASCAL VENNESSON
Airpower revolutionised warfare in the twentieth century.' Strategies became

obsolete, armies and navies vulnerable, and weapons useless. It is often
assumed that airpower had a universal appeal, and was bound to follow an
equally universal trajectory: a strong, independent air force, a fleet of
bombers, and a military doctrine based on strategic bombing. This assump-
tion is wrong. It is true that in the United States, the air force became a
powerful, distinct institution, in which bombers were crucial, and that
it was founded together with a clear military doctrine based on strategic
bombing. However, the French Air Force became a weak and dependent
organisation that agreed to fulfill every loosely defined mission available, it
promoted a multi-purpose aircraft, and rejected any doctrine. Why did the
same revolution in warfare, the use of aircraft for military purposes, lead to
such a different outcome in France?
Common explanations of the genesis of military capabilities insist on the
role of technology, the constraints of the international context, and the impact
of the geopolitical position of each state. In contrast, I argue that the main
explanation for the difference between air forces is the institutional con-
figuration of security policy. Existing military organisations and informal
rules and procedure structure the struggle for power in the military. This
research offers a fresh interpretation of the making of the French Air Force
from 1918 until its formal creation in July 1934, and enhances our insight
into French military policy during the interwar period.'
Because military forces have experienced striking transformations in
recent years, a study of how security policies change is both timely and
important.' Rather than military doctrine or weaponry, massive changes in
military organisation, the institutionalisation of the military division of
labour, the very nature of the armed services, the evolution of their roles and
missions, are at the heart of what really matters for national security.' Since
military capabilities are a salient aspect of many realists' definition of power,
then their genesis is an essential aspect of international security." I seek
answers to questions such as: How do governments organise violence? Why
MAKING THE FRENCH AIR FORCE 37
do military institutions take particular forms? Why and how do military capa-
bilities change over time in specific directions? The study of the genesis of
the air force, a specific form of military organisation, illuminates the interplay
between technology, organisation and doctrine in institution building, and
highlights the conditions shaping the uses of airpower. 7
This essay discusses competing approaches which seek to explain the
making of military capabilities, then presents an institutionalist framework.
Next, it explores the institutional filters that shaped French security policy
during the interwar period. Finally, I examine how these filters structured the
making of the air force. To do so, three phenomena are analysed: the decision
to promote multi-purpose aircraft instead of a clearly focused aircraft like a
long-range bomber, the creation of a catch-all military organisation, instead
of a sharply defined professional jurisdiction and the definition a low-key,
unclear military doctrine emphasising co-operation, instead of an ambitious,
articulated, explicit set of guidelines defining the new service's legitimacy
and symbolising its strength.
I. Genesis of Military Capabilities: Competing Frameworks

I. THE LIMITS: MACRO-DETERMINANTS
It is commonly argued that three broad determinants shape the making of

new military capabilities: the effect of major technological trends (themselves
related to socio-economic transformations), the geopolitical characteristics of
each country, particularly its role as land or naval power, and the effects of
the international system, or a combination of the above. For example, it is
argued that since air forces are the result of the twentieth century's techno-
logical revolution, they all follow a broadly similar type of organisation and
doctrine. Based on a geopolitical approach, one could argue that naval
powers will tend to build strong and independent air forces, whereas land
powers will tend to create small, less independent air forces. 8 Finally, a
sudden external threat can be a major reason to create a powerful air force
and increase the state's security. 9
These structural schools of thought have value, but they are ill-suited to
explain military innovations in a comparative perspective.' 1 Despite their
apparent diversity, they share four limitations: (1) They tend to be under-
specified, (2) they tend to be ahistorical: they focus on the interaction of units
of analysis and ignore the genesis of these units, (3) they tend to assume that
the military is a homogeneous and permeable social institution, ever open
to and reflective of changes in its environment, (4) they tend to sacrifice
empirical substance to formalism, running the risk of reaching trivial results.
Underspecified. None of these macro-determinants can adequately explain
security policy directly. Since the military system has no gatekeeper, the
making of military capabilities is viewed in universal evolutionary terms." If
the military is permeable, it becomes uninteresting. The emergence of Nazi
Germany or the invention of larger military aircraft passes unproblematically
into security policy. For example, historian R. J. Overy argues that 'from its
inception in World War I, air power was regarded as qualitatively different
from conventional surface combat, for not only could aircraft attack the
national fabric rather than the armed forces but they also did so in a rapid and
annihilating way.'' 9 In France, the empirical evidence supports the opposite
view: air power was regarded as a continuation of existing weapon systems,
particularly of the cavalry's reconnaissance missions and long range artillery.
The attack on the economic potential of the enemy never fully convinced
either army officers, or airmen. In fact, all air forces' roles and organizational
structures did not end up alike. The present study takes these differences
seriously, and shows that they vary in consistent ways.
Poverty. Finally, in gaining generalisation, macro approaches run the risk
of reaching commonsensical conclusions. As Claude Levi-Strauss puts it in
criticising the over functionalists aspects of Boas' anthropology:
What interests the anthropologist is not the universality of the function
- which is far from definitely established, and which cannot be asserted
without a careful study of all the customs of this type and their
historical development - but, rather, the fact that the customs are so
varied. It is true that a discipline whose main, if not sole, aim is to
analyze and interpret differences evades all problems when it takes into
account only similarities. But at the same time it thus loses the means
of distinguish between the general truth to which it aspires and the
trivialities with which it must be satisfied.'0
True, rigor and parsimony are an important aspect of social science's work.''
But an extreme use of such argument leads to missing central variations that
exist in social phenomena. The result is not more rigor, but a constant
'sulfuric acid bath ' 22 for the empirical evidence. It should be reaffirmed that
gaining phenomenological knowledge is an essential part of social science.
Macro-determinants tend to hide the variety of patterns of evolution.
2. INSTITUTIONS, MILITARY INNOVATION AND THE ORGANISATION OF

STATE VIOLENCE
The approach presented here to explain military innovations emphasises the

importance of institutions. First, it focuses on institutional innovation, not
solely on military doctrine or weapons system. Major studies of security
policies have focused on military doctrine, and their critics have followed
their lead. 23 The widespread belief in the importance of military doctrine is

exaggerated. First, several analysts have shown a wide gap between doctrine
and the policies actually implemented in peacetime and wartime. 24 Like any
other planning process, the effect of military doctrine on actual security
policies remains ill-defined, undetermined, sometimes anarchicaP' The inter-
national impact of military doctrine is even less clear.
Second, the notion of military doctrine is not as universal as many analysts
seem to believe. For example, historian James Corum in his study of the roots
of Blitzkrieg explains: 'The term "doctrine" is a common military term in
English, but not common in German. In fact, in that word one sees much of
the difference between the American approach to war and the German one. ' 26
Some military institutions are more doctrine-orientated than others, and thus
doctrine in the United States, France, Germany and the Soviet Union, for
example, has a different meaning, function, and relative importance. Military
doctrines before and during the nuclear age are also considerably different.
Consequently, the importance and role of military doctrine is an issue to be
studied, not a given to be assumed.
Many studies of military innovation focus on weapon sytems and weapon
procurement.27 Although military technology can be an important part of
change, it takes its full dimension when it is related to a particular set of
social and political conditions, in particular the evolution of force structures.
In Economy and Society, Max Weber argues that, in the art of warfare, the
greatest transformations originated not in technical inventions, but in the
social organisation of warriors. The 'organizational technology' of military
drill, for example, shapes the making and diffusion of weapon systems. 28
Various works have shown how military technology is embedded in social
and political environments. 29
There is a second reason why this essay focuses on institutions. I argue that
institutional filters structure the genesis of military capabilities and affect
their content. 30 Existing military organisations and procedures, as well as past
military policies were crucial filters in the making of the French Air Force.
They conditioned the relative strength of players, they shaped the interest,
identity, goal, and capacity of the group that promoted change, they provided
a set of rules, formal and informal, to implement change, and finally they
supplied a set of legitimate representations of war, the military profession and
the security policy that fixed the boundaries of the argument during the policy
process. 31 These institutional filters provided a framework within which
power relationships exercised. 32 In short, this research points out institutional
mediations between macro-determinants (the geopolitical dichotomy between
land and naval power, the security dilemma, the evolution of technology) and
policy outcomes, specifically the making of a new military institution.
II. Institutional Filters and Policy-feedback: Centralism and Consensus

in French Security Policy
I. ARMY HEGEMONY AND THE UNITY OF COMMAND
In France, security policy is shaped by a holistic, centralised, and consensual

institutional setting. 33 The demand for unity of command was a recurrent
claim during the inter war period. The source of this holistic and centralised
conception was the strength of the Army, and the emergence of a strong unity
of command during the Great War. Intimately related to the genesis of a
centralised state, the Army was a powerful institutional filter for any trans-
formation of military capabilities. 34 This longue duree's historical legacy was
reinforced during the Great War. The size of the mass army, its large share of
military budgets during the interwar period, 35 and the authority of its leaders
gave it a predominant role in the security policy. 36 Army commanders were
the major players during the conflict, and gained the prestige of ultimate
victory. The institutional setting of security policy was hardly comparable to
the American 'inter-service rivalry'. The Navy was certainly an old and
important service. However, with a budget that ranged between 3 and 25 per
cent between 1918 and 1939, it remained well below the Army's budget
which proportion ranged between 52 and 95 per cent. Furthermore, naval
officers shared many of the Army's conceptions, as well as a common reluc-
tance to accept Air Force autonomy. In 1931 Admiral Georges Durand-Vie!,
Chief of the Naval Staff, explained to the Navy Minister that the Navy should
keep its aircraft, and argued: 'The unity of command follows the unity of
mission'. 37
Until 1939, the Army's elite was the product of a selection process anterior
to 1914.-'" Given a limited turnover, they were in charge for long periods of
time, and their influence was particularly significant in the executive branch
which prevailed over the legislative in security matters. During the inter war
period, the direction of the armed forces was centralised. The Army High
Command was composed of the Chief of the Army General Staff, and the
Vice-President of the Superior War Council (Conseil Superieur de Ia Guerre)
who was also general inspector of the Army. 39 In total, very few officers
exercised an influence on security policy, among them Marshal Philippe
Petain, Generals Maxime Weygand and Maurice Gamelin, and to a lesser
extent Generals Marie Debeney and Hergault during the making of the Air
Force.
As a consequence of the Army's hegemony, a unified command was the
approved system for determining the conduct of war and the force structure
of the armed forces. Consensus prevailed, not pluralism.'" No element of the
national defence could act independently of the Army's designated chief
commanders. Such a development would have been understood as a waste of
effort, the result of insufficient cohesion, and an absence of global vision.

The Commander-in-Chief controlled every means of warfare. The creation of
a new branch appeared as a disruptive event, that violated the existing
harmony. The emergence of a duality in command would produce major
drawbacks in wartime. During the Great War the unity of command was con-
sidered as an intangible principle. The general responsible for the air service
during the conflict asked in 1918: 'How is it possible to conceive bombers as
something different from a long-range artillery gun?'. 41 In their discussion
with allied air commanders on strategic bombing of Germany in 1918, the
French delegate, General Duval, argued: 'For now, the purpose is not to
demolish houses in German towns, it is to win the battle. ' 42 Peacetime plan-
ning was submitted to the same constraints. For example, the Army's General
Staff was in charge of the concentration plan, and this plan was closely
related to the chief commander's own personal plan. The planning process
had to follow a unitary course. According to army officers, this unitary
process was the only way compatible with the exercise of command and its
responsibilities.
Compared to this powerful and hegemonic institution, airmen were collec-
tively weak and institutionally embedded within the Army. 43 In May 1921 the
air service became an official branch of the Army (arme) formally equal to
the traditional branches, cavalry, infantry, artillery, and engineer corps. In
June 1921 a law created a special status for military aviation personnel. The
officers of the new branch came from various background and their level of
education and familiarity with the military system was uneven. Very few top-
ranking officers were among them. From a total of 1,241 officers in 1920, 13
were colonels and lieutenant-colonels, and 123 commandants (majors).
The importance given by airmen to flight produced perverse effects. Since
they believed that air service leaders had to be able to fly, the age limits in
higher grades were lowered, meaning that the few experienced officers had to
retire earlier than their army and navy counterparts. In 1927 the average age
of the service officers was little more than 36, and among flying personnel,
supposed to become the top-ranking officers, it was even less. 44 Only 14
officers had passed the War College (Ecole de Guerre) examination before
1914. Furthermore, the number of officers specialised in general staff work,
crucial in organisational bargains, increased slowly, 30 in 1925, and 57 in
1930. Finally these officers did not all hold the same position in the military
system. On the one hand, the majority was composed of reserve officers, and
officers who were former NCOs. 45 They were not initially trained to reach
high positions the military establishment. On the other hand, active duty army
officers who chose aviation and had faster and more prestigious careers were
deeply socialised to the army system, and usually shared its broad representa-
tion of war and the way forces should be organised. Far from being strong
advocates of airpower, many of them shared the army officers' conception of

aviation.
Airmen's goals were shaped by this centralised institutional filter: they
could not deny that-the existing organisation led to the final victory in 1918,
and they could not appear as the illegitimate creators of a division in the
armed forces. The word 'independent', for example, was pejorative. In short,
institutional filters forced airmen to develop objectives and projects broadly
compatible with the existing consensus. They could not argue that airpower
alone would win the next war. Usually they were not convinced of its
potential efficiency. The degree to which airmen and various political actors,
whatever their interest in the struggle for power within the armed forces,
internalised the idea that airpower would not be decisive is striking. In the
United States, the arrogant self-confidence of airmen was the dominant
feeling and generated bitter reactions. In France, airmen's fear and under-
estimation of the air force potential were common. 46 The interest of airmen
was not a given, it was shaped by institutional constraints.
Another aspect of this centralised institutional setting is the remarkable
degree of consensus among military officers, and between them and civilian
decision-makers. 47 In such a centralised and holistic setting, the division
between civilian and military is less pertinent to understand change in
security policy. When disagreement occurred, those who disagreed were
usually not in a position to have a direct influence on the policy process. For
example, during the Great War, some members of the Parliament (MPs),
notably Pierre-Etienne Flandin, made the case for strategic bombing opera-
tions.4" But the executive branch backed the general command, and MPs had
no impact on the actual role of military aviation in the war. Various members
of the government, such as Louis Loucheur and (Minister of Munitions)
Georges Clemenceau, explained that bombing on the battlefield was truly
efficient. Clemenceau used a holistic rationale to explain his position:
'[Military success is possible] only if the principle of concentration of all
forces, aerial as well as ground, is applied'. 4" These institutional filters pro-
vided incentives for actors to share similar conceptions of what the next war
would be, and about the appropriate role of each component of the armed
forces.
2. BEYOND LEARNING: VICTORY, MEMORY, AND THE POLICY

FEED-BACK OF WORLD WAR I
The use of military aviation during World War I settled formal and informal
rules of the game that influenced the making of the air force during the inter-
war period. 50 Prior experiences with military aircraft generated new institu-
tional filters, originally related to the conflict, that shaped military innovation.
The impact of World War I on military aviation did involve learning stricto
sensu, but it went beyond in shaping the memory of actors and the
creation of the air corps' traditions and model of excellence. The notion of
'learning', captures only part of what happened within the officer corps. 5 '
Learning supposes a conscious, explicit, active process. True, a set of lessons
were drawn, incorporated in the curricula of military academies, and then
became a major aspect of officers' professional education. But the memory of
the conflict was much more substantial, deeper, more unconsciously present,
than some analyses of learning assume. 52 It involved a formal and informal
communication of the practice and conceptions within the population of air-
men. In general, World War I had a major impact on the French officer
corps. 53 This influence was noted at the time. The then Colonel Charles de
Gaulle wrote in 1934:
Yet, if one considers the basis of this activity (learning the lessons of
the past), one realises that anxiety for the future does yield somewhat to
respect for the past. The military caste, which has absorbed some
terrible lessons, seems to have a tendency to give its chosen leaders the
training designed for action in circumstances similar to those through
which it has just passed. A great deal of labour aims at training every
man to play his part in a centralised system and to conform to rigid
rules, the whole thing codified in accordance with the model of the
events of 1918. Certainly, this produces remarkable unity and many
good qualities. But the renewal of doctrines as methods of making war
change, and the inclination of ideas to follow the evolution of things -
which have brought about victories in every age - find conditions far
from favourable in this rigidity. 54
In 1939 General Alphonse Georges, Assistant Chief of the General Staff,
explained that 'in the opinion of the French War Council no new method of
warfare had been evolved since the termination of the Great War' .55 The
policy-feedback of the Great War had two consequences on the making of the
Air Force: the learning process focused exclusively on the cooperative role of
aircraft, and airmen defined themselves as individualist air knights favoring
combat in the air, not strategic bombing.
Military Aviation as Follow-Up: War College Curricula and Charles de

Gaulle's Conceptions
During World War I army commanders used their airplanes like their
artillery, their cavalry, and their engineer corps. According to many officers,
the war had to be won with artillery and infantry and these classical branches
would remain the crucial means of warfare. 56 Army conceptions of military
aviation were particularly influential during 1914-18. The concentration of
aircraft during specific battles (like Verdun) remained temporary." In

December 1916, 1,418 aircraft were in the wings (escadrilles): 837 were
reconnaissance aircraft, 328 fighters, and 253 bombers." In September 1917 a
plan designed to reinforce military aviation made this division of labour even
clearer. Out of 228 wings, 100 would be reconnaissance, 40 observation for
the artillery, 60 fighter aircraft, 20 bombers, and 8 for special missions. 59
In 1919 the War College (Ecole de Superieure de Guerre) incorporated
in its curricula courses on military aviation. 60 Because the War College
trained the future members of the military elite, and because they reveal
much about the official conceptions of military aviation, these lessons were
essential. Major Orthlieb's course in 1919 emphasized the variety of roles
of the aircraft, particularly reconnaissance missions, 'the true miracle of the
war',"' and to a lesser extent fighter combat and bombing on the battlefield.
The effects of this last mission remained targeted on communications
lines and factories, rarely cities. 62 And in any cases, bombing was limited in
range and power. Courses of the late 1920s restricted further aviation's role,
and divided each type of military aviation between various parts of the
army."'
The interwar writings of Charles de Gaulle convey army officers' concep-
tions of air matters. De Gaulle - at the time major and later on colonel - was
brillant, innovative and opposed to the existing structure of the armed
forces."' In 1932 he began a campaign in favour of armoured forces that
would imply structural changes in the army. De Gaulle was fascinated by
technology and its impact on warfare. He was an insider within the army and
knew top-ranking officers and the global situation of the armed forces very
well. Finally, he did not hesitate to criticize the general staff's conceptions, to
emphasise the lacunae of the force's architecture, to point out organisational
weaknesses, and to suggest audacious solutions. His writings show that even
for an innovative and critical army officer, the idea that a powerful air force
might have a major impact on warfare seemed fundamentally misguided and
was in fact beyond his understanding. For him, the topic was beyond discus-
sion. It did not appear to be an opinion, built on a contradictory debate, sub-
stantiated with data, experiences, and conflicting options. It rather appeared
as a deep conviction, the product of professional socialisation and training,
and the experience of World War I. The alternative- a powerful separate air
force- was not directly discussed but went without saying.
In the books and articles published by de Gaulle between the wars military
aviation was given a remarkable coherence. It never had any degree of
autonomy, but provided support to ground forces. For example, when he
mentioned the role of aircraft during World War I in La France et son armee
(published in 1938), their main mission was surveillance. Military aircraft
spy on the enemy and locate the fire of his guns. They make reconnaissance
easier and crucial. 'Aircraft have become the true, the ideal observation sites
for artillery. From now on, the aircraft is the true agent of liaison between
infantry and artillery, and between infantry and the general commander' .6 '
Aviation follows the infantry and prevents it from being isolated. As a con-
sequence, 'Being the master of the air means having one's artillery fire well
targeted, with infantry in permanent and immediate liaison with the comman-
dement, and with artillery' .66 The role of other types of aircraft stemmed from
this careful task of observation. Fighter aircraft prevent enemy aircraft from
troubling the patient work of air observers. The portrait of military aviation is
identical in Vers I' armee de metier (The Army of the Future). This book is
even more significant because De Gaulle adressed a contemporary issue, not
military history, and because it was published in 1934, when the air force was
legally created as a separate service. Among the consequences of technical
progress, he mentioned that aircraft had become a powerful substitute for the
cavalry. 'A single aeroplane in an hour can pick out more of the enemy than
all the cavalry of Murat was able to do in a whole day. ' 67 To be efficient, air
units should be incorporated within the army structure. To support armoured
units, aircraft are needed:
Aerial units, not intended for casual tasks at anyone's behest, but
having a definite mission of keeping a single, specific general con-
stantly informed, and always supporting the same comrades in battle
and lengthening the effective range of familiar artillery, will be the eyes
of the main unit. 68
De Gaulle did not ignore bombers and strategic strikes, but he denied them
any kind of distinctiveness and professional autonomy. According to him, air
groups, able to operate far away, rapidly, with maneuvers in three dimen-
sions, hitting with most impressive vertical attacks, would play a major role
in a future war. But the positive evaluation stopped there.
For the effects produced by bombing aircraft, terrible as they are, have
something static about them. The flying machine itself cannot draw any
advantage from its power. It is true that the ruins it leaves in its wake,
the chronic terror it produces, have, in the long run, a serious effect on
the enemy, but these are indirect. Like artillery, of which it is, in the
final analysis, the development, aircraft can destroy, but cannot compel,
cannot conquer, cannot occupy. 69
For de Gaulle, military aviation stood between two unsatisfactory and limited
missions. It could either 'restrict its action to the point that can help the army,
or operating in isolation, it will contribute only through indirect means to
collective results'. 70 In short, nearby, small but certain effects or far away,
larger but more uncertain effects. To support his view, de Gaulle referred to
World War I.
From their expeditions over Paris or Cologne, aeroplanes or dirigibles

came back, certain of having spread death and fire; but no advance
towards the frontiers to be crossed or the territory to be occupied
followed these massacres or destructions. There was no visible
correspondence between these episodes and the slow efforts of those
who conquered or defended the soil - the soil which is the real object
of war, since it is there that men live. 7 '
De Gaulle did admit the major effects of strategic bombing. But he

questioned the consequences of bombing in the war as he perceived it, which
was centered on the battlefield. Direct air attack on centres of production
would not win the war. The debate was not whether or not bombing was
efficient, it was assumed not to be. Finally, when he recalled this period in his
War Memoirs, de Gaulle confirmed that strategic bombing was auxiliary.
'I evoked the air force, preparing and providing a follow-up by its bombard-
ment to the operations conducted on the ground by the mechanised force, and
vice versa, the latter giving through its irruption in devastated zones an
immediate strategic utility to the destructive actions of air squadrons'. 72 In
his own words, bombers prepared, provided support, did not have immediate
strategic utility. Even for an army officer interested in social and technical
developments, and connected to politicians, military aviation remained an
instrument designed to provide an efficient adjunct to the army's operations.
At the onset of World War II, General Gamelin, commander-in-chief in
charge of the coordination of ground and air forces, transmitted his first
general order (ordre dujour) to the Army only. When he finally transmitted it
to General Paul Vuillemin, commander of the Air Force, he added a brief
note that said: 'I am sure that, as during the Great War, the air force will be
on the army's side'. 73 This note epitomises the impact of World War I on
army officers' conceptions. At the onset of the battles of 1940, the reference
for the military use of aviation remained the Great War, and confirmed the
secondary role of the Air Force, to provide help to the essential service, the
Army.
The Air Knights: Institutional Impact of an Heroic Myth

The making of the French Air Force is not the only institution-building
process in which people of different social rank and different professional
training become colleagues, and struggle with each other. 74 These initial con-
flicts are one of the basic features of a nascent institution. Within the service,
various kind of personnel acted side by side. The popular image of the air
knight, or individual and heroic combat in the air, became the airmen's domi-
nant identity and constrained in tum the later paths of the making of the air
force. The accuracy or inaccuracy of the air knights' individualistic exploits
matters less than their profound impact on the making of the air force." Even
today, this image actually structures the distribution of power within the
organization.
The dominant military role established during World War I in the French
air service was founded on the knights of the air ('chevaliers du ciel'), fight-
ing their own heroic battles. One of the main sources of division in the air
service opposed fighter pilots, dominant and powerful enough to define the
identity of the air service, and the bomber and reconnaissance crews. The ace
Georges Guynemer became the role-model of the air corps and was at the
heart of the invention of tradition in the new service.'" For example, his name
is recalled every ll September (the day of his death) during a ceremony on
every air force base, and his motto- 'Faire face' -became the motto of the
Ecole de I' air (the air force academy). Fighter pilots and the 'right stuff' are a
hallmark of the organization." Beyond symbolic representations, the current
structure of the air force shows the impact of the air knight's myth." Today,
three categories of officers compose the air force: base officers, mechanic
officers, and flying officers. Only very few base officers can become
generals, and even fewer will reach important positions within the service.
Mechanic officers are more numerous, they reach high ranks in the air force
academy and they do become generals, but they usually never reach
prominent positions within the organisation. The symbolic division of labor
clearly favors pilots. For example, even when a class's major at the air force
academy is a mechanic, the flag-holder of the cohort during the graduation
ceremony will be a pilot. Even for high positions in which technical skills
would seem to be needed (material direction, commander of a mechanic
academy), pilots are nominated, not mechanics. But the hierarchy is also
strong among pilots. Helicopter pilots are not among the dominant players
and transport pilots do not reach supreme positions. In the Air Force, the
most prestigious and powerful positions are held exclusively by fighter pilots.
The institutional nexus composed of existing military organisations and
procedures, as well as past military policies implemented during 1914-18
produced two effects on the process. First, socialised to a centralised and con-
sensual military institutional setting, and attached to the fighter pilots myth,
French airmen were less convinced than their British and American counter-
parts that an autonomous air force was needed, and that strategic bombing
would become the major mission of the new service. As a consequence, no
group involved in the policy process within the military became a vehement
proponent of the making of a powerful and separate service.
Second, because of these institutional filters, the proponents of the making
of an air force had to use a consensual, compromising rationale to achieve

their goal. An argument founded on division, competition and rivalry among
military organisations was illegitimate, whereas claims of efficient coopera-
tion for the common purpose could be promoted. Forced to use this rationale,
airmen were not free any more to support any kind of air organisation, but
only options that would fit within the existing constraints.
These processes favoured the making of a dependent air force: the selec-
tion of a multi-purpose aircraft, the weakness of the new organisation, and
the absence of a clearly articulated military doctrine.
III. The Making of a Dependent Air Force

I. THE BCR: MULTI-PURPOSE AIRCRAFT AND TECHNOLOGICAL
CONSENSUS
The French Air Force was created together with aircraft conceived through
the 'Bombardement Combat Reconnaissance' (BCR) program. Today's
analysts hate the planes that came out of this program. First, they are ugly.
'France entered WWII with some of the ugliest bomber ever built'. 79 Its
anti-aerodynamics, its prominent tourelles, incite mockery. The list of its
technical drawbacks is impressive: the plane was slow, fragile, badly armed,
vulnerable, difficult to keep in good shape, outmoded. According to Jean
Doise and Maurice Vai"sse, 'it is the worst compromise(... ) Technically, this
solution is detestable, the aircraft is dominated for each of its three missions
by specialised aircraft'"" The aircraft that came out of this program were a
'bastard solution'"', 'ambivalent.'"' This 'Achilles heel( ... ) hybrid aircraft'
constrained further technological improvements."3 According to Eliot Cohen
and John Gooch, the BCR was 'a two-engine, eight ton, underarrned and
underpowered dinosaur'. "4
Such a weapon system remains incomprehensible if we do not take into
account the constraints of the institutional structure on the implementation of
the making of the Air Force. Technology was a negotiated outcome."5 If an
airplane had been based on an external threat assessment, it might very well
have been a bomber. During the 1920s, France made an important effort to
change the structure of the international system, and created an alliance, 'the
little Entente' with Poland (1921), Czechoslovakia (1924), Romania (1926),
and Yugoslavia (1927)."" A powerful air force based on a large fleet of
bombers would have been a straightforward way of providing support to
France's allies. At the very least, a coherent rationale could have been use to
argue in favor of a new mission, a new technology, and a new service to
implement the foreign policy.
However, the BCR program revealed a desire to preserve a consensus
on the various purposes that the new military institution was supposed to
fulfill. Tensions surrounding the program, and the efforts to impose the right
definition of these planes, show the difficulty of incorporating these contrast-
ing characteristics into a single plane. Studies for the BCR program began in
May 1933 and in June, the Superior Air Council (Conseil superieur de !'Air)
approved Pierre Cot's (Air Ministry) and General Denain's (Chief of Staff of
the Air Corps) propositions. 87 On 6 July 1934 this procurement plan- called
'Plan I' or plan of the 1010 planes- was definitely adopted by the National
Assembly. The choice of aircraft was directed towards multi-seater aircraft
coming from programs which began between 1928 and 1932. These planes
built from 1928 on - Amiot 140, Farman 420, Potez 540, Bloch 130, and
Breguet 413-were twin-engined aircraft of five to seven tons, with a crew of
four to five men and an armament of three machine-guns in turrets, that could
carry 500 to I 000 kg of bombs. The top speed of the BCR was close to 350
kilometers per hour a ceiling of 4,000 meters, and a theoretical radius of
action around 1,300 kilometers.
The BCR aircraft was supposed to fulfill every available mission. It was
supposed to be a bomber capable of acting on the battlefield or on other
targets. It also gathered information for ground unit commanders and air unit
commanders.'' Finally, the aircraft was supposed to fight against enemy air-
craft, both to protect other planes during their mission and to prevent the
enemy from accomplishing similar missions. Based on a varied logic, encom-
passing both an autonomous mission and a high dependence on the ground
forces, the BCR allowed officers to smooth out divergences among organisa-
tions. An anonymous general described the potential uses of these airplane
thus:
[The plane will] allow every unit under the name of renseignement,
aviation, to play a role in air fights, while giving them better weapons
for the accomplishment of their mission. (... ) This program (... ) has
been the topic of passionate discussions, and injustified criticisms,
particularly from those who improperly labelled this aircraft as a
combat plane and did not understand its role. Its role is not to look for
aerial combat, but, if the circumstances render this absolutely
necessary, to allow the renseignement units, the most numerous units in
the air force, to reinforce heavy aviation, while better fulfilling their
own missions. 89
The 'BCR' program was a multi-role airplane that was supposed to be a
bomber, a fighter and a reconnaissance aircraft. It came about as a technical
compromise between different sub-groups in the air service. The diversity of
its potential roles and the confusion of its missions made it easier to reach a
consensus between the new service and the ground forces, but also between
various groups inside the air service. The BCR diminished the number of
groups opposed to an independent air force and put a new technology in the
new organisation. The air force did not take sides, and did not develop an
original new mission: strategic bombing.
Beyond the BCR program, procurement planning of the air force reveals
that bombers never became predominant. Before 1934, there were thirteen
groups of fighters, 12 groups of bombers, 24 groups of observation aircraft.
The aim of the plan 1, set up in 1934, was to build 1,010 planes: 350 fighters,
350 bombers and 310 observation aircraft. This was far from a bomber fleet.
In 1935, another plan (Plan 2) modified this slightly. The aim was to build
1,500 aircraft: 670 bombers, 420 fighters, 50 commanders' planes, and 360
observation aircraft. 90 But even, in 'Plan 2', bombers were only in a relative
superiority. The various plans that followed (2 to 4) were not implemented
and Plan 5 for 1938-39 gave priority again to fighter aircraft. Finally, the
conception of what a bomber would be was disputed. For example,
Lieutenant de Vaisseau Barjot argued that an efficient bomber should be fast,
armed offensively and not defensively, small to be less vulnerable to enemy's
defenses. Consequently, 'the asymptotic tendency of the bomber is the one-
seat fighter'. 91
The BCR program and procurement planning created together an air force
which was largely influenced by institutional constraints. The absence
of grand design and clear technological priority is similar to the pitfalls in
industrial policy at the same period. 9 ' Technology was a tool to reach an
organisational agreement.
2. THE ARMEE DE L'AIR: A CATCH-ALL MILITARY ORGANISATION
The formal creation of the new service occurred in four stages: the creation of
an air ministry (2 October 1928, and 30 October 1928 for the definition of its
missions), a decree between the Navy and the Air Ministries (27 November
1932), a decree defining the organisation and the major mission of the Air
Force (1 April 1933), and a law (2 July 1934). In this five-year process, each
step confirmed the dependency of the air force, and illustrates the efforts to
avoid any explicit and sharp division in the armed forces. Air service officers
did not claim a specific and new mission upon which they would have a
monopoly. They were supposed to share their weapons and knowledge with
other services. The new service was integrated to pre-existing structures, with
most units placed under army and navy command.
When the Air Ministry was created in October 1928, it was deeply affected
by the Army's leadership.''' The Air Ministry had to place under the other
ministries, War, Navy and Colonies, all the air units that they considered
necessary. The number of air units was impossible to modify without prior
agreement of the War Minister. Aircraft were chosen by the Air Minister, but
only along lines dictated by the War Minister. 94 In 1932 the Navy and Air
Departments signed an accord on naval aviation in which, using the unity of
command rationale, the Navy kept its own aviation. 95
The decree of 1933, which mentioned the Air Force officially for the first
time, did not abrogate the previous text on the Air Ministry and left the
Army's domination virtually intact, but it confirmed the uncertainty of the
new service's missions. This uncertainty revealed the constraining effects of
the institutional setting in the definition of a new military task. The 1933
decree underlined the missions of the air force, and detailed its organisation,
the importance of air regions, the inspection, instruction and training of the
new service. The formal definition of air force missions was coherent with
the missions of the multi-purpose BCR aircraft. The new service would do
everything.
Instead of air forces strictly specialised for particular missions, an air
force is needed, capable, for the defence of the national territory, of
participating either in purely aerial operations, or in ground or naval
operations (... ). The army's general inspector, the Navy's chief of the
general staff, and the general inspector of the territorial air defense will
have all opportunity to make sure that the air force is ready to cooperate
with the army and the navy, and with the territorial air defense units. 96
The first article of the decree was even more straightforward:
The air force must be capable of participating in air operations, in com-
bined operations with the army and the navy and in the air defense of
the territory. The air force is organised, inspected, and trained in this
triple goal."7
The law of 1934 only confirmed these characteristics and the army's
hegemony. The legal definition of the missions of the air force in France
showed that closed relationships with the army and the navy were reaffirmed.
The law made clear that the French Air Force was supposed to fulfill, not one
major and well-defined mission, but almost every imaginable mission, from
bombing to air defence! 8 The Air Force was founded, not with unclear goals,
but with a general amalgam of every possible goal. The new organisation
remained dependent on the Army. 99 This lack of independence was the out-
come of institutional filters. During the debate at the National Assembly,
Anton in Brocard, a former airman favorable to the law, expressed regrets
about the army's prevalence.uxl According to him, the law was 'an imperfect
step'. He would have preferred, 'an air doctrine sufficiently firm', a clear
choice, as in England or in Italy.I()J
This law does not bring any new element of homogeneity, no unity of
direction. The air defence of the territory escapes again from the Air
minister's authority; it belongs entirely to the War Minister. The naval
aviation took back most of its units, but left a couple of them to the Air
Ministry, this decision being nothing else but a compromise. Neither in
its interest, nor in the interest of the air department can such a situation
last long. It is, so to speak, the legal organisation of the existing dis-
order.'0'
In his answer, the Air Minister, Pierre Cot, accepted the bulk of Brocard's
arguments. He explained that the organisation was imperfect and provisional,
and praised the transaction efforts, and the modest work finally achieved. In
his own words, it was better to 'have this organisation, rather than to have no
organisation at all' . 103
The share of defence budget is another indicator of the air service's, and
then the air force's, weakness. After the creation of the Air Force as a separate
service, its budget increased from 18 per cent of the total to 27 per cent. '04 But
it never became more important than, or even as important as, the army's
budget during the same period (which increased from 52 to 60 per cent). In the
ten years preceding its formal creation, the air service budget ranged from 7 to
13 per cent of the total, while the army's budget ranged from 55 to 64 per cent.
Even if, once constituted, the Air Force did become a player in the security
policy, Alexander is wrong to say that it 'stood on an equal footing with the
older service', and favored strategic bombing. 105 The absence of efficient tac-
tical air support training and efforts is better explained by airmen's
preferences for reconnaissance and defensive fighter force aerial protection.
Furthermore, army officers were convinced that the next war would be long,
and that the air force would finally do what it did during 1914-18, including
close support to ground units. As a matter of fact, the law of 1934 did
mention combined operations with ground forces as one of the missions of
the new service. Finally, in 1936 and 1937, Pierre Cot, the air minister and
the airmen, reaffirmed their willingness to cooperate with the army, and to
put aircraft under the army's control. 106
The institutional filters imposed severe constraints on the degree of auto-
nomy of the air force, and did not favor the creation of a specific and well-
defined professional jurisdiction. The new institution was not bound to a new
military task, it fulfilled every existing mission. But the formal willingness to
fulfill a variety of missions did not imply that army officers and airmen
thought seriously about what close air support would mean. In May and June
1940 many ground commanders had no clear idea of what they could do with
aviation in the battle, and many air force officers were more convinced by
long-range reconnaissance rather than any other mission. 107
3. NO MILITARY DOCTRINE FOR THE INSTITUTIONAL COMPROMISE
French interwar military policy was defensive.' 0' The essential mission of the
armed forces was to prevent the invasion of German forces. The only
significant move that was foreseen, the entry of troops into Belgium, was not
mainly designed to attack German forces. Predictions about the next war
during the 1920s and 1930s insisted on the length of the future conflict, the
importance of naval blockade, and the fight on the frontier, behind the
Maginot Line. 109 The fact that offensive options were rejected within the
armed forces added to the centrality of institutional procedures, and made it
particularly difficult for airmen to advocate an offensive option based on
preventive air strikes. To argue in favor of a new mission, independent from
previous tasks and potentially more efficient than traditional means of war-
fare, was particularly difficult, and the success of such an argument all the
more improbable. Hence, for many analysts, the doctrine of the air force
'remains something of a mystery'."" Did it favor strategic bombing? Did it
promote close-air support? Only a study of the institutional setting in which
the doctrine was created can solve the mystery.
No officer, no policymaker in France was comparable to the most well-
known airpower theorists: Giulio Douhet in Italy, William Mitchell and
Alexander de Seversky in the United States, Hugh Trenchard and Frederick
Sykes in the United Kingdom."' Contrary to a long-held view, Douhet's con-
ceptions never had a major influence on the security policy between the
wars." 2 Douhet's major book, Il Dominio dell'Aria (1921), has never been
translated into French. During the 1920s and 1930s, many officers connected
in one way or the other to the air force studied Douhet, but these studies were
largely negative." 3 Critiques were dominant, even in the official review of the
air service. Aerial bombing would not guarantee the enemy's capitulation,
destroying enemy aviation on the ground would prove impossible, and
Douhet's thesis was technically unrealistic.' 14 Rene Sologne, a journalist at
Les Ailes very favorable to Douhet and convinced that a powerful air force
would be efficient, noted bitterly:
The French conception of aerial bombardment is not Douhet's. As for
the importance of an independent aviation, its homogeneity, its
doctrine, its employment tactic, what is expected from the material, in
France, everything is at odds with Douhet' s thinking. 115
In 1932 the air service's inspector general rejected Douhet's theories and
explained that bombing civilian populations could only be in retaliation." 6 In
May 1939 Maxime Weygand explained that 'Douhet has no partisans in
France'.'"
Not only were airmen not convinced by the strategic bombing doctrine, but
some of them were not convinced by the necessity of a military doctrine at

all. The simple idea that doctrine might be a useful tool in security policy was
not readily admitted.'' 8 A journalist at Les Ailes complained: 'Never has the
official Revue des Forces Aeriennes thought it should expose the air doctrine,
and even less discuss it seriously' .119 The air corps officers who contributed
to the Revue des forces aeriennes 12" argued that with military doctrines,
prudence was required:
The Revue des forces aeriennes renounces, now and definitively, the
creation and discussion of a Doctrine. Doctrine with a capital D leads to
schematisation and risks crystallizing minds. The goal we set ourselves
- to develop in our contributors and our readers the taste for patient
study and meditation - appears more modest, but on reflection a lot
wiser and more fruitful. It will allow them to consider, if needed, the
difficult and sometimes very complex problems of air combat much
better than would an uncompromising and simplistic logic.
Because of the institutional configuration, airmen could not achieve their
objective with a tough doctrinal dispute.' 2 ' The idea of solving a policy
process like the creation of a new service through an open and explicit
doctrinal debate was not on the agenda. Top-ranking army commanders
would have refused to debate. General Armengaud, an airman who favored a
stronger air force, explained: 'Occasionally, I had the opportunity to talk to
the future generalissimo (General Gamelin, chief of the general staff from
1935 to 1940). He knew about the written manifestations of what I called my
apostolic crusade. He never expressed any opinion to me on this topic neither
an approval nor a critique, as if it had no interest.' 122
Military doctrine was an outcome of institutional constraints. The strategic
bombing doctrine, dominant in the United States, never became strong in
France. The French Air Force adopted no clear doctrine, and in particular not
the strategic bombing doctrine. Not only were the Army and the Navy against
such an idea, but airmen themselves were not convinced by airpower
doctrine. Because of these institutional constraints, an amorphous and elastic,
often ill-defined doctrine became dominant. This loosely defined air doctrine
was an ideal device for smoothing over differences not only between the
Army, the Navy and the Air Corps, but also among airmen. The institutional
constraints on the doctrinal debate forced airmen to mix their claims. As
Robert Young puts it: 'The air force continued to promote the cause of the
bombing arm, insisting all the while on its absolute fidelity to the principle of
army co-operation.' 123 Because of the powerful institutional filters, the only
repertoire available to defend the creation of a new service was particularly
ill-suited to the making of a powerful independent air force. Senator Riche,
who supported the creation of an air force, wrote: 'At no time, in no case has
the union of similar elements, the unity of goals and means, been a
mistake.'' 24 Military doctrine remained unclear, even after the making of the
Air Force. In February 1936 P. Etienne explained in the official review of the
air force that 'The tendency appears confusing, the doctrine without precise
orientation' .125 Two years late, in August 1938, Georges Kitcheeff confirm
this uncertainty and mentioned the 'doctrinal anarchy' of the Air Force. 126
The Domestic Uses of the Air Menace

Hitler's rise to power in 1933 gave a push to the supporters of the new
organisation. 127 But most of the time, the air menace was used by various
domestic actors for assorted purposes, and not as clearly and systematically
as one could expect in favor of the making of the Air Force. 12s
The parlimentary debate on the decision to built the Maginot Line has an
often overlooked airpower dimension. The initial project of a defensive
organisation of the territory first appeared at the beginning of the 1920s. Such
a defence had been discussed for over ten years within the armed forces, the
government, and the parliament.' 29 A law passed on 14 January 1930 began
the construction of the line of fortifications. The debate on the various dis-
positions of the bill illustrates the strength of the Army conception, and the
extensive role of institutional filters related to the structure of political
struggle.
During the debate several members of the National Assembly criticised the
Maginot Line and emphasized the new importance of airpower. Socialist
deputies emphasized the anachronism of fortified lines, helpless for the future
war because, according to the socialist Emile Faure, it will be 'a war of air-
craft'. 13° Fortifications, socialists argued, could not prevent the bombing of
large cities and industrial centers, nor the transportation of troops behind the
front line. Another socialist, Charles Co tin, explained: 'You are going to
spend billions for a defensive organisation of the frontiers which, because of
the new means of air-chemical war, will be totally inefficient and
inoperable.' 13 ' But the political actors who insisted on the new air threat were
also against offensive doctrine, and against the military uses of aircraft. Their
position during the debate triggered ironic remarks from right-wing leaders.
When the socialists criticised the fortifications that, in their own words,
dug-in the French military, the right-wing deputy Jean Fabry answered: 'Be
careful! You are going to recommend the offensive' .132
.The critics of a static, defensive approach, those who pointed out the
merits and dangers of airpower, were members of the Socialist Party. They
were pacifists and particularly opposed to the making of a new service. The
holistic characteristic of the institutional system left very few avenues
available for dissenting opinions oriented towards the making of an
influential air force. And when these dissenting opinion existed they came
from outsiders, even more opposed to the making of new military capa-
bilities.m
Taking into account institutional filters solves the air doctrine mystery. The
French Air Force had no doctrine at all when it was created. The strength of
military doctrines, and the importance of doctrinal debates, imply in
the first place that sharp disagreements and divisions are not necessarily
illegitimate. Doubet's doctrine supposed strong distinctions and tough
choices: offensive or defensive, air force or army or navy, bomber or fighter.
Given the institutional configuration of French security policy, such dis-
tinctions would have been very difficult. What was needed was the most
unclear possible doctrine: offensive and defensive, bombers, fighters and
reconnaissance aircraft, the air force and the other services. In the making of
new military capabilities, the argument takes the form of a debate on military
doctrine. The institutional filters structure the argument surrounding military
innovation. The boundaries of the airpower issue were constrained by this
institutional context. Actors perceived their position and formulated the
struggle for power in terms compatible with the unitary, consensual frame-
work dominant in the armed forces.
Conclusion: Institutional Filters and Military Innovations

This study argues that the struggle for power within the military is mediated
by the institutional setting of security policy. Institutions matter in three
ways: they shape the relative strength of players, influence the definition of
their interests, and provide boundaries for policy arguments. The interplay of
the French Army's hegemony and the policy feedback of World War I
shaped the degree of independence of the Air Force, the technology, and the
doctrine. Some airmen did pursue their own distinctive preference for organi-
sational autonomy. They did so under conditions of powerful institutional
constraint. The centralised and consensual power relationships in security
policy during the inter-war period limited and directed the making of the Air
Force.u•
This study shows the limits of macro-determinants in the explanation
of the making of new military capabilities. They all tend to overlook a
challenging puzzle: military institutions should be similar, but they are
different, why? The genesis of new military capabilities depends very
strongly on the institutional structure in which they occur, and they thus dis-
play different particularities. Examining the making of the French Air Force
sheds new light on changes in security policy in a comparative perspective,
and on institution building processes. I also present an institutionalist argu-
ment about changes in security policies, and hope both will generate further
investigations.
The role of civilians is not a given. In some military systems, the role of
civilians can be strong. The institutional filters do not favor such a role in
France. Reform, if any must come from within. What is striking is how little
the external threat was used to support the making of a powerful air force.
The new force appears to have been an administrative rationalisation, rather
than the outcome of any powerful conviction about airpower, or any clear
'reaction' to a more accurate threat from Germany and Italy.
Finally, the framework outlined above requires several qualifications. For
example, it might not be as useful to explain further development of air
forces in developing countries after decolonisation. In these cases isomor-
phism and imitation might be a better framework. 135 Further developments of
the air force might also be different. Once a new service is created, even if it
is weak and dependent, the making of new academies, the progressive disen-
tanglement from previous structures produces effects. In the French case the
trauma of 1940 and after, and the making of the nuclear Force de frappe in
the 1950s and 1960s redirected the struggle for power within the armed
forces. This comparative history provides a wider and more accurate explana-
tion of the genesis of military capabilities. Institutions are a force, not only in
instances of military inertia, but in cases of military change as well.
NOTES
I. This essay is part of a larger comparative research on the making of air forces in France,
Germany, the United States and Great Britain. I am grateful to Pierre Favre, Michel Dobry,
Patrick Facon, Jacques Lagroye, Yves Meny, Michel Offerle and Robert Salais for their
comments on the earliest drafts of this study, and to Lynn Eden, Tova Perlmutter and
Gideon Akavia for their suggestions on later versions. I presented this research at the
Center for International Security and Arms Control, Stanford University, and at
the Department of National Security Affairs, Naval Postgraduate School. I thank all the
participants in those meetings. I gratefully acknowledge the financial and intellectual
support of the Center for International Security and Arms Control, Stanford University and
of the Mershon Center, Ohio State University.
2. Eliot A. Cohen, 'The Mystique of US Air Power', Foreif?n Affairs 73/1 (Jan.-Feb. !994),
pp.I02-24; James A. Winnefeld, Preston Niblack, and Dana J. Johnson, A Leaf?ue of
Airmen: US Air Power in the Gulf War (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corp. 1994). See also
note 7.
3. For a more detailed account see Pascal Vennesson, Les chevaliers de /'air. L'institution-
nalisation de /' armee de /'air (Paris: Presses de Ia Fondation Nationale Sciences
Politiques, forthcoming 1995); idem, 'La fabrication de l'am1ee de !'air en France.
Innovation institutionnelle et compromis socio-technique', Geneses-Sciences sociales et
histoire 15 (March !994), pp.69-83. On the evolution of the new service between 1935
and 1940, and its role during the war, A.D. Harvey, 'The French Armee de I' Air in
May-June 1940: A Failure of Conception', Journal o{ Contemporary History 25 ( 1990),
pp.447-65.
4. In the United States, Les Aspin, The Bottom-Up Review: Forces For A New Era
(Washington, BC: Dept. of Defense, I Sept., 1993); In Canada, Committee of 13, Report
on the Review of Canadian Defense Policy (Quebec: Centre quebecois de relations inter-
nationales-Universite Laval, 1994); In Europe, Jacquelyn K. Davis, 'Restructuring Military
Forces in Europe', Adelphi Paper-1/SS 284 (Jan. 1994), pp.79-96; In France, Livre blanc
sur Ia defense 1994 (Paris: UGE-10--18, 1994).
5. The study of the genesis and nature of military institutions can be traced back to Max
Weber and Otto Hintze. According to Weber, 'Whether the military organization is based
on the principle of self-equipment or that of equipment by a military warlord who furnishes
horses, arms and provisions, is a distinction quite as fundamental for social history as is the
question whether the means of economic production are the property of the worker or of a
capitalistic entrepreneur'. Max Weber, General Economic History (New Brunswick, NJ:
Transaction Books, 1982), p.320; Otto Hintze, 'Military Organization and the Organization
of the State', in The Historical Essays of Otto Hintze (Oxford: OUP, 1975), pp.178-215.
Studies of the making of military institutions include, Richard H. Kuhn, Eagle and Sword.
The Beginnings of the Military Establishment in America (NY: The Free Press, 1975);
Peter Karsten, 'Armed Progressives: The Military Reorganizes for the American Century'
in idem (ed.), The Military In America. From the Colonial Era to the Present (NY: The
Free Press, 1986), pp.239-74; Christopher McKee, A Gentlemanly and Honorable
Profession: The Creation of the U.S. Naval Officer Corps, 1794-1815 (Annapolis USNI
Press, 1991); Stephen Skowronek, Building A New American State. The Expansion of
National Administrative Capacities, 1877-1920 (Cambridge: CUP, 1984), on the Army,
pp.85-120, 212-47; Allan R. Millett, Semper Fide/is. The History of the United States
Marine Corps (NY: Free Press, 1991). On recent aspects of the institutional dimension of
security policy, C. Kenneth Allard, Command, Control, and the Common Defense (New
Haven, CT: Yale UP, 1990); Gregory Hooks, 'The Rise of the Pentagon and US State
Building: The Defense Program as Industrial Policy', American Journal of Sociology 96/2
(Sept. 1990), pp.358-404; Samuel P. Huntington, 'Organization and Strategy', in Robert J.
Art, Vincent Davis, Samuel P. Huntington (eds.), Reorganizing America's Defense.
Leadership in War and Peace (Washington, DC: Pergamon-Brassey's, 1985), pp.220--54;
Peter D. Feaver, Kurt M. Campbell, 'Rethinking Key West: Service Roles and Missions
After the Cold War', in Joseph Kruzel (ed.), American Defense Annual 1993
(NY: Lexington Books-Mershon Center, 1993), pp.l53-73. On the implications of
organizational factors for security policies, Scott D. Sagan, The Limits of Safety.
Organizations. Accidents, and Nuclear Weapons (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1993),
pp.250--79.
6. Charles A. Kupchan, 'Setting Conventional Force Requirements: Roughly Right or
Precisely Wrong?', World Politics 41/4 (July 1989), pp.536--78; Charles L. Glaser,
'Political Consequences of Military Strategy. Expanding and Refining the Spiral and
Deterrence Models', World Politics 44 (July 1992), pp.497-538; James D. Morrow, 'Arms
Versus Allies: Trade-Offs in the Search for Security', International Organization 47/2
(Spring 1993), pp.207-33.
7. Robert A. Pape, Jr. 'Coercive Air Power in the Vietnam War', International Security 15/2
(Fall 1990), pp.l03-46; idem, 'Coercion and Military Strategy: Why Denial Works and
Punishment Doesn't', Journal of Strategic Studies [hereafter .ISS] 15/4 (Dec. 1992),
pp.423-75.
8. For geopolitical arguments, Randall Collins, 'Modern Technology and Geopolitics', in
Randall Collins, Weherian Sociological Theory (Cambridge: CUP, 1986), pp.l67-85.;
John Arquilla, Dubious Battles: Aggression, Defeat. and the International System (NY:
Crane Russak, 1992).
9. Strong arguments supporting the role of the external threat in security and foreign policy
can be found in, Robert Jervis, 'Cooperation Under the Security Dilemma', World Politics
30/2 (January 1978), pp.l67-214; Stephen M. Walt, The Origins of Alliances (Ithaca:
Cornell UP, 1987), pp.l7-49; Michael Mandelbaum. The Fate (!{Nation. The Search for
National Security in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Cemuries (Cambridge: CUP, 1988),
pp.l-7. On the connection with State's foreign policy goals see, Robert J. Art, 'The
Influence of Foreign Policy on Seapower: New Weapons and Weltpolitik in Wilhelminian
Germany', in idem, and Kenneth Waltz (eds.), The Use (!{Force. International Politics and
Foreign Policy (Boston: Little Brown, 1971 ), pp.l68-203.
10. It is worth noting that these approaches do have their own logic and interest, and that some
proponents, well aware of their limits, do not claim to go beyond macro specifications. My
point is that in themselves they are unlikely to provide an adequate framework for ttie
study of the genesis of military capabilities. For stimulating structural approaches, Kenneth
N. Waltz, Theory of International Politics (NY: McGraw-Hill, 1979); Randall Collins,
'The Future Decline of the Russian Empire', idem, in, Weberian Sociological Theory, 1st
ed. (Cambridge: CUP, 1986), pp.186--209. For a critique see, Stephan Haggard,
'Structuralism and Its Critics: Recent Progress in International Relations Theory', in
Emanuel Adler, Beverly Crawford (eds.), Progress in Postwar International Relations
(NY: Columbia UP, 1991), pp.403-37.
II. Claude Cartier, 'Le destin manque de l'aeronautique militaire', in Andre Corvisier (ed.),
Histoire militaire de Ia France. Tome 3: De 1871 a1940 (Paris: PUF, 1992), p.232.
12. Marshall Sahlins, Culture and Practical Reason (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1976),
p.208.
13. Peter Gourevitch, 'The Second Image Reversed: The International Sources of Domestic
Politics', International Organization 32/4 (Autumn 1978), pp.881-912.
14. David Dessler, 'Beyond Correlations: Toward a Causal Theory of War', International
Studies Quarterly 35 (1991), pp.337-55.
15. For a critique of this aspect of interactionist sociology, Pierre Favre, 'Necessaire mais non
suffisante. La sociologie des "effets pervers" de Raymond Boudon', Revue franr;aise de
science politique 30/6 (Dec. 1980), pp.1256--71.
16. Quoted in, Nathan Rosenberg, 'The Historiography of Technical Progress' m idem, Inside
the Black Box. Technology and Economics (Cambridge: CUP, 1982), p.6.
17. On a critique of the same assumption about the educational system, Margaret Archer,
'Process Without System', European Journal of Sociology-Archives Europeennes de
Sociologie 24 (1983), pp.l97-204.
18. The assumption of homogeneity also favors the tendency to settle, arbitrarily and ex ante,
questions that are not settled during the process: what the air force doctrine should be, what
a military aircraft really is, if Douhet's theory is right or wrong, etc. A classical warning on
such teleological verdicts is, Lucien Febvre, 'Contre les juges suppleants de Ia vallee de
Josaphat' (1st edn. 1945 and 1948) in, Combats pour l'histoire (orig. 1953) (Paris: Armand
Colin, 1992), pp.107-13. See also, Pierre Bourdieu, 'Le mort saisit le vif, les relations
entre l'histoire reifiee et l'histoire incorporee', Actes de Ia recherche en sciences sociales
32/33 (April-June 1980), p.9.
19. R.J. Overy, 'Air Power and the Origins of Deterrence Theory Before 1939', JSS 15/1
(March 1992), p.73. Not surprisingly, the evidence to support this claim comes mostly
from the British and American cases. For a similar argument see, Bernard Brodie, Strategy
in the Missile Age (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1959), pp.3-144; George H. Quester,
Deterrence Before Hiroshima. The Airpower Background of Modern Strategy (NY: Wiley,
1966). Overy provided a more comparative account in The Air War, 1939-1945 (NY: Stein
and Day, 1980), pp.S-25.
20. Claude Levi-Strauss, Structural Anthropology, orig. 1953 (NY: Basic Books, 1963), p.l4.
21. Jack Snyder, 'Richness, Rigor, and Relevance in the Study of Soviet Foreign Policy' in
Sean M. Lynn-Jones, Steven E. Miller and Stephen Van Evera (eds.), Soviet Military
Policy (Cambridge, MA.: MIT Press, 1989), pp.3-22.
22. Marshall Sahlins, Culture (note 13) p.78.
23. Barry R. Posen, The Sources of Military Doctrine. France, Britain, and Germany between
the World Wars (Ithaca NY: Cornell UP, 1984); Jack Snyder, The Ideology of the
Offensive. Military Decision Making and the Disasters of 1914 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP,
1984); Kimberly Marten Zisk, Engaging the Enemy. Organization Theory and Soviet
Military Innovation, 1955-1991 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1993); Deborah D. Avant,
Political Institutions and Military Change. Lessons From Peripheral Wars (Ithaca, NY:
Cornell UP, 1994); Elizabeth Kier,lmagining War: British and French Military Doctrine
Before World War Two (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, forthcoming 1995).
24. See, e.g., Tim Travers, How the War Was Won. Command and Technology in the British
Army on the Western Front, 1917-1918 (London: Routledge, 1992), pp.l45, 148-51; Haim
Benjamini, 'The Six-Day War, Israel 1967: Decisions, Coalitions, Consequences: A
Sociological View', in Moshe Lissak: (ed.),lsraeli Society and Its Defense Establishment.
The Social and Political Impact of a Protracted Violent Conflict (London: Frank Cass,
1984), pp.64-82; James G. March and Roger Weissinger-Baylon (eds.), Ambiguity and
Command. Organizational Perspectives on Military Decision-Making (Marshfield, MA:
Pitman, 1985).
25. Aaron Wildavsky, Speaking Truth to Power. The Art and Craft of Policy Analysis (New
Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1987), pp.ll4-141. On ambiguities and false trails
related to military doctrine, John J. Mearsheimer, Liddell Hart and the Weight of History
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1988).
26. James S. Corum, The Roots of Blitzkrieg. Hans Von Seeckt and German Military Reform
(Lawrence, KS: UP of Kansas, 1992), pp.xiv-xv.
27. See, e.g., Harvey Sapolsky, The Polaris System Development: Bureaucratic and
Programmatic Success in Government (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1972); Robert
Coulam,lllusion of Choice: The F-Ill and the Problems of Weapons Acquisition Reform
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1977); Thomas L. McNaugher, 'Marksmanship, McNamara
and the MI6 Rifle: Innovation in Military Organizations', Public Policy 28/1 (Winter
1980), pp.I-37; Jack L. Levy, 'The Offensive/Defensive Balance of Military Technology:
A Theoretical and Historical Analysis', International Studies Quarterly 28 (1984),
pp.219-38; Chris C. Demchak, Military Organizations, Complex Machines (Ithaca, NY:
Cornell UP, 1991); Michael E. Brown, Flying Blind. The Politics of the US Strategic
Bomber Program (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1992).
28. Max Weber, Economy and Society. An Outline of Interpretive Sociology (NY: Bedminster
Press, 1968), pp.ll50-5.; Randall Collins, Weberian Sociological Theory (Cambridge:
CUP, 1986), p.91.; William H. McNeil, The Pursuit of Power: Technology, Armed Force,
and Society Since AD 1000 (Chicago, IL: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1982).
29. John Law and Michel Calion, 'Engineering and Sociology in a Military Aircraft Project: A
Network Analysis of Technological Change', Social Problems 35/3 (June 1988),
pp.284-97; Donald MacKenzie, Inventing Accuracy. A Historical Sociology of Nuclear
Missile Guidance (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1990); Graham Spinardi, From Polaris to
Trident: The Development of US Fleet Ballistic Missile Technology (Cambridge: CUP,
1994); Steven Flank, 'Exploding the Black Box: The Historical Sociology of Nuclear
Proliferation', Security Studies 3!2 (Winter 1993-94), pp.259-94. Another example, more
historical in tone is, Marshall J. Bastable, 'From Breechloaders to Monster Guns: Sir
William Armstrong and the Invention of Modem Artillery, 1854-1880', Technology and
Culture 33/2 (Aprill992), pp.213-47.
30. On institutional filters see, Steven Brint, Jerome Karabel, 'Institutional Origins and
Transformations: The Case of American Community Colleges', in Walter W. Powell and
Paul J. DiMaggio, (eds.), The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis (Chicago,
IL: University of Chicago Press, 1991), pp.337--60; Sven Steinmo, Kathleen Thelen and
Frank Longstreth, eds., Structuring Politics. Historical Institutionalism in Comparative
Analysis (Cambridge: CUP, 1992); R. Kent Weaver and Bert A. Rockman (eds.), Do
Institutions Matter? Government Capabilities in the United States and Abroad
(Washington, DC.: Brookings Instn., 1993). Works that emphasize the impact of institu-
tional filters are, Neil Fligstein, The Transformation of Corporate Control (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard UP, 1990); Theda Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers. The Political
Origins of Social Policy in the United States (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard
UP, 1992). For an emphasis on the role of political institutions in military doctrine,
Deborah D. Avant, 'The Institutional Sources of Military Doctrine: Hegemons in
Peripheral Wars',/nternational Studies Quarterly 37 (1993), pp.409-30.
31. On the importance and limits of arguments in policy processes, Deborah Stone, Policy
Paradox and Political Reason (Glenview, IL: Scott Foresman, 1988); Gianfranco Majone,
Evidence, Argument, and Persuasion in the Policy Process (New Haven, CT: Yale UP,
1989); Frank Fischer and, John Forester (eds.), The Argumentative Turn in Policy Analysis
and Planning (Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1993).
32. Like in any other organisations, the struggle for power is an essential dimension of the
military, see Stephen Peter Rosen, Winning the Next War: Innovation in the Modern
Military (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1991 ), pp. 18-22. On power in organisations, Jeffrey
Pfeffer, Managing With Power. Politics and Influence in Organizations (Boston, MA:
Harvard Business School Press, 1992).
33. For a contrasting view of French and US domestic structures, Peter J. Katzenstein,
'International Relations and Domestic Structures: Foreign Economic Policies of Advanced
Industrial States', International Organization 30/1 (Winter 1976), pp.l3-18. This holistic
characteristic, which departs significantly from the US case, has been noted in other
countries' security policy, most notably in the Soviet Union. See Matthew Evangelista,
Innovation and the Arms Race. How the United States and the Soviet Union Develop New
Military Technologies (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1988); Kimberly Marten Zisk, Engaging
the Enemy. Organization Theory and Soviet Military Innovation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
UP, 1993), pp.8-9.
34. Yves-Marie Berce, 'Guerre et Etat', XVlle siecle 143 (Sept. 1985), pp.257-66; Andre
Corvisier (ed.), Histoire militaire de Ia France. I. Des origines ii 1715 (Paris: PUF, 1991);
Brian M. Downing, The Military Revolution and Political Change. Origins of Democracy
and Autocracy in Early Modern Europe (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1992), pp.ll3-39;
Joel Cornette, Le roi de guerre. Essai sur Ia souverainete dans Ia France du Grand Siecle
(Paris: Payot, 1993).
35. Even if its share of the budget declined during the period, the budget of the Navy and the
Air Force combined, never became superior. Robert Frankenstein, Le prix du rearmement
franr:;ais (Paris: Publications de Ia Sorbonne, 1982), p.303.
36. Robert A. Doughty, 'The French Armed Forces, 1918-1940', in Allan R. Millett,
Williamson Murray (eds.), Military Effectiveness. Volume II: The Interwar Period
(Boston: Allen & Unwin-Mershon Center, 1988), pp.41, 49.
37. Service historique de Ia marine, IDD7 110, Note 1313/Aero-1, 29 Oct. 1931. Quoted in,
Lucien Robineau, 'Marine et aviation fran~aise des annees 30', Service historique de
l'armee de !'air-Symposium 'Navies and Air Forces in the prewar decade', (US Naval
Academy-Annapolis, 1991), p.9.
38. E.g., Gamelin graduated from the Ecole Superieure de Guerre in 190 I. See, Jean-Louis
Delmas, 'L'Ecole superieure de guerre, 1876-1939', Report to the conference 'La selec-
tion des elites dans l'armee de terre: France et Allemagne depuis le X!Xeme siecle' (Paris:
Centre de sociologie de Ia defense nationale, 1986), p.IO.
39. Jean Vial, 'La defense nationale. son organisation entre les deux guerres', Revue d' histoire
de Ia Deuxieme Guerre Mondiale 18 (Aprill955), pp.ll-32.
40. This explains why an analysis in terms of bureaucratic politics - which assumes that a
policy is a consequence of pulling and hauling among organisations -, well-suited for the
American case, is left with a puzzle: why were airmen in France so timid in their defense
of a separate and powerful air force, supposedly in their interest? Even if there are some
internal disagreements in the armed forces (usually considered as illegitimate and hidden
behind the scene), the notion of 'inter-service rivalry', for example, would require several
qualifications when applied to centralized military systems.
41. GQG-Aeronautique, n° 21900, le general Duval au President du conseil, ministre de Ia
Guerre. Reponse au bordereau 306/Hr du 9 sept. 1918, 16 sept. 1918. SHAA A 165, d. 3.
42. 'Note manuscrite du general Duval', n.d. (probably 1918), underlined by the author. SHAT
4NIO. On these discussions, Patrick Facon, 'Le Comite interallie de !'aviation ou le
probleme du bombardement strategique de I' Allemagne en 1918', Revue historique des
armees 3 (Sept. 1990), pp.91-IOO.
43. Pierre Rocolle, Laguerre de 1940. Tome 1. Les illusions, novembre 1918-mai 1940 (Paris:
Armand Colin, 1990), pp.37-8, Daniel Gaxie, 'Morphologie de l'armee de !'air. Les
officiers (1924-1974)', in 'Service historique de l'armee de !'air', Recueil d'articles et
d'hudes (1974-1975) (Vincennes: Service hist. de l'armee de l'air, 1977), pp.37-86,
Michael Geyer, 'The Crisis of Military Leadership in the 1930s', JSS 14/4 (Dec. 1991),
pp.448-62. See also, Harvey (note 3), pp.458-9.
44. Gaxie, 'Morphologie' (note 43), pp.57, 69.
45. Rocolle, Laguerre de 1940 (note 43), p.37.
46. In 1938 Gen. Vuillemin, commander of the air force predicted the destruction of two-thirds
of the new service within eight weeks. Robert J. Young, 'The Use and Abuse of Fear:
France and the Air Menace in the 1930s', Intelligence and National Security 2/4 (Oct.
1987), pp.89-90.
47. Doughty, 'French Armed Forces' (note 36), pp.41-2, 45.
48. Philippe Bernard, 'A propos de Ia strategie aerienne pendant Ia Premiere Guerre Mondiale:
mythes et realites', Revue d'histoire moderne et contemporaine (July-Sept. 1969),
pp.367-71.
49. Quoted in Ibid, p.370.
50. Paul Pierson, 'When Effect Becomes Cause. Policy Feedback and Political Change', World
Politics 45 (July 1993), pp.595-628.
51. The literature on learning in security and foreign policy does not focus on the effect of
memory and traditions. It usually deals with relatively short decision-making processes,
and explicit attempts to use historical analogies. See Robert Jervis, Perception and
Misperception in International Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1976), pp.217-287;
Richard E. Neustadt and Ernest R. May, Thinking in Time. The Uses of History for
Decision-Makers (NY: The Free Press, 1986); Yuen Foong Khong, Analogies at War:
Korea, Munich, Dien Bien Phu, and the Vietnam Decisions of 1965 (Princeton, NJ:
Princeton UP, 1992); JackS. Levy, 'Learning and Foreign Policy: Sweeping a Conceptual
Minefieid',lnternationa/ Organization 48/2 (Spring 1994), pp.279-312.
52. On tradition and memory, see, Edward Shils, Tradition (Chicago, IL: Univ. of Chicago
Press, 1981); Eric J. Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (eds.), The Invention of Tradition
(Cambridge: CUP, 1984); Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember (Cambridge: CUP,
1989). See also, John Gooch, 'Clio and Mars: The Use and Abuse of History', JSS 3/3
(Dec. 1980), pp.21-36; Carol Reardon, Soldiers and Scholars. The US Army and the Uses
of Military History,1865-1920 (Lawrence: IKS UP of Kansas, 1990).
53. On the epochal effects of the war, Paul Fussell, The Great War and Modern Memory (NY
OUP, 1975); John Mueller, 'Changing Attitudes Towards War: The Impact of the First
World War', British Journal of Political Science 21 (1991), pp.l-28.
54. Charles de Gaulle, The Army of the Future [Vers l'armee de metier], (1st edn. 1934)
(Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1976), pp.l68-9.
55. Quoted in, Robert J. Young, 'French Military Intelligence and Nazi Germany, 1938-1939',
in Ernest R. May (ed.), Knowing One's Enemies. Intelligence Assessment Before the Two
World Wars (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1986), p.300.
56. Robert J. Young, 'Preparation for Defeat: French War Doctrine in the Inter-War Period',
Journal of European Studies 2 (1972), pp.159-60.
57. Claude Carlier, 'Le destin manque de l'aeronautique militaire', in Andre Corvisier (ed.),
Histoire militaire de Ia France. Tome 3: De 1871 a 1940 (Paris: PUF, 1992), pp.221-2.
58. Ibid., p.223.
59. Ibid., p.226.
60. Claude Carlier, 'L'evolution des doctrines de guerre aerienne a travers l'enseignement dis-
pense par !'Ecole superieure de guerre de 1918 a 1928 ', Colloque international, Adaptation
de l' arme aerienne aux conjlits contemporains et processus d' independance des armees de
l' air des origines a Ia fin de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale (Vincennes: IHCC-SHAA-
FEDN, 1985), pp.Sl-96.
61. Quoted in ibid., p.87.
62. Quoted in ibid., p.l87.
63. Col. Houdemon, Lt. Col. de Montarby, Major Hebrard, 'Notes sur l'emploi de I'aero-
nautique par le Commandement' (1928-29). Quoted in ibid., pp.87-92.
64. Jean Lacouture, De Gaulle, 1. Le rebelle (Paris: Seuil, 1984), pp.224-59; Pierre Messmer
and Alain Larcan, Les ecrits militaires de Charles de Gaulle. Essai d' analyse thematique
(Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1985); Martin Alexander, 'Liddell Hart and De
Gaulle: The Doctrines of Limited Liability and Mobile Defense', in Peter Paret (ed.),
Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
UP, 1986), pp.598-623.
65. Lettres, notes et carnets (/),quoted in Messmer and Larcan, De Gaulle (note 64), p.308.
66. Ibid., quoted in ibid. p.309.
67. De Gaulle, The Army of the Future (note 54), p.49.

68. Ibid., p.283.
69. Ibid., p.151-2.
70. Ibid., p.152.
71. Ibid.
72. Charles de Gaulle, Memoires de guerre. L' appel, 1940-1942 (Paris: Pion, 1954), p.9.
73. Quoted in, Lucien Robineau, 'La conduite de Ia guerre aerienne contre l'Allemagne, de
septembre 1939 ajuin 1940', Revue historique des armees 3 (Sept. 1989), p.IIO.
74. Norbert Elias, 'Studies in the Genesis of the Naval Profession', British Journal of
Sociology 1/4 (Dec. 1950), pp.291-309.
75. Lee Kennett develops at length the inaccuracies of the air knights' myth in his The First Air
War,l914-1918 (NY: The Free Press, 1991). On heroic images in wartime, see also, Orner
Bartov, 'Man and the Mass: Reality and the Heroic Image in War', History and Memory
1/2 (Fall-Winter 1989), pp.99-122.
76. On Guynemer, Henry Bordeaux, Le Chevalier de /'air, vie heroi'que de Guynemer (I st ed.
1918) (Paris: Pion, 1946); Jules Roy, Guynemer, l'ange de Ia mort (lst ed. 1986) (Paris: Le
livre de poche, 1990).
77. For quasi-ethnographic descriptions, Christophe Dejours, 'Un exemple a contrario: l'avia-
tion de chasse', in Travail: usure mentale (Paris: Le Centurion-'Medecine humaine',
1980), pp.81-98; Catherine Chattard, 'Les chevaliers du ciel', Autrement-Armes 73 (Oct.
1985), pp.29-37.
78. Fran~ois Cailleteau, Gerard Bonnardot, 'Le recrutement des chefs des armees en France, en
Grande-Bretagne et en Allemagne', in Henri Mendras (ed.), Le recrutement des elites en
Europe occidentale (Paris: L'Harmattan, forthcoming 1995).
79. John Geiger, 'Amiot's Angular Airframes: France Entered World War Two with Some of
the Ugliest Bombing Aircraft Ever Built', Air Classics 19/2 (Feb. 1983), pp.18-22 and
66-71.
80. Jean-Baptiste Duroselle, Politique etrangere de Ia France. La decadence, 1932-1939
(Paris: Point-Seuil-Histoire, 1983), p.248; Jean Doise, Maurice Valsse, Politique etrangere
de Ia France. Diplomatie et outil militaire, 1871-1991 (Paris: Point-Seuil-Histoire, 1992),
p.386; Ladislas Myzyrowicz, Autopsie d'une defaite. Origines de l'ejfondrement militaire
franr;ais de 1940 (Lausanne: L'Age d'homme, 1973), p.185; Thierry Vivier, 'Pierre Cot et
Ia naissance de l'armee de !'Air: (31 janvier 1933-8 fevrier 1934)', Revue historique des
armees 4 (1990), p.IIO.
81. Thierry Vivier, 'L'armee de l'Air et Ia revolution technique des annees trente
(1933-1939)', Revue historique des armees I (1990), p.33.
82. Patrick Facon and Arnaud Teyssier, 'L'aviation fran~aise de bombardement. Historique des
origines aux forces aeriennes strategiques', Journees nationales de I' air-L' aviation
franr;aise de bombardement, (1986), p.17.
83. Vivier, 'L'armee de !'Air' (note 81), p.34.
84. Eliot A. Cohen and John Gooch, Military Misfortunes. The Anatomy of Failure in War
(New York: Vintage Books, 1991), p.227. It is not uncommon for new technologies to
be assimilated to monsters, see Madeleine Akrich, 'La construction d'un systeme socio-
technique. Esquisse pour une anthropologie des techniques', Anthropologie et societes 13/2
(1989), p.39.
85. See Akrich (note 85), pp.31-54; Bruno Latour, Aramis ou /'amour des techniques (Paris:
La decouverte, 1992). For a weapon-system case study that shows similar characteristics,
Richard G. Head, 'The A-7 Decisions: A Case Study of Weapons Procurement', in John F.
Reichart, Steven R. Sturm (eds.), American Defense Policy (Baltimore, MD: Johns
Hopkins UP, 1985), pp.613-26.
86. Nicole Jordan, The Popular Front and Central Europe: The Dilemmas of French
impotence, 1918-1940 (Cambridge: CUP, 1992).
87. Etat-major de l'armee de l'air-Cabinet, 'Plan d'armement et d'equipement de l'armee de
!'air', 26 october 1933, p.1 (General Denain). Archives du Service historique de l'arrnee de
!'air (henthforth, SHAA) 2 B 163; 'Caracteristiques de l'avion multiplace de renseigne-
ment de bombardement et de combat', n.d., SHAA 1B4 p.l. Patrick Facon, 'Aux origines
du reannement aerien fran~ais. Le plan I, 1933-1937 (premiere partie)', Aviation

Magazine 747 (ler fevrier 1979), pp.88-89; Patrick Facon, 'Aux origines du reannement
aerien fran~ais. Le plan I, 1933-1937 (deuxieme partie)', Aviation Magazine 748 (15 Feb.
1979), pp.66--71.
88. Caracteristiques de l'avion multiplace de Renseignement, de Bombardement et de
Combat', n. d., SHAA IB4, p.2.
89. L'Aerophi/e, Dec. 1935. Quoted in Charles Christienne, Patrice Buffotot, 'L'aeronautique
militaire fran~aise entre 1919 et 1939', Revue historique des armees 2 (1977) p.25.
90. Patrick Facon, 'Le Plan V (1938-1939)', Revue historique des armees 4 (1979),
pp.102-23.
91. Lt. de vaisseau Barjot, 'L'avion de bataille de Douhet est-il un archalsme?', Revue des
forces aeriennes 53 (Dec. 1933), p.1332.
92. Herrick Chapman, State Capitalism and Working-Class Radicalism in the French Aircraft
Industry (Berkeley, CA: Univ. of California Press, 1991), pp.22-31; Emmanuel Chadeau,
L'industrie aeronautique en France 1900-1950, de 8/eriot a Dassault (Paris, Fayard,
1987).
93. Marcel Spivak, 'Les problernes poses a l'armee de terre par Ia creation du ministere de !'air
et les perspectives d'independance de l'armee de !'air (1928-1934)', in Colloque inter-
national, Adaptation de /' arme aerienne aux conjfits contemporains et processus
d' independance des armees de I' air des origines a Ia fin de Ia Seconde Guerre Mondial
(Vincennes: IHCC-SHAA-FEDN, 1985), pp.178-9; Marcellin Hodeir, 'La creation du
ministere de !'air vue par Ia presse parisienne (sept.-oct.-nov. 1928)', Revue historique des
armees 4 (1988), pp.92-IOI.
94. Spivak, 'les problemes' (note 93), pp.l78-179. The army domination is confirmed by an
inter-ministerial decision (an·ere interministeriel) of29 Sept. 1929.
95. Marcellin Hodeir, 'Les partisans de !'aviation navale face aux theses de !'air integral
(1919-1932)', Revue historique des armees 4 (1990), pp.98-107.
96. Ministere de !'Air, 'Principes generaux d'emploi et d'organisation de l'armee de
!'Air-Rapport au President de Ia Republique', ler avril 1933, J.O., (april2 1933), p.3428.
97. Documents Parlernentaires-Chambre, 21 decembre 1934, rapport au nom de Ia commission
de I' aeronautique chargee d' examiner le projet de loi fixant le statut organique de I' armee
de !'air (statui du personnel des cadres actifs de l'armee de !'air), par le depute Jacquinot
(Annexe no 4359, p.306).
98. Loi du 2 juillet 1934 fixant !'organisation generale de l'armee de !'air, art. 4.
99. Spivak, 'les problemes' (note 93), p.l88.
100. In June 1933 a report on this law by the aeronautic commission of the National Assembly
mentioned the compromise. 'The young air ministry has been obliged to compromise with
the other department of the national defense' ('Lejeune ministere de /'air s'est vu dans
/'obligation de composer avec /es autres departements de Ia defense nationale').
Documents Parlementaires-Chambre des deputes, Annexe no 2210, 30 juin 1933 (rappor-
teur le depute Paul Perrin), pp.l486--7.
101. Annales de Ia Chambre des deputes, 16 Nov. 1933, p.4165.
I02. Ibid, p.4166.
103. Ibid.
104. Robert Frankenstein, Le prix du rearmement fran~·ais, 1935-1939 (Paris: Publications de Ia
Sorbonne, 1982), p.303.
105. Martin Alexander, 'Force de frappe ou feu de paille? Maurice Gamelin's Appraisal of
Military Aviation Before the Blitzkrieg of 1940', in Colloque international, Adaptation de
/' arme aerienne aux conflits contemporains et processus d' independance des armees de
/'air des origines a Ia fin de Ia Seconde Guerre Mondiale (Vincennes: IHCC-
SHAA-FEDN, 1985). p.68. Contrary to Alexander's claim (p.77), the air force never came
close to receiving a proportion of the military budget larger than the army. The largest per-
centage of the budget for the air force was 27 per cent ( 1939) and the smallest for the army
was 52 per cent ( 1935). For the percentage of military expenditures by service during the
interwar period, see Frankenstein (note I04 ), p.303.
106. Christienne and Buffotot, 'L'aeronautique militaire fran~aise' (note 89), pp.30--2.
107. Harvey (note 3), pp.457-8.

108. Philip Bankwitz, Maxime Weygand and Civil-Military Relations in Modern France
(Cambridge, MA, Harvard UP, 1967); Robert J. Young, In Command of France. French
Foreign Policy and Strategic Planning, 1933-1940 (Cambridge, MA, Harvard UP, 1978);
Barry R. Posen, The Sources of Military l)octrine. France, Britain, Germany Between the
World Wars (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1984), pp.105-140; Robert Allan Doughty, The
Seeds of Disaster. The Development of French Army Doctrine, 1919-1939 (Hamden, CT:
Archon Books, 1985), pp.41-71.
109. Jean Doise and Maurice VaYsse, Diplomatie et outil militaire. La politique etrangere de /a
France (Paris: point-Seuii-Histoire, 1992), pp.371-8.
110. Posen, Sources of Military Doctrine (note 108), p.133.
Ill. Edward Warner, 'Doubet, Mitchell, Seversky: Theories of Air Warfare', in Edward Mead
Earl (note 109) (ed.), Makers of Modern Strategy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1943),
pp.485-503; David Mac Isaac, 'Voices from the Central Blue: The Air Power Theorists',
in Peter Paret (ed.), Makers of Modern Strategy. From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton, 1986), pp.624-47.
112. This interpretation challenges the conventional claim that French airmen were convinced
by Doubet's work and became strident supporters of strategic bombing. See, P. Le Goyet,
'Evolution de Ia doctrine d'emploi de )'aviation fran~aise entry 1919 et 1939', Revue
d'histoire de /a deuxieme Guerre Mondiale 73 (Jan.l969), pp.7-8; Myzyrowicz (note 80),
pp.173-4; Alexander (note 106), pp.68, 70, 75; Vivier (note 80), pp.l10-l; Thierry Vivier,
'Leo doubetisme fran~ais entre tradition et innovation (1933-1939)', Revue historique des
armees 4 (1991), p.89. Robert Young carefully avoids this misinterpretation see his 'The
Strategic Dream: French Air Doctrine in the Inter-War Period, 1919-1939', Journal of
Contemporary History 9/4 (1974), pp.61, 63, 65, 70.
113. Les Ailes, La Revue maritime, La Revue des Deux-Mondes, La Revue militaire franf;aise
(Revue militaire genera/e in 1937), La Revue des forces aeriennes, and many by Doubet's
conceptions. Patrick Facon, 'Doubet et sa doctrine a travers Ia litterature militaire et aero-
nautique fran~<aise de l'entre-deux-guerres: une etude de perception', Revue historique des
armees I (1988), pp.95-6. On Doubet see Dominique David, 'Doubet ou le demier imagi-
naire', Strategique 49 (1991), pp.221-30; Claudio G. Segre, 'Giulio Doubet: Strategist,
Theorist, Prophet?' JSS 15/3 (Sept. 1992), pp.351-66.
114. NNN, L'Actionfranraise, 24 April, 10 May, 25 May, 10 June, 25 June, 10 July, 24 July, 10
Aug., 25 Aug. 1932; P. E., 'Une analyse des theories du General Doubet', Revue des forces
aeriennes 38 (Sept. 1932), pp.1057-63; P. E., 'Remarques sur Ia Guerre de I' Air', Revue
des forces aeriennes 44 (March 1933), pp.331-8; P. E., 'La publication des travaux du
General Doubet', La Revue des forces aeriennes 33 (April 1932), p.480; Barjot (note 91 ),
pp.l233-1332.
115. Rene Sologne, 'L'aviation de Doubet et Ia notre', Les Ailes (16 June 1932). Quoted in
Patrick Facon, 'Doubet et sa doctrine' (note 114), p.102.
116. Service historique de I'armee de terre (SHAT) 2NI9. Le general inspecteur des forces
aeriennes au general Weygand, 19 May 1932, no 252/1-R/E.M.G.
117. Maxime Weygand, 'How France is Defended', International Affairs 18 (1939), pp.470--l.
Quoted in Overy (note 19), p.ll.
118. Pierre Paquier, 'Doctrine ou dogmatisme?', Revue du ministere de /'air 5 (May 1935),
pp.586--94.
119. Editorial, Les Ailes, 14 Jan. 1932.
120. '"Doctrine" ou "programme"' (introduction), Revue des forces aeriennes 6 (Jan. 1930).
121. On military doctrine as a tool to create a negotiated order, Jim Kemeny, 'Professional
Ideologies and Organizational Structure: Tanks and the Military', Europeans Journal of
Sociology-Archives europeennes de sociologie 24 (1983), pp.223-40. For an example of
military doctrine used to build a consensus, John J. Mearsheimer, 'A Strategic Misstep.
The Maritime Strategy and Deterrence in Europe', in Steven E. Miller and Stephen Van
Evera (eds.), Naval Strategy and National Security (Princeton, Princeton UP, 1988),
pp.61-2. On organizational doctrines, Philip Selznick, TVA and the Grass Roots. A Study
of Politics and Organization (Berkeley CA: Univ. of California Press, 1949).
122. Paul Armengaud, Batailles politiques et militaires sur /'Europe. Temoignages (Paris:
Editions du Myrte, 1948), Quoted in Young (note 112), p.67.
123. Young (note 108), p.36.
124. Senateur Riche, rapporteur de Ia Commission de l'aeronautique au Senat, Les Ailes, 1928.
Quoted in, Lucien Robineau, 'Marine et aviation fran~aise des annees 30', Service
historique de l'armee de !'air-Symposium 'Navies and Air Forces in the prewar decade',
US Naval Academy-Annapolis, 1991, p.7.
125. Revue de /' armee de /'air, Feb. 1936, quoted in: Patrick Fridenson, Jean Lecuir, La France
et Ia Grande-Bretagne face au.x problemes aeriens (1935-Mai 1940) (Vincennes: SHAA,
1976), p.l9.
126. Ibid, p.l9.
127. Thierry Vivier, 'Le general Victor Denain, biitisseur de l'armee de !'air (1933-1936)',
Revue historique des armees 3 (1993), pp.25-9.
128. On the air threat in the interwar period, Maurice Vai'sse, 'Le proces de !'aviation de
bombardement', Revue historique des armees 2 (1977), pp.41-61; Robert J. Young, 'The
Use and Abuse of Fear: France and the Air Menace in the 1930s', Intelligence and
National Security 2/4 (Oct. 1987), pp.88-109.
129. Doise and Vai'sse, Diplomatie et outil militaire (note 110), pp.341-344, 371-373.
130. Debats parlementaires-Chambre des deputes, 28 Dec. 1929, p.l718.
131. Ibid., p.l730.
132. Ibid., p.l727.
133. This analysis corroborates the findings of Robert Young. See, 'Use and Abuse of Fear:
France and the Air Menace in the 1930s' (note 46), pp.88-109. However, Young tends to
overestimate the importance of the current of opinion of air force's strategic bombing
advocates (pp.IOI-2). True, a few individuals within the air service (Armengaud being
one) and a somewhat larger group of politicians and journalists favored the making of a
powerful air force. This group remained limited and had usually no direct influence on the
policy process. In support to his claim, Young quotes an article of the Revue des Forces
Aeriennes, and other publications by Gen. Armengaud and Tulasne. But he recognizes
rightly that the article he quote~ is 'closer to Douhet than most French writers' (p.l02), and
that Armengaud was not a 'hard-line "Douhetiste'" (p.l02). Young also mentions
Tulasne's introduction 'to the first translation of II Dominio Dell'Aria' (p.l02). To my
knowledge, II Dominio Dell' Aria has never been translated in to French. The translation
mentioned by Young is La Guerra di ... which is not Douhet's central book.
134. This is consistent with other institutional analysts' results. See, Marco Orril, Nicole
Woolsey Biggart, Gary G. Hamilton, 'Organizational Isomorphism in East Asia', in Walter
W. Powell, Paul J. DiMaggio (ed.), The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis
(Chicago: The Univ. of Chicago Press, 1991), pp.386-9.
135. Mark C. Suchman, Dana P. Eyre, 'Military Procurement as Rational Myth: Notes on the
Social Construction of Weapons Proliferation', Sociolo[?ical Forum 7/1 (1992), pp.l37-61.
The Luftwaffe and the Coalition Air War
in Spain, 1936-1939
JAMES S. CORUM
There are two common interpretations of the Spanish Civil War (July 1936-
March 1939). The popular view is that the Spanish War was merely a prelude
to World War II, a struggle among democrats, fascists and communists -a
grand manoeuvre carried out by the Germans,. Italians and Russians on
Spanish soil while the democracies practiced appeasement. It was bloody and
violent, yet merely the foreshadowing of a real war. Another view, common-
ly expressed in contemporary writing, describes the Spanish War as the last
act of World War I. The war, according to this view, was rooted in the
disruption of the European order after 1914-18. Even though it was fought
with equipment such as tanks and high-performance aircraft, it featured the
stationary lines and outmoded tactics of the Great War.'
I offer another interpretation of the significance of the Spanish Civil War.
From the perspective of the airpower historian, the Spanish Civil War was the
first truly modem, limited war. As with most major conflicts, the war was
fought by coalitions on both sides: the Germans and Italians providing troops
and equipment to the Nationalists, the Soviets directly supporting the
Republicans. It might have been a total war for the Spaniards. The outside
coalition powers, however, fought in Spain for very limited goals, intervening
to gain limited regional political advantages. The outside powers fighting in
Spain operated under various self-imposed restrictions, many of which
affected their use of airpower. Target selection, and even the level of military
aid and operations, were dictated by a policy of carefully restricting the scope
of the war. The opinion and sensibilities of the non-intervening powers
became a primary consideration of German, Russian and Italian military
planning.
As a limited war, the Spanish War bears a close resemblance to the Korean
and Vietnam wars, including 'War by Proxy' and the use of foreign 'volun-
teers' and 'advisers'. Since most wars have been -probably always will be
limited, the Spanish Civil War ought to be viewed in its own right, as neither
a final chapter nor a prelude, but rather as an important modern limited war.
World War II continues to provide many of the models for modern airpower
doctrine, but in terms of military history, World War II was an aberration. As
THE LUFTWAFFE IN THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR 69
a total war for national survival, with few restrictions on air targeting, the
expansion of the conflict in World War II was limited only by the combined
resources of the combatants. If the Spanish Civil War is examined in its own
context as a limited war, it might then provide some useful lessons in military
strategy, political decision-making and operational relationships in a coalition
air warfare.
The Luftwaffe and the Wehrmacht High Command bore the primary
responsibility for the execution of the German war effort in Spain. This
included political and strategic as well as operational decisions. This essay
will examine Luftwaffe involvement in the coalition war in Spain, focusing
upon its understanding of limited war, the restrictions set upon the execution
of the air war, the inter-relationships of the Nationalist coalition air forces, as
well as the development of these factors during the war.
Basis of German Strategy

Spain and the Mediterranean were not major areas of German interest, but
there were still significant advantages that the Germans could gain by
supporting the Nationalists when the Civil War broke out in July 1936.
First of all, Germany's primary enemy, France, would be distracted and dis-
comfited by a pro-German Spain on her southern border. With Italy already
competing against France in the Mediterranean, France would have to face
three unfriendly nations on her borders. 2 Second, with the Soviet Union pro-
viding equipment, pilots and advisers to the Spanish Republic, a defeat for
the loyalists would be a defeat for Soviet prestige and interests.' Third, the
Germans were concerned with supplies of raw materials for rearmament. An
allied Spanish Nationalist government could provide plentiful and stable
supplies of high-grade iron ore, mercury, wolfram, pyrites, and other
necessities to the Germans:
Even taken together, these reasons could not justify Germany risking a
general European war, or a major troop commitment, but they provided a
sufficient strategic basis to justify sending equipment, aircraft and the 5,000
troops of the Condor Legion to Spain.
As soon as the initial commitment was made for Spain, the German High
Command began consultation and study on the proposed levels of involve-
ment. Since the Foreign Ministry was initially opposed to German inter-
vention, all discussions with the Nationalist junta were handled by the
military. Major General Helmuth Wilberg of the Luftwaffe was appointed
senior staff officer for Spanish matters, and he visited Spain in August 1936
to assess Nationalist needs. Three shiploads of warplanes, equipment and
Luftwaffe personnel were immediately dispatched.' Admiral Wilhelm
Canaris, Head of Military Intelligence, coordinated with the Italian General
Staff and Foreign Minister Count Ciano. In September 1936, as the Luft-
waffe's reinforcements arrived, army Lieutenant Colonel Walther Warlimont
was appointed German military representative to General Francisco Franco's
govemment. 6 Franco requested increased German aid. He needed modem
equipment, training for his forces and air units; Franco neither requested nor
wanted German ground units. 7 The High Command approved this limited
commitment to the Nationalists. On 30 October 1936 the High Command
decided to increase the initial German force in Spain, 30 aircraft and 600
men, to a small corps of approximately 100 aircraft, complete with support
units, flak and communications units, and a small armoured group. Several
hundred German officers and NCOs would be assigned to train the
Nationalist forces. German force levels in Spain were set early in the war,
and maintained throughout the conflict.'
The Luftwaffe and High Command policy from the start was to limit
German involvement in the war to a modest level. The German ambassador
to Franco, Wilhelm Faupel, a World War I general and staunch Nazi,
opposed the military's Spanish strategy. As soon as Faupel arrived in Spain,
in November 1936, he began to lobby Berlin to send German divisions to
Spain. 9 But in a meeting at Berlin of Hitler, Faupel and the senior leaders of
the Wehrmacht, including Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg (War
Minister) and Colonel General Werner von Fritsch, Army C-in-C, on 22
December 1936, the military leaders unanimously opposed Faupel and any
expansion of the German force in Spain. 10 Blomberg, Fritsch, and Colonel
General Ludwing Beck pointed out that, with Germany in the midst of
rearmament, the shipment of thousands of ground troops to Spain would strip
the military of the equipment and officers necessary to build a powerful new
army.'' The High Command was also concerned about provoking French
intervention on the side of the Spanish Loyalists (Republicans) and thereby
starting a general European war - a war the Wehrmacht was not ready to
fight in -1937 and 1938." Throughout the conflict in Spain, the General Staff
monitored the political situation, careful not to commit so much to the
Spanish intervention as to bring France into the conflict. 13
Limits on the Air War

The Luftwaffe in Spain fought a limited war from the start. At first, Luftwaffe
aircraft and pilots were ordered to fly only transport missions. The first six
Heinkel 51 biplane fighters sent to Spain in August 1936 were intended to
protect the 30 Junkers 52 trimotor transports. On 28 August, however, the
prohibition against direct combat was lifted; German aircraft could now
bomb Republican targets. 14
Early in the conflict, from August to December 1936, the small air forces
of both sides carried out strategic bombing campaigns with the goal of
demoralising enemy populations. In July and August the Nationalists carried
out area bombing of Malaga and Badajoz. At the same time, the Loyalists
bombed Seville, Saragossa, Cordoba and Oviedo." Civilians were killed,
moderate damage inflicted, and local populations temporarily demoralised.
Both sides quickly concluded that city bombing had little real effect upon the
war, for civilian morale proved to be far more resilient under bombing than
many interwar air theorists had expected. Bombing attacks were soon
redirected against more vital military targets, such as shipping, railroads, air-
fields and soldiers.
German involvement in a strategic bombing campaign, that is the bombing
of enemy cities to break morale, was carefully limited from the time the
Condor Legion arrived in force. The Condor Legion served under Spanish
strategic direction and German bombing plans were first cleared through the
Spanish High Command. In November 1936, it seemed as though the
Nationalists would be able to take Madrid with just one final push. The
Germans carried out a series of bombing raids on the city, which it was hoped
would break the defenders' morale. The bombing was not, however, to be
indiscriminate. Franco ordered a bomb safety zone established to limit
civilian casualties. Between 14 and 23 November several German raids, both
by day and by night, caused 244 civilian dead and 875 wounded.' 6 The city
attacks were too dangerous against strong Republican fighter opposition, and
night attacks too inaccurate. The strategic bombing experiment, approved by
the Chief of the Spanish Air Force, proved ineffective, and even counter-
productive. Many of the Madrid civilians bombed were probably supporters
of Franco. '7
As a senior Condor Legion officer put it, 'It would have been simple for
the Nationalist Air Force to bomb Valencia, Barcelona or Madrid into ashes
with incendiary bombs but politically that was unacceptable ... What would
be the purpose of destroying the valuable industries of Bilbao or the weapons
factory in Reinosa if they would be occupied in a short time? ... Fighting in
one's own land is a two-sided sword.''' The Condor Legion found the best
use of its aircraft in interdicting Republican supply lines, attacking shipping
and port facilities, and in direct support of the Nationalist Army. In
discussing the war in Spain, one cannot avoid mentioning the single most
infamous incident of the air war: the German bombing of Guemica on 26
April 1937. The bombing of Guemica leveled and burned about half of the
town and killed about 500 people, mostly civilians.' 9 Numerous detailed
works have been written about Guemica, so I shall not examine this incident
here in detail. For the purpose of this article, I shall draw only two major
conclusions. First, all the documents, studies and testimony show that the
bombing of Guemica was carried out with the full approval of General
Emilio Mola, Nationalist Commander-in-Chief on the Northern Front, and his

staff. 20 Second, Guemica was, by any reasonable standard, a valid military
target. The two major roads needed for the retreat of much of the 23-battalion
Basque force east of Bilbao intersected at Guemica. At least two Basque
battalions, the 18th Loyala Battalion and the Saseta Battalion, were stationed
in the town, and if fortified, Guemica would make a powerful strongpoint for
the Basque army. 2 ' Lieutenant Colonel Wolfram von Richthofen, Condor
Legion Chief of Staff and the chief planner for the attack, was quite pleased
with the results of the air attack. The bombing and firing of Guemica was
militarily effective, closing the area to all traffic for 24 hours. 22 Four days
after the attack, Guemica fell without any resistance.
The German operational rationale in bombing towns like Guemica is out-
lined in a Condor Legion report to Berlin made on 11 February 1938: 'We
have notable results in hitting targets near the front, especially in bombing
villages which hold enemy reserves and headquarters. We have had great
success because these targets are easy to find and can be thoroughly
destroyed by carpet bombing.' In the report, it was noted that attacks on
point targets, such as bridges, roads and rail lines, were more difficult, and
generally less successfuJ.23 The Nationalists were sanguine about this
approach. Even the official Spanish histories of the Civil War contain photo-
graphs of Spanish towns under aerial bombardment by the Nationalist Air
Force. 24
During the war the Wehrmacht High Command issued instructions that no
German aircraft were to fly within 50 kilometers of the French border.
General Wilhelm Keitel, Chief of the High Command, thought the danger of
French intervention was minimal. In a message of 22 March 1938 he never-
theless ordered that the policy of avoiding combat near the border remain in
effect unless the Spanish were to request otherwise. 2.'
In dramatic contrast to the Germans, the Italian Air Force refused to accept
limits on strategic bombing. In March 1938, with the Republican forces on
the Aragon Front in retreat, the Regia Aeronautica launched a three-day
series of massive bombing attacks against Barcelona (16-18 May). The indis-
criminate attacks, ordered by Mussolini and Italian Air Force Chief General
Giuseppe Valle, caused 2,000-plus casualties and considerable damage. 26 The
Italian action was conducted without Franco's approval, and even brought a
condemnation from Pope Pius XII. 27 Franco was infuriated, demanding that
the Italians stop the bombing. The Condor Legion leadership found the
Italian action senseless, and militarily counter-productive.
The German Ambassador to Franco reported the Condor Legion's assess-
ment of the Barcelona bombing in a message of 23 March 1938: 'Destructive
bombardments without clear military targets are, in a civil war like Spain's,
not likely to bring about the desired moral result - instead, it makes for a far
more dangerous future. ' 28 The German commanders felt that the bombing of
Barcelona would cause political problems with the French, as well. In any
case, the Republican population was not demoralised by the bombing - its
will was even strengthened. 29
Command and Relationships Within the Nationalist Coalition

The Luftwaffe's participation in the Nationalist coalition in Spain began as a
purely ad hoc affair. Before July 1936 the Wehrmacht had never considered
fighting in Spain nor had it ever created either war plans or wargame
scenarios that even remotely resembled a conflict in the Mediterranean.
Therefore, the command arrangements and coalition strategy had to be
created from scratch, with no notice. The Luftwaffe was remarkably effective
in doing this.
The actual decision to intervene was taken almost casually. The Nationalist
coup began on 18 July 1936. The rebels seized power in many cities, winning
over many of the military but failing to win in Madrid or Barcelona. The
Nationalist cause faltered and help was sought from Germany and Italy. Two
German businessmen, Adolf Langenheim and Johannes Bernhardt, residents
of Spain and members of the Nazi Party, were dispatched to Germany to
plead Franco's cause with the German chancellor.-10 Bernhardt and Langen-
heim arrived in Germany on 25 July. They met with Rudolf Hess, who
arranged for them to meet with Hitler, who was attending the Wagnerfest at
Bayreuth. Hitler immediately agreed to provide aircraft and equipment to
Franco, and told the then General Hermann Goering, the Air Minister, who
was attending Hitler in Bayreuth, to make the arrangements. The next day,
Goering passed the responsibility on to Lieutenant General Helmuth Wilberg,
one of Germany's most experienced air officers. 3 ' Within two days, Special
Staff W (for Wilberg) was formed, and by 31 July, German aircraft, aid and
personnel were on their way to Spanish Morocco. 32 Wilberg would remain
Chief of the Spanish operation until his retirement in March 1938. 33
One major advantage of the German command arrangements in Spain was
Hitler and Goering's general lack of interest in the Spanish intervention.
Other foreign and internal matters had a far higher priority for the Nazi
hierarchy, so aside from setting the broad policy, the operational direction of
the war and all the military relations with Spain were left in the hands of the
professional soldiers. Wilberg had the luxury of a free hand in selecting
officers for service in Spain. When the decision was made in October 1936 to
expand the Condor Legion to approximately 5,000 men and 100 aircraft,
Wilberg called on his friend, Major General Hugo Sperrle, a highly
experienced and competent officer, to serve as Commander in Spain. 34
Lieutenant Colonel Wolfram, Freiherr (Baron) von Richthofen, a World War
I airman (younger cousin of the Red Baron) with a doctorate in engineering

and a reputation as one of the brightest and most dynamic Luftwaffe officers,
asked Wilberg for a position in Spain. He was sent there in November 1936
to become Condor Legion Chief of Staff. 35
Sperrle and von Richthofen formed an effective command team in Spain,
setting policies which would remain in place for the entire war. Neither
Sperrle nor von Richthofen had what one could call a diplomatic personality
or manner. They often complained, quarreled and disagreed with Franco and
the Spanish High Command. But there is much more to effective leadership
in coalition warfare than diplomatic skills. The Spanish officers came to
respect Sperrle and von Richthofen for their professional ability. The German
senior officers met with the Nationalist High Command and the staff of the
field army being supported by the Condor Legion every day, and quickly
developed an effective professional working relationship. The daily reports of
von Richthofen, who served for most of the Civil War as Condor Legion
Chief of Staff, and later commander, provide a good account of the
German/Spanish and German/ltalian relationship. From the German side, the
key to dealing with the Spaniards was to identify the most competent officers
and work through them, regardless of rank.
Von Richthofen and Sperrle found many of the senior Spanish officers to
have little understanding of modem warfare. For example, von Richthofen
found General Kindelan, Chief of the Nationalist Air Force, to be an 'old,
used-up fellow'. 36 On another occasion, he remarked that 'Kindelan lies and
has no understanding.' 37
On the other hand, the Germans found many of the mid-ranking and senior
Spanish staff officers to be competent, and worked through them to influence
plans and operations. Major Sierra of Kindelan's staff was regarded as
especially competent and useful. 38 Of Colonel Barosso, Chief of Franco's
operations section, von Richthofen remarked, 'I'd trust him with my
operational plans. ' 39 Colonel, later General Juan Suero diaz Vig6n was the
German's favorite Spanish officer. Vig6n was intelligent, capable and
dynamic: a true general staff officer. When necessary, he relieved incom-
petent commanders on the spot, and himself assumed command. Vig6n and
the Germans served together for much of the war. He was Mala's Chief of
Staff for the Northern Campaign of 1937, and served thereafter on decisive
fronts - usually with the Germans in support of his forces. From July 1938
on, Vig6n served as Franco's Chief of Staff. Von Richthofen pronounced him
'a thoroughly useful fellow'.''" For his part, Vig6n was very friendly with the
Germans and known as one of Spain's most pro-German officers!'
One advantage of the Condor Legion was its simple and direct command
arrangements. From his arrival in Spain, the Condor Legion Commander was
appointed as Commander-in-Chief of all German forces in Spain. This
included the military training teams sent to instruct in Spanish schools for
officers, NCOs and specialists, as well as the Condor Legion proper. The
W ehrmacht High Command negotiated their own arrangements for the
German forces in Spain. The Germans would serve under Spanish direction
at the highest level. All Spanish requests and orders would be transmitted
through the Condor Legion Commander, who would translate these into
operational plans and orders for the German units. The Condor Legion would
remain a unified force under German command. In return for obedience to
Spanish strategic direction, the Condor Legion Commander and Staff Chief
were granted direct access to Franco and the War Council, where they could
influence Spanish war policy as well as propose operational plans for the
Legion.
The Condor Legion Commander reported directly to Special Staff W in
Berlin, which answered in turn to the Wehrmacht High Command. Although
the German government appointed an ambassador to Nationalist Spain, his
authority was strictly limited to economic and political matters. The
ambassador was granted no authority, or even a voice, in military matters.
The Condor Legion Commander might brief the ambassador as a courtesy,
but Sperrle and his subordinate commanders were not required to report
through the Embassy to Berlin; in fact, the Condor Legion communications
net was off-limits to foreign ministry personnel.
When Wilhelm Faupel was appointed as ambassador to Franco in
November 1936, he immediately came into conflict with General Sperrle and
the senior Luftwaffe officers. Faupel's instructions were explicit in denying
him military authority.<' Nevertheless, Faupel immediately tried to set himself
up as Franco's military adviser. 43 Ambassador Faupel provides an interesting
example of the Nazi Party's ineptitude in dealing with complex matters
of foreign policy. On the surface, Faupel seemed a suitable choice for
ambassador, due to his fluency in Spanish and directorship of the German
Iberio-American Institute. Faupel's primary qualification, however, was his
long membership in the Nazi Party, and his commitment to Nazi ideology.
Although there were career diplomats fluent in Spanish and experienced in
Spanish affairs available, Faupel received his appointment in part to increase
the role of Nazi ideology within the senior ranks of the Nazi bureaucracy.
Faupel's lack of understanding of Spanish politics is stunning. As an
ardent Nazi, Faupel disliked Catholicism as well as the Spanish upper classes,
and encouraged the working-class extremist members of the Falange to build
a fascist party."" Faupel devoted long audiences with Franco to convincing
him of the necessity of remolding the Falange in the image of the Nazi
Party:" Faupel's interference in internal Spanish politics ran counter to
Franco's policy of building a nationalist coalition of businessmen,
monarchists and conservative Catholics, as well as Falangists.
The German military also took affront at Faupel's attempt to provide

Franco with military advice. The relationship between the ambassador and
the Luftwaffe was soon so strained that Condor Legion installations refused
gasoline for the ambassador's car. 46 In July 1937 Faupel demanded that
Sperrle be reprimanded. 47 Instead, Faupel was relieved of the ambassadorship
and sent home. His replacement was an experienced career diplomat who
followed his instructions to leave the military alone.
Franco's relationship with the German military commanders was, from the
start, on a much firmer foundation than his relationship with the German
Foreign Ministry. Franco could speak with the German officers as one mili-
tary professional to another. Franco does not seem to have personally liked
the Germans, but he accorded them and their views his due respect. For their
part, the surviving German records, such as von Richthofen's diaries indicate
some irritation with Franco on the slowness of the Nationalist military effort,
but considerable respect for Franco's qualities as a leader.
In most respects, the senior Luftwaffe officers in Spain possessed a very
sound grasp of the politics of the war. Von Richthofen had served as the
German air attache to Italy from 1929 to 1932. He spoke Italian fluently and
quickly learned Spanish. 48 He sized up the situation as soon as he arrived in
Spain and recommended that Berlin not send too much aid: 'The Spanish
have to win this war for themselves. ' 49 Both von Richthofen and Sperrle were
convinced that Franco would never be seen as a legitimate ruler of Spain if
the primary burden of the war was borne by foreign powers. None of the
Condor Legion commanders committed Faupel's faux pas of trying to inter-
fere with Nationalist politics.
The competence and attitudes of the Condor Legion commanders,
combined with their direct access to Franco, gave the German leaders con-
siderable influence over the Spanish war strategy. At times, Germans dis-
agreed vehemently with Fr;mco, for instance when Franco decided to defend
the strategically unimportant town of Teruel in 1937. Nonetheless, after
expressing their disagreement, the Condor Legion officers carried out
Franco's orders with a will.
The Germans, Spaniards and Italians

The Italian approach to the Spanish War contrasted enormously with the
German approach. The Italians had grandiose ambitions in the Medi-
terranean, and recognized few limits upon their military involvement.
Mussolini and Ciano, moreover, unlike Hitler and his foreign minister, Baron
Konstantin von Neurath, played a direct role in ordering such military
operations as the bombing of Barcelona."'
Beginning in December 1936 significant Italian ground forces arrived in

Spain, unasked and unwanted by Franco. By mid-February 1937, almost
50,000 Italian soldiers were in Spain, organised into four divisions under
command of General Mario Roatta- the Corpo Truppe Volontarie (CTV). 51
The Italians insisted upon carrying out their own, independent offensive at
Malaga, to the south, in February 1937. General Roatta declined to brief
the Spanish or German senior commanders fully on Italian plans, which con-
siderably irritated Italy's allies. 52
The Italians were victorious at Malaga, but their major offensive at
Guadalajara in March 1937 was a disaster. The four Italian divisions
advanced for a few days, but were then struck by a Republican counterattack.
The Italian forces were forced back in a disgraceful rout, and Italian
casualties numbered in the thousands. The Republicans, who gained air
superiority over the front, used their airpower to cause great damage and
heavy casualties among the Italian reserves, support columns and retreating
forces packed into the roads leading from the front. 53 Military aviation played
a major role in the Republican victory. Due to poor planning, the Italian air
units were stationed at Soria, which was separated from the battlefield by a
mountain range. Since mountain ranges collect weather, the Italians were pre-
vented from providing air cover to their troops by bad weather. The
Republican airfields were more advantageously located and less hindered by
the weather. 54
The Guadalajara debacle coloured the military relationships of the
Nationalist Coalition for the rest of the war. The Italians gained a reputation
for military incompetence and cowardice that they were unable to shake off.
The Nationalists took some enjoyment in the defeat of the arrogant Italians -
after all, the victors of Guadalajara were Spaniards, even if they were reds. A
popular song in the Nationalist Army was entitled, 'Guadalajara is not
Abyssinia. ' 55 Prior to Guadalajara, the air campaign had a more combined
nature. German and Italian air units had flown missions together- on the
Madrid front in late 1936. After Guadalajara, the Germans and Spanish were
reluctant to carry out operations with the Italians. Von Richthofen came to
the conclusion that his former friends and associates were blithering incom-
petents.56
Von Richthofen declined the offer of Italian air assistance at Guernica in
April 1937. 57 Italian artillery and air units saw service on the Northern Front
in 1937, but Mola used few Italian ground units at the front. 58 Only at Teruel
in December 1937 and in the campaigns of 1938 did the Italian ground troops
again play a major role. When the Italian ground troops returned to battle, the
Italian government and press irritated the Spanish by trumpeting every minor
victory as a triumph for Fascism, claiming Italian victories for campaigns
where relatively few Italians were committed. The Nationalist High
Command finally took measures to moderate the tone of Italian press reports
from Spain. 59
During the campaigns of 1938 and 1939 the normal procedure was for
German and Italian air units to fly on different sectors of the front. The
Italians flew mostly in support of their own troops, while the Germans flew
for elite Nationalist divisions- usually, Navarese or Moroccans. There were
still some signs of a combined air war after Guadalajara, and the Condor
Legion occasionally flew in support of Italian troops, and carried out joint
missions. 60 Such operations were not common, however, and the attitude of
the senior German officers toward the Italian senior officers was one of
barely concealed contempt. Von Richthofen, friend of Marshal ltalo Balbo
and former air attache to Italy, reported in December 1937 that he was
infuriated by discussions with General Garda, the Italian Air Commander."'
In an attempt to gain greater influence over the strategic direction of the
war, in late 1937, Mussolini floated the idea of creating a combined
Spanish/Italian/German headquarters for the direction of the war effort. Up to
that point, the chain of command had extended from Franco and his War
Council directly to the armies and army groups. The Germans adamantly
opposed the Italian plan, which would set up a command arrangement
that might interfere with the direct access to Franco that they had been enjoy-
ing.o2
There was one combined force that the Germans, Spanish and Italians
agreed to create, and this proved to be remarkably successful. In the summer
of 1937 the German seaplane units operating on Mallorca and the Spanish
and Italian units operating on the Mediterranean coast formed a combined
staff for the execution of a campaign against Republican harbors and ship-
ping.63 During the war, the Republicans lost 554 ships, 144 to German and
Italian action. Another 106 foreign ships carrying supplies to the Republicans
were sunk. 64 Air action sank a major proportion of these. 65
To Americans, the most familiar model for a Luftwaffe liaison officer in
action is perhaps the arrogant Major Strasser, Humphrey Bogart's chief
antagonist in Casablanca. The German-Spanish relationship contradicts this
popular image. Condor Legion commanders set a Luftwaffe tradition by
regularly visiting the Spanish units at the front to observe close air support
operations. 66 The junior officers of the Condor Legion also attempted to learn
Spanish, and would visit Spanish units at the front. 67 The Germans developed
an affinity for several units of the Nationalist Army, namely the Navarese and
Moroccan Divisions. In reality, the Germans in Spain demonstrated a great
deal of un-Major-Strasser-like political sensitivity and understanding. When
Barcelona fell to the Nationalists on 26 January 1939, the Condor Legion
troops were ordered to stay out of the city. The Nationalists were given the
full credit for the victory. The Italians, on the other hand, tried to claim the
lion's share of the glory, demanding that Italian troops enter the city with the
first Nationalist battalions. 68
The Luftwaffe personnel developed a warm working relationship with the
Nationalist Air Force. Co-operation and combined missions with the Spanish
were common. Captain Jose Larios, Duke of Lerma and Nationalist fighter
ace, regularly flew with the Germans. 69 Luftwaffe instructors assigned to
qualify Nationalist aircrews in the Heinkel Ill twin-engine bomber reported
on the competence of the Nationalist pilots. 70 Other Luftwaffe reports praised
the combat performance of Nationalist bomber and fighter units. 7 '
One should not conclude that the Axis coalition relationship was dys-
functional. There were several campaigns, particularly in the Aragon and
Ebro battles of 1938, in which the ground and air forces of the three nations
co-operated fairly effectively. Still, the coalition relationship was often
strained. 72 While Italian air and artillery units were seen as valuable additions
to the Nationalist cause, Italian ground troops were not favoured. At Teruel
in 1938 Franco declined to use Italian troops at the front until Mussolini
threatened to withdraw the CTV from Spain. Mussolini even withheld
valuable Italian air support until the Italian ground forces were allowed into
battle. 73 In the end, the troubled and quarrelsome Nationalist coalition never-
theless proved more effective than the badly-led and dissension-tom forces of
the Republic. As contentious as the Nationalist coalition was, it resembled
true harmony in comparison with the Republic. In March 1937 the Republic
went into civil war with itself: Catalonian Anarchists in open conflict with
communist Republican troops in Barcelona, events aptly chronicled in
George Orwell's Homage to Catalonia (1938).
The Causes of Success

By any reckoning, the German intervention in Spain was extremt::lY success-
ful. For a relatively small investment in troops, money, equipment and lives,
they gained considerable benefits. The Germans sent a total of 19,000 men to
Spain. A mere 298 of them died, only 131 by enemy action. 74 These losses
were far below the initial estimates of the General Staff. The Germans won
some strategic advantages from the war. They gained access to large amounts
of vital minerals at a reasonable price. 75 France was placed in a difficult
position. Nineteen thousand German troops gained experience in modem
war, and the Army and Luftwaffe were able to test their newest weapons and
tactics. During World War II Spain provided the Blue Legion for service on
the Russian Front, as well as clandestine U-boat bases. 76 This was, in short, an
excellent return on a moderate investment.
In contrast, the Italians sent 72,775 ground troops and 5,699 airmen to
Spain, and left 6,000 men dead. 77 The Italians provided more planes, tanks
and artillery pieces to the Nationalist cause. 7' The financial cost to the Italians
was as much as twice the German cost. 79 For all this effort, the Italians gained
few strategic minerals or financial benefits from the Spanish War, and
Mussolini was never granted the naval and air bases that he so ardently
desired."° Furthermore, the Spanish offered no diplomatic support for Italian
ambitions in the Mediterranean.
There were two primary reasons for the German success in Spain: good
strategic leadership and a superior war doctrine. A common view expressed
by several military historians is that the Wehrmacht officers stressed
expertise in the operational level of war to the exclusion of strategic
thought. 81 This was certainly not the case in Spain. From the start, Wilberg,
Sperrle, von Richthofen and the Wehrmacht High Command understood the
nature of the war in Spain, recognised that Spain had to win her own war, and
that German involvement had to be carefully controlled. In early 1939, with
the end of the war in sight, the Condor Legion Commander, von Richthofen,
recommended that a large part of his force be returned to Germany as they
were no longer necessary for operations. The Foreign Office disagreed with
this suggestion, maintaining it 'would send the wrong signal'. 82 Throughout
the war, the generals showed a better grasp of the dynamics of Spanish
politics and grand strategy than the Foreign Ministry.
The Spanish also came to respect German operational expertise. The
battlefield effectiveness of the 5,000-man Condor Legion, and of the German
troops and equipment, made the German force one of the decisive elements in
the Spanish victory. In Franco's War Council, the Germans had a far greater
voice than their numerical contribution to the war would indicate. By rights,
the Italians, with almost ten times their force in Spain, should have been Axis
senior partners, but this was not so. The Italian Generals, Berti and Roatta,
did not have the same credibility, and did not command the same respect
from the Spanish War Council as the German leaders did. Poor operational
planning at Guadalajara was one cause of this situation, but the other was
Mussolini's and Ciano's incessant demands and interference in the war effort.
The Italians in Spain are a good eocample of strategic ambitions held with no
realistic relationship to military capability.
Spanish Perceptions of the Germans and Italians

While the large scale of Italian material support did much to assure a margin
of superiority for the Nationalist cause, the Italian involvement in the war
ironically failed to enhance the position of Italy as a major power. Before the
war in Spain. Italy was regarded as the weakest of the major powers. After a
mediocre performance in Spain, the perception of Italy as an inherently weak
power was confirmed."'
In the long term, even if the Italian forces had fought more effectively in
Spain, and had co-operated more diligently with the Franco government, the
prospects for the Italians of gaining any major political economic or military
advantages from their involvement were slim. Mussolini's regime desired to
make Italy the premier power in the Mediterranean. The Italians believed that
victory in Spain, coupled with bases on Spanish territory, would significantly
improve Italy's strategic position. While Italy acted the role of a great power
in Spain, the Franco government correctly perceived the Mussolini regime to
be a hollow shell, lacking the resources, popular support and national
tradition actually to be a great power. General Juan Vig6n, Franco's wartime
Chief of Staff and postwar Air Minister, set down his view of the Italian
regime in a letter to his friend, Field Marshal von Richthofen, in August 1943
[Richthofen had returned to Italy as commander of Luftfiotte 2 in June]:
The collapse of Fascism did not especially surprise me. These parties
live only on prestige and on the authority of a single man and they can-
not endure when their leader resigns. Many years of peace and quiet
development shaped the Italians and twenty years is too short a time in
which to make a decisive change in the national character! 84
Vig6n's frank assessment of the Italian regime is representative of the views
held within the senior circles of Franco's government. The sheer size of
Italy's large military could not hide the fundamental weaknesses of the Italian
economy or the attitude of a population that was unenthusiastic about
supporting military adventures. The Franco government found it necessary
and expedient to co-operate with Italy in the short term, while Spain was at
war. It was not, however, in Spain's interest to forge any long-term alliance
with Italy.
On the other hand, the Spanish viewed the Germans as worthy longterm
allies. Accordingly, both during and after the war, the Nationalist government
sought to strengthen their military and economic ties with Germany. Even
though Italy had provided, at extremely favourable terms, the bulk of foreign
aircraft and army equipment to the Nationalists during the war, at the war's
end Franco's government decided to re-equip the Spanish Army and Air
Force on the German model, with German equipment. The only major post-
war military production contract granted by Spain to the Italians was for 100
Fiat CR-32 biplane fighters, to be built as trainers for the Spanish Air Force."'
At the same time, the Nationalist government signed contracts with German
industries to buy, or build under license: 175 BUcker Bu-131 and Gotha 145
trainers; 200 Heinkel Ill bombers; 100 Junkers 52 transports; and 200 Me
109 fighters."" Even if German terms of payment were more demanding,
Teutonic technology and industrial assistance were considered to be well
worth the price. Taken together, Germany's economic strength, technology,
status as a great power and her military tradition motivated the Nationalist
government to regard Germany, and not Italy, as its senior and closest ally.
Air Doctrine and the Nationalist Coalition

The Spanish Civil War demonstrated the central importance of airpower to
battlefield victory. The success of every major offensive and defensive
operation of the war was dependent upon clear air superiority and the effec-
tive use of that air power. At Guadalajara in 1937, the Republicans showed
what an air force could accomplish when a large and well-equipped force was
routed primarily by air attack. In the campaigns in the North in 1937, and in
Aragon in 1938, the advance of the Nationalist ground forces depended upon
the air force to open the front by bombarding the enemy's fortifications. The
Republicans made their advance in the Ebro offensive in the summer of 1938
under the cover of strong air units. The Nationalists eventually stopped the
Republican offensive and pushed it back across the Ebro, largely due to an
unrelenting air interdiction campaign that crippled Republican transport and
logistics."'
If victory on the ground was dependent upon airpower, victory in the air
was much more than achieving a numerical or technological superiority. Both
the Nationalist coalition and the Republicans possessed, for the era, relatively
large and powerful air forces. Both sides had relatively equal air forces. The
Republicans used approximately I ,500 aircraft during the war, and the
Nationalist coalition about 1,300 aircraft.'" Neither side had a clear qualitative
advantage.
The I -15 Chato (Snub-nose) fighters, which the Russians supplied to the
Republicans, were superior to the German-supplied He-51 s and equal to the
Italian CR-32s. The Russian I-16 Mosca (Fly) Fighter, mainstay of the
Republican Air Force, was one of the top fighters of its day. Only the Condor
Legion's Messerschmitt l09Bs could equal or surpass it from February 1937.
Both sides possessed some effective bombers. The Nationalist Savoia 79
(Italian) and Heinkel Ill (German) medium bombers were two of the best
bombers available in the late 1930s, as were the Republicans' Russian-
supplied SB-2s.'9
Both sides were also well-matched as to the quality of their pilots. The
Soviets sent many of their best pilots to fly in Spain, and hundreds of the
Republican pilots were trained by the Soviet Air Force. 90 In the area of
personnel, the Republicans began the war with a clear advantage when most
of the Spanish Air Force pilots sided with the Republic.'" Both the Germans
and Italians, however, sent first-rate aircrew to Spain, and Spanish
Nationalists received thorough flying instruction from Axis pilots.
Despite this rough parity of numbers, aircraft quality and personnel, the
Nationalist Coalition gained air superiority early in the war, in the spring of
1937, and continued to hold the initiative for the rest of the war. Having a
more effective air war doctrine was the key to Nationalist air superiority. The
Republican Air Force operated with less cohesion, used their force too defen-
sively and rarely managed to achieve an efficient co-ordination of their air
and ground forces, either in the defence or offence.
The Luftwaffe's Condor Legion ought to be credited with the major
share of the Nationalist success in the air. If German effectiveness on the
battlefield was disproportionate to their relatively few men and aircraft, it
was because the Germans had an air war doctrine that was superior to
that of any other air force involved in Spain. The Germans entered the
war in Spain with a military doctrine that was effective, adaptable and ideally
suited to a limited conflict. The key to victory lay in joint operations, the
effective co-ordination of the air and ground battles. In 1936 Germany,
alone of the major powers, possessed a comprehensive military doctrine that
made joint operations the focus of their operational planning and training.
The doctrine factor alone magnified the battlefield impact of the Condor
Legion.
From the von Seeckt era of the 1920s to Army Regulation 300, Troop
Leadership (1933), the German Army's primary operational manual, the
importance of joint operations and air support, as expressed in interdiction
and ground attack aviation, was emphasized in military doctrine. 92 The
Luftwaffe's primary operational doctrine, as expressed in Regulation 16,
Command in the Air War, written in 1934 with General Wilberg as the editor,
stated 'Direct support of the army and navy is directed when it is a matter of
decisive operations within the framework of a comprehensive war strategy.' 93
The Luftwaffe was directed to co-operate with the army to'commit strong air
forces to decisive ground battles' .94 Interdiction of enemy transportation and
logistics, and the direct support of ground troops, were major Luftwaffe mis-
sions -precisely the missions necessary in Spain. Ground attack training with
bombs and machine guns was an important part of clandestine fighter pilot
training from 1925 to 1933. 9 ' Joint Army/Luftwaffe exercises were also an
important part of training. The Luftwaffe's first Chief of Staff, General
Walther Wever, gave the training of air-ground forces liaison officers a high
priority. In 1936 Wever directed that the air liaison officers be provided with
communications teams to link army headquarters with supporting air units.""
Strategic bombing was a mission of the Luftwaffe, but officer training regula-
tions also required that officers were to be 'so familiar with the operations of
the Army and Navy that they can effectively employ supporting air forces in
co-operation with the other services.""
From the early period of the war, the Germans strove to plan and co-
ordinate the air and ground forces. In doing so, the Condor Legion had a
decisive impact on the battlefront. One example of German effectiveness in

close air support is the campaign against the 'Iron Belt', a line of concrete
fortifications outside Bilbao, which stymied the Nationalist advance in late
spring of 1937. For weeks the Condor Legion pounded the fortifications and
interdicted Basque communications. From 11 to 14 June 1937 Condor Legion
aircraft attacking in waves placed hundreds of tons of bombs on Basque posi-
tions, enabling Nationalist brigades to breach the line. Bilbao quickly fell on
19 June, without unacceptable Nationalist casualties. 98 A second example of
effective joint operations is found in July and August 1938. On 24 July a
Republican force of 100,000 men, well-supported by tanks, artillery and air-
craft, successfully crossed the Ebro River in a surprise attack and drove in
part of the Nationalist defense line. The Condor Legion immediately concen-
trated its air units and began a massive interdiction campaign against the
Republican lines of communication. By 28 July the crisis was over and the
Nationalist temporary defence line was able to hold due to the loss of
Republican momentum. The Republican advance was slowed down by the
constant attacks on their reinforcements, road nets, bridges and supply
columns. 99 The Condor Legion performance demonstrated the flexibility of
airpower in an operational campaign. When the Republican Ebro offensive
began the Condor Legion units were fully engaged in supporting Nationalist
units in their offensive towards Valencia, yet by midday on the first day of
the Ebro crossing, Condor Legion bombers were already attacking the
Republican bridgehead on the Ebro River. 100
German air doctrine had the additional advantage of being comprehensive.
The flak artillery force was an integral part of the Luftwaffe. Prior to Spain,
the Luftwaffe had already trained the flak force in ground support operations
as well as air defense. As a result, the Condor Legion's flak battalion
especially the heavy 88mm guns, were in action on the front lines throughout
most of the war, where they provided useful artillery support.
The Luftwaffe also considered civil air defense to be part of operational air
doctrine, and placed significant emphasis during the interwar period upon
creating civil air organisations and educating the public in passive defense. lOI
Large-scale civil defense manoeuvres organised by the Luftwaffe in the
1930s convinced the Luftwaffe High Command that a public and civilian
administration schooled in civil air defense, and provided with shelters, could
deal effectively with the burden of heavy aerial bombardment while main-
taining cohesion and morale. 102 The Luftwaffe's confidence in civil defense
measures contradicted the popular Douhetian theory that civilian populations
and institutions were liable to collapse under aerial bombardment. Since other
nations were also likely to educate their civilians in passive air defense
measures, the Luftwaffe in the 1930s rejected the notion that indiscriminate
bombing of civilian populations was likely to have a decisive effect. This
meant that, in Spain, the Luftwaffe was disinclined to waste its effort and
resources upon strategic campaigns, as likely to be futile.
Although the Italians maintained a considerably larger air corps in Spain
than the Germans, an average of 140 aircraft to a German average of 100, the
Regia Aeronautica did not contribute as effectively to the war as their
coalition partners. The problem was not technological, for the Italian aircraft
models deployed to Spain were their most modern planes, and often had
greater performance characteristics than their German counterparts. The
problem was faulty doctrine. Italian air doctrine of the 1920s and 1930s was
dominated by strategic bombing theories of General Giulio Douhet
(1869-1930). The air manoeuvres of 1931 and 1935 convinced the Regia
Aeronautica that unescorted medium bombers could penetrate enemy air
defence and shatter his cities. Little effort was made to improve bombing
accuracy or to provide for fighter escort. 103
Although the Italians took some steps toward improving their group attack
aviation in the three years preceding the Spanish Civil War, they still entered
the war without a comprehensive air doctrine or training in conducting
operations with the other services. 104 The failure of the Regia Aeronautica to
develop army/air co-ordination was dramatically exhibited at Guadalajara in
1937. A report by General Sperrle later in 1937 also complained of poor
Italian planning co-ordination. 105 The situation was to continue for most of the
war.
The Regia Aeronautica's Chief of Staff, General Valle, was an ardent
admirer of Doubet's theory that airpower alone could decide a war by target-
ing civilians. In Ethiopia in 1935, he had attempted to demonstrate Doubet's
theories. 106 Along with Mussolini, General Valle, who issued the orders for
the attack, is responsible for one of the greatest political mistakes of the
Spanish Civil War: the bombing of Barcelona in March 1938. The Italians
were convinced that bombing strikes against the enemy populatio!l would
cause an immediate Republican collapse. Not only did the bombing not cause
collapse, it may have put extra heart into the Republicans. In any case, the
Italian action infuriated international opinion, and the Franco government. 107
Conclusion
In summary, studying the relationships of the Nationalist Coalition, and
especially their use of air power, I would draw four major conclusions:
1. The Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe leadership demonstrated a high
degree of competence in understanding the political strategy and
nature of the Spanish War. Indeed, the German military leaders con-
sistently exhibited a better grasp of Spanish politics and political
leaders than the German Foreign Ministry. From the start of the
German intervention, the senior military leadership worked to limit
German involvement, providing just sufficient support to carry out
the political goals. While doing so, they proved loyal and effective
partners of the Spanish Nationalists. The German intervention in
Spain provides a useful historical example of economy of force
applied to political objectives.
2. Effective leadership and sound doctrine count for far more than
quantity of personnel and equipment, and even quality of equipment.
With a much smaller air force and a minuscule ground force of four
armoured companies, the Germans - who possessed a comprehen-
sive and effective doctrine of ground and air war - were able to
operate far more decisively on the battlefield than the far larger
Italian forces, which possessed mediocre leadership and lacked an
effective doctrine.
3. The importance of developing an effective and flexible doctrine, and
training the force in it before the conflict is central to the effective-
ness of a force on the battlefield. When the Germans arrived in
Spain, they had the foundations of a sound doctrine. Upon this ~asis,
they quickly developed the operational techniques, such as co-
ordinating close air support. With a sound base to build upon, the
Luftwaffe was able to operate far more effectively than its
opponents. The Italians, trained in a faulty, Douhetian pre-war
doctrine, and lacking a doctrine suitable for a limited war, never
caught up or adapted quickly enough to the nature of the Spanish
War.
4. The Condor Legion commanders and staffs in Spain demonstrated a
genuine talent for coalition warfare. From the Legion's arrival the
Luftwaffe officers accurately took the measure of their coalition
partners, and their strengths and weaknesses. The Germans quickly
discovered how to work around the less competent Spanish officers,
and developed a close working relationship with the best of them.
The Condor Legion trained and learned to provide effective support
to the Nationalist shock divisions. Again, in contrast, the Italian
forces reduced their political influence and often negatively affected
Nationalist operations by their unwillingness to share plans and
information.
NOTES
I. HRA. Maj. Harrison G. Crocker, US Army Air Corps Tactical School, 'The Use of Avia-
tion in the Spanish War', USAF HRA Doc. No. 168.7045-34 (1937-1938), p.l8.
2. General der Flieger Karl Drum, 'Die deutsche Luftwaffe im spanischen Biirgerkrieg', HRA
Karlsruhe Collection, DOC Kl13.106-150, pp.6-16.
3. Manfred Merkes, Die deutsche Politik gegeniiber dem spanischen Biirgerkrieg: 1936-1939
(Bonn: Ludwig Rohrscheid Verlag 1961), pp.25--6, 26.
4. Ibid. On the economic advantages of German intervention, see also Robert Wheatley,
Hitler and Spain: The Nazi Role in the Spanish Civil War: 1936-1939 (UP of Kentucky,
1989), pp.74-87.
5. See Merkes, Die deutsche Politik (note 3), p.30.
6. Ibid., pp.30-2.
7. Raymond Proctor, Hitler's Luftwaffe in the Spanish Civil War (Westport, CT: Greenwood
Press, 1983) pp.40-2.
8. For a table of organisation of the Condor Legion, see Karl Ries and Hans Ring, The Legion
Condor (West Chester, PA.: Schiffer Military History 1992), pp.38-40.
9. Whealey, Hitler and Spain (note 4) p.54.
10. Ibid, p.54.
II. Proctor, Hitler's Luftwaffe (note 7), pp.76-7.
12. See Chief of the Wehrmacht High Command, Gen. Keitel's Message to the Foreign
Minister of 22 March 1938, Document No.549 in Akten zur Deutschen Auswiirtigen Politik
1918-1945, Serie D, Band III, pp.529-530. In later notes, referred to as 'Akt'.
13. Ibid.
14. Proctor, Hitler's Luftwaffe (note 7), p.36.
15. Jesus Salas Larrazabal, La Guerra de Espana desde el aire (Barcelona: Ediciones Ariel,
1970), p.499.
16. Proctor, Hitler's Luftwaffe (note 7), pp.66-7.
17. Ibid. See also Stanley Payne, Politics and the Military in Modern Spain (Stanford: Stanford
UP, 1967), p.384.
18. Oberst Jaenecke, 'Lehren des Spanischen Biirgerkrieges', in Jahrbuch des deutschen
Heeren (Leipzig: Verlag von Breitkopf und Hortel 1940), p.l43.
19. For detailed information on the Guernica attack, see Gordon Thomas and Max Witts,
Guernica: The Crucible of World War II (NY: Stein & Day, 1975) and Hans-Henning
Abendroth, 'Guernica: Ein fragwiirdiges Symbol', in Militiirgeschichtliche Mitteilungen
1/87, pp.111-26.
20. See Nachlass von Richthofen in BA/MA N 671/2. Condor Legion Chief of Staff, Lt.Col.
von Richthofen reported on 26 April 1937 that the Guernica attack was discussed and
approved by Col. Vig6n, Mola's Chief of Staff. See also Thomas and Witts, Guernica
(note 19), pp.ll8-23.
21. See Thomas and Witts, Guernica (note 19), p.254.
22. See Richthofen Report of 30 April 1937, in BA/MA N 671/2.
23. BA/MA Daily Reports of Condor Legion, 11 Feb. 1938.
24. Manuel Aznar, Historia Militar de Ia Guerra de Espana, Vol. I. (Madrid: Editoria
Nacional, 1958), p.302 (Bombing of Brunete) and p.304 (Bombing of Azuara). Also
Estado Mayor del Ejercito, Historia Militar de Ia Guerra de Espana, (Madrid: Torno
Tercero Altimira S.A., 1963), p.82 (photo of Alcubierre ).
25. Akt 549. On Franco's wish to prevent combat near France, see Akt 552.
26. John Coverdale, Italian Intervention in the Spanish Civil War (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
UP, 1975), pp.347-9.
27. Ibid.
28. Akt 550, 23 March 1938, Report from Ambassador Stohrer to the Foreign Office.
29. Ibid.
30. Proctor, Hitler's Luftwaffe (note 7), pp.l6-20.
31. Wilberg held German Imperial Pilot's License number 26. A General Staff officer, he
commanded over 700 aircraft in 1917 on the Western Front as Fourth Army Air
Commander. From 1919-27 he served as Chief of the Shadow Air Force. In 1933-34 he
edited the primary operational manual of the Luftwaffe, Luftkriegfiihrung. Since 1935 he
had commanded the forerunner of the Luftwaffe's General Staff Academy. He was killed
in a Nov. 1941 air crash. See BA/MA MSG 109/2959, and Interview by J.S. Corum with
Hans Joachim Wilberg, son of Helmuth Wilberg, 19 June 1992.
33. Personnel File Wilberg, BA/MA MSG 109/2959.
34. Sperrle was a pre-World War I flier who commanded aviation for the Seventh Army
(Western Front) during 1914-18 and served on the General Staff after World War I. From
1927-29 Sperrle served as the Shadow Luftwaffe Commander. He was Commander of Air
District (Luftgau) V when called upon to serve in Spain. See Sperrle Personnel Record,
BA!MA MSG 1/1249, and Interview of J.S. Corum with Hans-Joachim Wilberg, 19 June
1992.
35. Interview with Giitz, Freiherr von Richthofen by J.S. Corum, 21 June 1992.
36. See Richthofen's entry of20 Jan. 1937 in BA/MA Nn1/l.
37. See ibid., 2 March 1937, in ibid.
38. See ibid., 5 Feb. 1937, in ibid.
39. See ibid., 22 Jan. 1937, in ibid.
40. See ibid., 24 March 1937, in ibid. On Vig6n, see James Cortada (ed.), Historical
Dictionary of the Spanish Civil War (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1982), pp.473-4.
41. As note 35.
42. Akt 113, Memo from Foreign Ministry to Admiral Canaris, Gen. Sperrle, etc., 30 Oct.
1936. See also Akt 125, Memo of Foreign Minister. 'General Faupel should not concern
himself with military matters ... '
43. Akt 148. Message by Faupel to Foreign Minister, 10 Dec. 1936. Faupel reports how he
advised Franco to deal with the Madrid battle, troop training, etc.
44. Cortada, Historical Dictionary (note 40), p.20 I.
45. Akt 248, Faupel Message of I May (note 40), 1937.
46. Whealey, Hitler and Spain (note 4), p.65.
47. Akt 386, Faupel Message of7 July 1937.
48. As note 35.
49. See Richthofen Report of 4 Dec. 1936, in BA/MA Nnl/1.
50. Coverdale, Italian Intervention, p.347.
51. See Cortada, Historical Dictionary (note 40), p.272.
52. As von Richthofen complained in his report of3 Feb. 1937. 'No one knows what the Italian
plans are. Even Franco doesn't know.' See BA/MA Nn 1/1.
53. For a contemporary account of the Guadalajara Campaign, see Gen. der Infanterie Otto
Wiesinger, 'Der Biirgerkrieg in Spanien', in Militiia~wissenschaftliche Mitteilungen
(1937), pp.386-7. Also see Jose Luis Nassaes Alcofar, C.T.V.: Los Legionarios italianos
en/a Guerra Civil Espanola 1936-1939 (Barcelona 1972), pp.S0-103.
54. A useful contemporary account is F.G. Tinker's Some Still Live (NY: Funk and Wagnalls
1938), pp.128-57. See also Jesus Salas Larrazabal, Air War Over Spain (London: Ian
Allan, 1969 English ed. 1974), pp.l28-9.
55. Stanley Payne The Franco Regime 1936-1975 (Madison, WI: Univ. of Wisconsin Press,
1987), p.387.
56. Von Richthofen reported on 13 March 1937. 'Abyssinia was a bluff. No fighting spirit ...
sensitive to panic;' on an Italian division fleeing in panic, 'Schweinerei'. See report of 14
March 1937; both, BA/MA N71/l. Lt.Col. Paul Deichman, later General der Flieger (and
Sperrle's chief of staff in 1943-44), briefed Hitler on Spain in spring 1937. He regaled
Hitler with stories of the Italian rout at Guadalajara, and accounts of Italian officers con-
fronted with light enemy patrolling, who fell to their knees and started praying to the
Virgin Mary. Gen. Karl Drum, HRA Doc. 113.106-150, pp.83-4. The stories of the Italian
officers, though possibly apocryphal, were common among the Condor Legion.
57. Thomas and Witts, Guemica (note 19), p.l22.
58. Alcofar, C.T.V. (note 53), pp.I07-31.
59. Coverdale, Italian Intervention (note 26), p.283.
60. See Lagebericht der Legion Condor, 14 July 1938: Germans Fly Support for Italian Ground
Troops, and 18 July, 1938: Germans Carry Out Interdiction Attacks for Italian Troops, in
BA/MA RL 35/4. Also see Nachlass von Richthofen, 9 April, 1937: Italian and German
Bombers Carry Out a Combined Attack on a Republican Explosives Factory, in BA/MA N
71/1.
61. Richthofen's Report of II Dec. 1937, in BA/MA N/671/2.
62. Coverdale, Italian Intervention (note 26), pp.334---5.
63. R. Dan Richardson, 'The Development of Airpower Concepts and Air Combat Techniques
in the Spanish Civil War', Air Power History (Spring 1993), pp.13-21), esp. pp.18-19.
64. Payne, The Franco Regime (note 55), pp.154.
65. See Drum (note 2), pp.218-26, on the Luftwaffe shipping interdiction campaign.
66. A photograph from the von Richthofen family album, taken by von Richthofen in summer
1937, shows Sperrle, Major Siebert, the Condor Legion communications officer, with
several German and Nationalist officers, watching some village being blown off the map.
The scene is reminiscent of a picnic, with officers relaxing and lying on their jackets; the
only object missing is the chequered tablecloth.
67. Ernst Obermaier and Werner Held, Jagdflieger Oberst Werner Molders (Stuttgart: Motor-
buch Verlag 1986), p.79.
68. Ries and Ring, The Legion Condor (note 8), p.210.
69. Jose Larios Lerma, Combat over Spain (London: Neville Spearman, 1965), pp.I41 and
238.
70. Condor Legion Reports, Lagebericht of 6 Sept. 1938, in BA/MA BL 35/4.
71. In his report of 25 July 1937, von Richthofen referred to the 'excellent' attack of the
Spanish He-Sis and Ju-52s north ofBrunete, in BA/MA N 71/1.
72. See Gen. Volkmann's Report of 14 Sept. 1938, in Daily Reports of Condor Legion,
BA/MA RL 35/6. While reporting on the Axis interdiction campaign on the Ebro,
Volkmann remarked. 'A "leadership" of three air forces under the Spanish air force chief
was, despite every effort, not to be achieved.'
73. Coverdale, Italian Intervention (note 26), p.337.
75. 'Nationalist Spain played an important role in providing raw materials to Germany. In
1936--38 the Nationalist sector of Spain alone provided 2.45 million tons of iron ore, and
2.13 million tons of pyrites to Germany. By 1939 Spain was exporting 95.65 million
Reichsmarks' worth of goods to Germany annually. See Wheatley, Hitler and Spain (note
4 ), pp.86--94.
76. Spain provided an all-volunteer infantry division and air squadron to the Russian Front.
From Aug. 1941 into 1944 the Spanish 250th Infantry Division and its successor legion
fought well in Russia; 47,000 Spaniards fought in Russia, and 4,500 were killed there. The
Wehrmacht estimates that the Spaniards inflicted 49,300 casualties upon the Russians. See
Gerald R. Kleinfeld and Lewis A. Tambs, Hitler's Spanish Legion: The Blue Division in
Russia (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois UP 1979), p.346.
77. Coverdale, Italian Intervention (note 26), p.396. Also, Glen Barclay, The Rise and Fall of
the New Roman Empire (London: Sidgwick & Jackson 1973), p.163.
78. From 1936 to 1939 Italy provided Spain with 150 tanks, 700 +planes and 1,800 artillery
pieces, and Germany provided ISO tanks, 600-700 planes and 400-700 guns. From Payne,
The Franco Regime (note 55), p.l58.
79. At the 1939 exchange rate, the War in Spain cost Italy approximately £64 million. See
Coverdale, Italian lntenemion (note 26), p.392.
80. On the Italian financial benefits of the war, see Wheatley, Hitler and Spain (note 4), p.86.
81. Michael Geyer, 'German Strategy in the Age of Machine Warfare, 1914---1945', in Makers
l!{ Modern Strategy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP 1986), pp.527-97. Geyer cites Gen. Beck
as remarking that the younger generation of army leadership 'never learned to
evaluate operations within the context of a coherent strategy'. p.572. See also Martin van
Creveld, The Training lJf Officers (NY: Free Press 1990), p.33, on German interwar staff
training: 'Senior German officers were never required seriously to study the nonmilitary
aspects of war.'
82. Akt 709, Message, Commander of Condor Legion, with Foreign Office comment, 6 Jan.
1939.
83. For a contemporary analysis of the Italian Armed Forces, see Max Werner, Military
Strength of the Powers (NY: Modern Age Books 1939), pp.213-23.
84. Letter of Gen. Joan Vig6n to FM Wolfram von Richtofen, I Aug. 1943. Author's
Collection.
85. Jesus Salas Larrazabal, From Fabric to Titanium (Madrid: Espasa-Calpes S.A. 1983),
p.l48.
86. Ibid, pp.l46-55.
87. For a comprehensive account of the air war in Spain, see Larrazabal, Air War Over Spain
(note 54).
88. See Cortada, Historical Dictionary (note 40), pp.ll-13.
89. See Gerald Howson, Aircraft of the Spanish Civil War 1936-1939 (Washington, DC:
Smithsonian Inst. Press 1990) for a very detailed account of all of the aircraft used in the
Spanish War, and their capabilities.
90. See Cortada, Historical Dic_tionary (note 40), pp.12-13.
91. Of 240 military pilots in July 1936, 150 went to the Republic and 90 joined the
Nationalists. See Cortada, Historical Dictionary (note 40), p.l2.
92. The Reichswehr's primary operational doctrine was Army Regulation 487, Fiihrung and
Gefecht der verbundenen Waffen, Voi.I (1921) and Voi.II (1923). The term 'verbundenen
Waffen', 'combined arms', summarizes the thrust of German doctrine. The 1921 volume
contained a section on aviation 'Battle groups' (Schlachtgeschwader), in which ground
attack aviation was described as having 'great moral and material effect upon friend and
foe'. See Heeresdienstvorschrift 487, Voi.I, para.72. Commanders were directed to mass
their air units for ground attack at the point of decision, and not to dissipate their efforts.
Ibid, para.74.
93. Luftkriegfiihrung, Luftwaffe Dienstvorschrift 16, para.9.
94. Ibid., para.125.
95. Truppenamt T 2/L, 'Ausbildung Lehrgang L', BA/MA RH 2/2299,30 Nov. 1926, p.5.
96. Reichminister der Luftfahrt und Oberbefehlshaber der Luftwaffe, 'Bemerkungen des
Oberbefehlshabers der Luftwaffe zur Ausbildung und zu den Obungen im Jahre 1935' in
NARS T-177, Rolli, 4 Jan. (1936), p.6.
97. Luftwaffe Dienstvorschrift 7, Richtlinienfiir die Ausbildung in der Luftwaffe, Part 6, Berlin
(1937), para.!?.
98. Proctor, Hitler's Luftwaffe (note 7), pp.I36-42.
99. Report by Gen. Volkman, 28 July 1938, Condor Legion Lageberichte BA/MA RL 35/4.
101. On Luftwaffe studies of civil defence, see BA/MA files RL 4/313 (1931-33) and RH
12-1/53, T-3 Files. Luftschutz 1920s.
102. BA/MA RL 2 11/835, Luftwaffe Generalstab, 3. Abt., Bericht Wehrmachtmanover (1937),
Part II, pp.44-54. See NARS File T-321, Roll 68, Oberbefehlshaber der Luftwaffe,
Eifahrungsbericht: iiber die Ubungen der zivilen Luftschutzen im Rechnungsjahr 1936,
Berlin (1937) and Reichsminister der Luftfahrt, Bemerkungen zu den Ubungen des zil•ilen
Luftschutzes im Jahre 1934, Berlin ( 1935).
103. Brian Sullivan, 'The Italian Armed Forces 1918-40', in Allan Millet and Williamson
Murray (eds.), Military Effectiveness, Voi.II, (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1988) pp.l69-217.
See esp. p.198.
104. Ibid., p.l99.
I05. Report of Gen. Sperrle, May 1937, cited in Proctor, Hitler's Luftwaffe (note 7), p.l36.
106. Philip Cannistraro (ed.), Historical Dictionary of Fascist Italy (Westport, CT: Greenwood
Press 1982), pp.8-9 and 558.
107. Coverdale,1talian Intervention (note 26), pp.347-9.
British and American Approaches to
Strategic Bombing: Their Origins and
Implementation in the World War II
Combined Bomber Offensive
TAMI DAVIS BIDDLE
Throughout this century scholars have been intrigued by the history of

'strategic bombing'- aerial bombing done well beyond the battlefront for the
purpose of destroying or undermining the enemy's ability to fight, and will to
fight. A large body of writing has been devoted to the subject, especially
pertaining to its history in Britain and the United States. Indeed since 1980
the pace of inquiry has increased, producing at least 20 noteworthy studies. 1
For the most part these have focused on particular issues or time periods, and
have not been explicitly comparative in nature. The purpose of this essay is to
offer a sustained inquiry into the development of thinking about strategic
bombing in both Great Britain and the United States, from the beginning of
World War I through the end of World War II. Such an approach will illumi-
nate the way in which each nation interpreted the 'lessons' of World War I
and carried them into the future; it will highlight both similiarities and differ-
ences in thinking, and the reasons for them; and finally it will facilitate a
better understanding of the operation of the Combined Bomber Offensive
(CBO) of World War II.
A particular focus of this essay will be to explain the genesis and evolution
of the 'selective bombing' policy pursued by the Americans in the Europe
theatre in World War II, and the 'general area bombing' pursued by the
British. The former postulates that 'it is better to cause a high degree of
destruction in a few really essential industries ... than to cause a small degree
of destruction in many industries. ' 2 The latter argues by contrast that no one
target or target set is more vital than another, and that one best uses airpower
to cause a general level of destruction which will overwhelm the enemy's
war economy and, especially, his will to fight.'
While this difference was in many respects a result of the prevailing
circumstances and available resources within each air service, it also was
determined by patterns and predispositions which can be traced back to each
organisation's experience during and after World War I. Superficial stereo-
types of British 'terror bombing' and American 'precision bombing' are

oversimplified and misleading; the courses and channels of thought - as well
as the actual flow of bombardment practices - often overlapped and are not
easily categorised. Nonetheless, it is possible to identify different trends
in the evolution of ideas within the two air services which ultimately did
influence the way each organisation fought World War II.
These trends allow us to see, as well, how optimistic assumptions about
airpower were often out of step with the realities of air warfare as it
ultimately was practiced between 1939 and 1945. Both the Royal Air Force
(RAF) and the United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) went into the war
with mistaken ideas which would only be worked out through costly and
often bitter experience.
The 'Moral Effect' of Bombing

In a dispatch published in January 1919, the commander of Britain's
Independent Force (IF), Major-General Sir Hugh Trenchard, rather boldly
asserted that, 'At present the moral effect of bombing stands undoubtedly to
the material effect in a proportion of 20 to 1 ... •• Instead of the word 'moral',
Trenchard might have chosen the word 'psychological'. Indeed he viewed the
terms as essentially interchangable, but, as he explained later in his career, he
shied away from the latter because he had difficulty spelling it. 5 The ratio
itself (20 to 1) had no basis in anything scientific. Trenchard used numbers
liberally but never based them on anything except his own hunches. 6 A little
drama was probably necessary at the time, however, as the independent status
of the newborn RAF was already coming under challenge.
In his dispatch, Trenchard was trying to explain why he had chosen to
employ the bombers available to him in 1918 for widely dispersed attacks on
German industrial centres. He argued that since he did not have the bombers
to do sufficient material damage 'so as to completely destroy industrial
centres', he chose instead to 'attack as many of the large industrial centres as
it was possible to reach' in order to maximise the all-important 'moral effect'
upon the enemy. 7 If his mathematics were correct, then bombing for 'moral
effect' would have been the most efficient strategy no matter how many
bombers were available, but it is not clear that Trenchard had thought through
the full implications of his own statement. As General Officer Commanding
in the field, justifying his use of resources was more immediately on his
mind.
It is certainly true that he did not have enough bombers to do serious
damage to German industry. Constant production delays and demands arising
from the ground campaign ensured that, during the five months it operated,
the IF never had more than nine squadrons of aircraft, and many of those
BRITISH AND AMERICAN STRATEGIC BOMBING 93
were unsatisfactory. While the planners of the British air campaign initially
had high hopes for the destruction of key German war industries through
repeated attacks, the shortage of resources caused them to modify their
expectations.
In September 1917 Major Lord Tiverton, who would become one of the
Air Staff's key planners, wrote a paper offering a programme of objectives
for strategic bombing. He divided bombing objectives into four groups (the
Dusseldorf group, the Cologne group, the Mannheim group, and the Saar
Valley group), all of which offered key military and industrial targets -
especially chemicals, machine shops and steel production - and therefore
promised the greatest possible impact on the German war effort. Tiverton had
in mind the 'systematic destruction' of the German munition works. 8 As it
became increasingly clear, however, that genuine 'material damage' could
not be achieved, Air Staff planners hoped that bombing at least would have a
'moral effect' on Germany. They shifted their focus during 1918 from
obliteration Of Germany's 'root industries' to trying to cause enough dis-
ruption and dislocation to hinder German industrial output, and to cause the
German people to reconsider continuing the war.•
Though the Air Staff realised that the latter goal was a less tangible one,
they saw it as a viable plan under the circumstances. Tiverton noted candidly,
'Moral effect is strongly reminiscent of that sweet and blessed word
"Mesopotamia". It is used most loosely to embrace all manner of different
enterprises.' 10 In 1918 Air Staff planners hatched a variety of schemes to
enhance the 'moral effect' of bombing, including attacks on worker's
housing, and the use of newly-developed incendiary weapons. In August
Tiverton requested- in an interesting foreshadowing of World War II- a list
of towns with concentrated workmen's dwellings, which he considered 'a
reasonable target'. Plans were drawn up as well to use a new long-range
bomber, the Handley Page V1500, to play a part in producing a 'moral effect'
in Germany. 11 Still, many of those planners believed that the material effect
of bombing was the most important, and they hoped that once an adequate
force was ready, it would be possible to re-focus IF efforts in that direction. 12
As it turned out, the war ended before the feasibility of any of these plans
could be adequately tested.
Air Staff schemes, however, never had much of an impact on Trenchard.
To a great degree he operated without undue influence from his colleagues
back in London. 13 Formerly the commander of the Army's Royal Flying
Corps (RFC), he had come to his new position through a circuituous
sequence of events that ultimately allowed him the freedom to report only to
the Secretary of State for Air. 14 His interest remained largely in his former
responsibility - using airpower to support armies in the field. Indeed, he
attempted genuine 'strategic' bombing only sporadically, directing most of
his bombers instead to the attack of nearby railway stations (in an effort to
hinder German mobility on the ground) and aerodromes (in an effort to
minimize losses to his own forces)." His colleagues in London, including his
successor as Chief of Air Staff (CAS) Major-General Sir Frederick Sykes,
criticised his unsystematic and apparently ambivalent approach to his task,
his insubordination, and his inattention to critical operational details such as
navigation and weather prediction.' 6
Though he frequently frustrated the advocates of strategic bombing back in
London, Trenchard could not entirely dismiss their expectations. Public
opinion also demanded dramatic results. His frequent news releases and
monthly dispatches revealed the emphasis he gave to aerodromes and railway
stations, but they also highlighted his occasional efforts in the direction of
other targets like the Badische Analin und Sodafabrik in Ludwigshafen, a
favourite of Air Staff planners and the British public alike. Once in the midst
of the undertaking, he felt at least some obligation to explain himself in
regard to it." Feeling bureaucratic pressure for results, he increasingly relied
on the rhetoric of the 'moral effect,' and by the end of the war he was
prepared to assert its primacy and promise.' 8 He was not, however, the first:
the Royal Naval Air Service had done the same with respect to its. own
strategic bombing efforts during the war, as had Brigadier-General Cyril
Newall, the commander of the small British bombing unit which operated
from October 1917 until the establishment of the IF in June 1918.' 9
Such rhetoric became all the more important when Trenchard became the
postwar Chief of Air Staff. To a government obsessed with economies,
Trenchard was an attractive candidate for CAS because he was willing to
accept plans for a modest-sized postwar RAF. 20 Once in his post, however, he
took an increasingly protective stance toward the new service he now headed.
He became especially determined to keep the fledgling RAF from the eager
grasp of the Royal Navy, which was determined to re-acquire its air arm.
Needing a bureaucratic rationale to justify the continued existence of a
separate service, he found it in the unique role of strategic bombing, which
was in tum supported by arguments about the 'moral effect' of bombing. 2 '
To say that Trenchard exaggerated the 'moral effect' for reasons of
expediency is not to claim that he had no belief in the notion, however. The
'moral effect' argument unquestionably suited his needs at the time. It was,
as well, integral to his vocabulary; derived from the professional context in
which he worked and fought, it formed a cornerstone of his understanding of
the nature of warfare. Throughout the nineteenth century, books and treatises
on war devoted considerable attention to the 'moral' factor. Prussian theorist
and general Carl von Clausewitz, whose work was read widely in Britain in
the early twentieth century, stated, 'Fighting ... is a trial of moral and
physical forces through the medium of the latter. ' 22 Indeed, one might argue
that Trenchard was just adding hyperbole to Napoleon's 1808 dictum, 'In war
the moral forces are to the physical as three to one.'
Prevalent concepts of war-fighting in most European armies prior to World
War I were dominated by the 'cult of the offensive,' and the 'psychological
battlefield' paradigm. 23 These emphasised 'moral qualities,' and held that
intangible factors like esprit de corps and willingness to take and seize the
offensive were the real keys to an army's performance in war. For instance,
in a 1914 volume called Principles of War Historically Illustrated, Major-
General E. A. Altham argued: 'The moral effect of the bayonet is out of all
proportion to its material effect, and not the least important of virtues claimed
for it is that the desire to use it draws the attacking side on. ' 24
During the war Field-Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, commander of the British
Expeditionary Force, pursued a war-fighting strategy of relentless offensive
and attrition which leaned heavily on notions of the superiority of British
national character and fighting spirit. Trenchard, a disciple of Haig's with a
similar penchant for the offensive, had pursued the RFC's air campaign in
much the same way- often accepting very high loss rates among his pilots. 25
In addition, Trenchard's experience told him that aircraft operating in support
of the ground battle had a strong psychological effect on enemy troops. As
head of the RFC he ran constant 'offensive patrols' designed to keep the
enemy on the defensive and thus at a 'moral' disadvantage. Taking this
principle and applying it to long range operations was not, in the end, a
radical departure for him. 26
The war itself had revealed the crucial quality of technical proficiency on
the modern, industrial battlefield. But the rhetoric of the moral factor - with
its emphasis on the human aspect of battle - lingered. Men like Haig and
his former army commander, General Sir Henry Rawlinson, continued to
emphasize it in their postwar writings and speeches. 27 They believed that their
nation had prevailed over the German armed forces and the German nation in
an extended contest of will and determination. Indeed, 'moral effect', today
expressed and understood in a slightly different way, continues to inform our
understanding of combat. In the concluding pages of his well-known book,
The Face of Battle, John Keegan wrote: 'Battle ... is essentially a moral
conflict. It requires, if it is to take place, a mutual and sustained act of will by
two contending parties, and if it is. to result in a decision, the moral collapse
of one of them. ' 28 But this intuitive and simple idea, which is as elusive and
unquantifiable as it is powerful and tenacious, gained a life of its own with
respect to airpower theory.
Its elusive quality certainly served Trenchard's pressing bureaucratic
needs, but there was yet an additional advantage which was particularly
relevant to strategic bombing. While the 'moral' aspect of war was accepted
and established, it also was just then being transformed, intensified, and
extended due to the changing nature of warfare. In the era of 'total war,' con-
flict would no longer be confined to armies on a battlefield - a point that long
range bombing had served to underscore. Already in the years before the
Great War, military men had begun to concern themselves increasingly with
the behaviour of those on the homefront in a future conflict. Such concern
was exacerbated by the class tensions caused by industrialisation itself. If the
privations of warfare could be brought directly onto the heads of the working
masses, what would the outcome be? How would 'undisciplined' popula-
tions, alienated already by the nature of their work and their uncomfortable
lives, fare in the face of the burdens of modem warfare? 29
Air plans drawn up in London in the latter stages of the war often revealed
a chauvinistic intent to exploit these 'vulnerabilities' within the enemy home
front, especially among the working classes. Major Tiverton, an early advo-
cate of bombing for material effect, nonetheless felt that it would be possible
to apply collateral pressure to the German 'operatives'- those in the factories
who carried out the work of industrial manufacturing. One memorandum on
the use of V 1500 bombers explained that ' ... the moral and political results
which could be obtained by even six "V" type Handley Page machines would
be ... of a "disintegrating" character, i.e. they would tend to set the capitalist
and the masses against the military power. ' 30 On 12 September 1918 the
Director of Flying Operations (Maj.-Gen. P.R.C. Groves) sent to Trenchard's
attention a communication from the Foreign Office noting that '. . . the
despondency in Germany is at the present moment intense; and that this
would be greatly increased by air raids on German towns ... ' 3 '
World War I seemed to bear out some of these expectations. Low morale
on the French and British home fronts in 1917, the Russian Revolution of the
same year, and the German 'collapse' of the following year all appeared to
establish a trend that made quite a few military men and politicians uneasy. 3'
The RAF itself had been brought into existence largely as a result of popular
demands for protection and reprisal raids against Germany in the face of the
1917 air attacks on Britain. Besides casualties and an angry population, those
raids had caused disruptions in industrial manufacturing and a substantial
commitment of resources to the defence of London. 33
After the war ended, the members of the British survey team which
examined bomb damage in Germany had no choice but to admit that the
physical damage in Germany had been largely unremarkable. As others had
done before them, however, they emphasised instead the apparent damage
done to German morale by the British air attacks. 34 The reports on the British
bombing at chemical and munitions manufacturing centers and other other
industrial sites consistently argued that the moral effect of air raids was 'con-
siderable'. 35 The survey members especially fastened on the idea that the air
raids had taken a toll on worker's nerves; in the case of attacks on blast
furnaces, for instance, they were prepared to argue that: 'Had the war
continued a few months longer, a more or less total breakdown of labour at
several of the works might have been confidently expected. ' 36
Indeed, speculation and extrapolation were regular features of the reports;
the team frequently focused more on what might have happened (had the
bombing continued) than what actually did happen as as result of it. A most
vivid example of this tendency to extrapolate came from a separate survey of
bomb damage in Belgium, headed by Major E. Childers. After explaining
that the bombing in Belgium had been 'at best a secondary and very
imperfect method of attack', the authors nonetheless concluded that, 'It is a
simple deduction from experience to say that with the progress in air science
that seems likely to continue, it will be possible in a few years . . . for a
powerful military nation . . . to obliterate cities in a night and produce the
stunning moral effect necessary to victory. ' 37
The survey team in Germany sometimes had to cope with evidence which
undermined their thesis. For instance, German workers (including women,
who were not choosing between factory work and the battle front) could be
persuaded to stay on the job by salary increases. In addition, some of the
factory directors interviewed claimed that strategic bombing had no moral
effect, and indeed was simply wasteful - and criminal to boot. One even
explained that when the need arose to enter shelters, the workers entertained
themselves by dancing and enjoying other amusements.'" While the RAF
team acknowledged these incidents, it attempted to downplay their signifi-
cance where possible. In particular they sought to buttress their assertions
about the 'moral effect' of bombing. 39
Evidence which cast doubt on the significance of the moral effect of bomb-
ing was subsequently left out of the Air Ministry's final report on bombing
results, published nearly a year after the survey results were submitted. That
report, 'Results of Air Raids on Germany Carried out by the 8th Brigade and
Independent Force' (A.P. 1225, 3rd ed.) came from a staff headed by Major
A. R. Boyle who had been responsible for producing two wartime reports,
also designated A.P. 1225, analysing the progress of British bombing. 40
Both of those earlier reports, which had relied heavily on captured letters and
intelligence agents' reports, had emphasised the moral effect of bombing. 41
The Interpretation of Experience

While RAF wartime and postwar rhetoric was influenced by its organiza-
tional and bureaucratic context, it was also shaped by genuine perceptions of
the day - all of which were oriented to the future, and all of which seemed to
be heavily conditioned by expectations about the behaviour of civilians in
war. The bombing surveys repeatedly mentioned the defensive measures
Germany took in response to the British bombing campaign. The British were
impressed with the level of defensive effort their rather modest bombing
offensive provoked in Germany. In an interview with the mass circulation
Daily Mail which was printed on 21 September 1918, Trenchard told his
readers (in his inimicable style):
Another gain from raiding is the demand it makes on the enemy's
defences. Every big German town hit at once screams for assistance.
In this way hundreds of guns, searchlights, planes, and thousands of
men have been drawn away from the front to meet the occasional
attacks of a comparatively small number of assailants. It would be
no exaggeration to say that every unit of the Independent Force
immobilises at least 50 times its fighting value from the ranks of the
enemy. 42
To a great extent the British projected their own behaviour under enemy
bombardment upon their German adversaries. During 1914-18 the British
government and military had been impressed with the urgency and scope of
defensive efforts the modest German bombing offensive had provoked in
their homeland. Lecturing to his students, the first Commandant of the RAF
Staff College (the then Air Commodore Sir Robert Brooke-Popham) used
somewhat more precise figures to argue that, in order to meet a German
offensive which at no time constituted more than 50 machines, Britain had to
tie up over 270 aeroplanes and 13,000 men. He further explained that the
British flew I ,882 sorties in order to cope with 452 German aeroplane flights
over Britain.<'
In retrospect, during the Great War the actual physical damage of bombing
had been modest on all fronts. It nonetheless had caused occasional dis-
ruption, delays and work shortages in the vicinity of target areas. Such
disruption, though not usually debilitating in and of itself, caused states
to commit high levels of resources to defend their cities and sites of
strategic importance. These resources, both men and materiel, represented a
potentially significant loss to the critical offensive aspect of the war effort.
This seemingly disproportionate defensive diversion had a tremendous
impact on the thinking of many both inside and outside the RAF. The
wartime experience had revealed the very steep, early portion of a marginal
returns curve, so that those studying it tended to extrapolate linearly.
Indeed, Trenchard ultimately used this as the underpinning of his service's
postwar strategy. He argued that through the prosecution of a relentless
air offensive against enemy 'vital centres', one could gain the initiative
and ultimately bring an enemy state to collapse as its internal demands for
protection became increasingly shrill and it was forced further and further on
to the defensive. 44 This conception tended to conflate moral and material
effects, but Trenchard continued to stress the 'moral effect' in his own
rhetoric.
Trenchard's strategic conception dominated discussions about the content
and structure of Britain's home defence air force, the Air Defence of Great
Britain (ADGB), which were raised in light of the concocted French air threat
of 1923!5 Overruling those who sought an ideal proportion between fighters
and bombers, the CAS insisted that the goal of the RAF was to drop the
heaviest possible bomb load on the enemy, in order to 'trust their people
cracking before ours'. He added that 'though there would be an outcry, the
French in a bombing duel would probably squeal before we did. That was the
really final thing. The nation that would stand being bombed the longest
would win in the end. ' 46 The ADGB, despite its name, was set up to be
a bomber command; it was organized and oriented towards independent
strategic bombing.
The Head of the RAF remained steadfast, almost obstinate in his views.
While in command of the IF he had written to Sykes about overcoming
German resistance to the British air offensive. He pointed out, 'The only
thing I can do to combat the Huns bombing [British aerodromes] ... is to try
to educate everybody to think as I do, i.e. that if we bomb them harder than
they do us this is the best and only defence.' In the same letter, however, he
discussed increasing German fighter resistance, and inquired into the
possibility of using two-seater fighters as escorts, or perhaps using modified
bombers for the purpose. 47 After the war, though, Trenchard gradually
seemed to forget the level of resistance he faced. He eschewed the construc-
tion of escorts in order to maximise the number of bombers available to the
force; he was less interested in dealing with the enemy air force than in
simply getting the largest possible number of bombers to the enemy's vital
centres. Finally, while he did not dismiss fighters altogether, he argued that
the construction of short-range interceptors for defence - which he saw as a
concession to the demands of an ignorant populace - ought to be kept to a
minimum!'
During the interwar years not everyone could so readily dismiss the issue
of defence. But, in taking up the issue, the Committee of Imperial Defence's
(CID) first committee on Air Raid Precautions parroted Trenchard's rhetoric,
claiming (in 1924) that the 'moral effect' of bombing in a future war will be
'out of all proportion greater' than the physical consequences.'9 Like
Trenchard's 20 to I rule, this estimate was based more on extrapolation and
reflexive fears than anything else. Sometimes cited were the number of
people sheltering in London underground railway station during 1917-18, the
disruption in the city of Hull during Zeppelin raids there, the work
stoppages among the railways, and the number of industrial manhours lost
due to air raids. But there was little genuinely systematic analysis behind it.
As social historian Richard Titmuss has explained, the evidence, such as it

was, had been passed through 'a dense and reduplicated veil of human
interpretation'. 50
This 'veil of human interpretation' had as much to do with expectations as
it did with realities. These expectations had been fueled for a long time by
popular science fiction writing on the probable effects of aerial bombing, and
had revealed themselves dramatically on occasion, as in 1909 with the
'Phantom Airship Scare'." Aerial bombing engendered a kind of primal fear
based on the notion that in the wars of the future there would be no place to
shelter or to hide. This was fueled and exacerbated by the assumption that gas
(chemical) bombs would be widely used.
The public debate on airpower became inextricably intertwined with the
military and political debate. In their popular writings in the 1920s, Captain
Basil Liddell Hart and Colonel J. F. C. Fuller argued that, in the next
war, airpower might indeed have a devastating impact on civil will. For
instance, in his 1925 book called Paris or the Future of War, Liddell
Hart explored ways in which an enemy nation could be subdued, not by
deadly frontal assaults on his armies, but by locating and exploiting his
weak points." The book, which was placed on the RAF recommended
reading list, argued that with the advent of aircraft, 'boundless possibilities'
arise for striking directly and immediately 'at the seat of the opposing
will and policy'. Using a metaphor from biology, Liddell Hart explained
that: 'A nation's nerve-system, no longer covered by the flesh of its troops, is
now laid bare to attack, and, like the human nerves, the progress of civiliza-
tion has rendered it far more sensitive than in earlier and more primitive
times. ' 53
Even though the working classes had proven themselves willing to fight
throughout the Great War, questions about the steadfastness of the masses
continued to be raised, and these were usually linked to concerns about social
contentment and the possibility of large-scale political change. 54 Even events
like the 1926 general strike and the 1929 financial collapse seemed to cast
a shadow on the idea that governments could control the masses. The
atmosphere of civil-military tension aroused by the costly war and its after-
math gave an added edge to these issues. By 1935 Air Commodore L.E.O.
Charlton argued (in the public debate) that: ' ... it will be the labouring
masses ... themselves the most difficult people to control (factory employees
in particular), who will be more susceptible than most to dismay and
stampede when the air-raid warning goes.'"
The Trenchardian solution - to bomb the other side harder - came to
dominate RAF thinking in the 1920s, despite the fact that it downplayed the
vulnerability of London to air attack. When he retired as CAS in 1929 after a
decade of service, Trenchard had pretty well inculcated the 'moral effect'
into the heart of RAF thinking and planning. His ideas were promulgated at
the RAF Staff College, which had begun training officers in 1922. 56 The 1928
RAF War Manual ('Operations' section) stated unequivocally: 'Although the
bombardment of suitable objectives should result in considerable material
damage and loss, the most important and far-reaching effect of air bombard-
ment is its moral effect.' The Manual continued: 'A single air raid on such
vital centres may bring work to a standstill over a large area during the whole
period of the raid and prolonged attack consisting of air raids at short
intervals may be expected to result in such dislocation and confusion as a
consequence of the continual stoppage of work and the strain on the workers,
that supplies essential to the successful continuance of operations will not be
forthcoming. ' 57
Besides hyperbole, a key problem with such confident rhetoric was that it
was almost completely divorced from the reality of the late 1920s RAF.
Labouring under the budgetary contraints influenced by the 'Ten Year
Rule', the 1928 RAF had progressed little from a decade earlier, consisting
mainly of wooden biplanes with limited ranges and capabilities. The main
operational experience of the force derived from aerial policing duties in far-
flung colonial outposts. 'Air control', as it was known, helped to give the
RAF a desperately-needed rationale for continued existence and funding,
but it did little to help prepare pilots and planners for a war between
industrialised states.'" Aside from the temporary flurry of concern over the
French air force, the RAF had no real enemy to consider during the 1920s,
and there was no change going into the 1930s. Indeed, the very raison d' etre
of the RAF was called into question during the Geneva disarmament talks of
1932-34, which focused on banning bomber aircraft. Though the talks failed
in the end, the British government had taken them very seriously and had
agreed to a good faith moratorium on heavy bomber construction while the
conference was in session. 59
Certainly the RAF could not escape its circumstances; the lack of a real
threat, the stringent finances, and the anti-military spirit of the day all took
their toll on planning and functioning. But these problems were exacerbated
by the service's own tendency to downplay genuinely analytical thinking
about air warfare, and to tolerate a wide gulf between rhetoric and reality.
Instead of fostering critical thinking, the RAF Staff College taught a rather
single-minded dogma that students had to internalise even before they
matriculated. 60 Too often it seemed that more attention was paid to fox-
hunting than to target finding and bomb aiming. While the RAF was not
alone in this- Britain's Army suffered similar interwar doldrums- the lack
of attention paid to operational detail would become a particular problem for
a service that had been born of technology, and whose future rested on
developments in that realm. Sir John Slessor, who would become RAF Chief
of Staff in 1950--52, described interwar military service as 'an agreeable

part-time occupation for a gentleman' .61
The traditional British aversion to developing war-fighting doctrines in
peacetime held sway in Trenchard's RAF. As Commandant of the RAF Staff
College in the late 1920s, Air Commodore Sir Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt actively
eschewed an 'over-reliance' on planning, telling his students: ' ... we must
avoid being impressed too much by the actual letter and figures of our calcu-
lations. In peacetime the material factor is always liable to become more
prominent and the more one deals with material things the more prominent
the material factor tends to appear.' He went on to warn against developing 'a
habit of mind which calculates results purely in mathematical terms ... ' 62
While it is certainly true that peacetime training does not substitute for
wartime experience, the RAF was too willing in this period to rely on rather
vague assumptions about the 'moral effect' of bombing - assumptions which
sometimes skewed the results of the aerial exercises they did hold. 63
Trenchardian rhetoric, better suited to deterrence than war-fighting, had the
unfortunate consequence of putting the RAF in a frame of mind similar to
what European armies had embraced through the 'psychological battlefield'
paradigm prior to World War I. Trenchard's assertions depended upon the
unsubstantiated assumption that the British (now meaning the entire nation)
would be better able to endure an offensive contest of wills because they
would show greater strength of character and staying power than their
potential enemies. All would depend on a sheer determination to press home
the offensive. In a 1933 lecture Air Commodore Philip Joubert de la Ferte,
then Commandant of the RAF Staff College, told his students: 'The outcome
lies, as always, in the natural aptitude for fighting, in the leadership, and in
the material employed. The nation with the better fighting men, the stouter
hearts, the better leaders and equipment will, in the end, outfight the weaker,
who will be forced more and more on the defensive ... ' 64 But this conception
becomes problematical when 'stouter hearts' are overemphasized in relation
to other things -most especially training and operational planning. Again, Sir
John Slessor summed it up aptly and honestly when he wrote in his memoir,
'Our belief in the bomber, in fact, was intuitive- a matter of faith. ' 65
The idea of 'pushing' the other side onto the defensive was vague, and
caused, at times, more than a little confusion both outside and inside the
RAF. The RAF's desire to retain flexibility, and its tendency to avoid com-
mitting itself in advance to a specific target set caused concern in the other
services. Both the Army and the Navy wondered: (1) if the RAF would
support them in war, (2) if the new service intended to do any counterforce
work against an opposing air force, and (3) if it intended to bomb civilians
indiscriminately. Trenchard attempted to address all these issues in a lecture
he gave to the Imperial Defence College in October 1928, but confusion and
doubts continued afterwards. 66 Trenchard had shown limited interest in co-

operation with the other services, and, as noted above, he drew away from the
idea that the RAF would need to defeat the enemy air force before proceeding
to its 'vital centres'. By 1928 he argued that such counterforce work, though
not completely avoidable, would be a distraction from the main task at hand.
In the age of long range bombers and total warfare, the issue of what con-
stituted a 'military target' was a particularly vexing one; attempts to work it
out at the Hague in 1922-23 had led to a set of draft rules which attempted to
protect civilians, but they had not been ratified by any nation. 67 Trenchard felt
he was clear in his own mind about the issue: he believed that the civilian in a
factory producing war materiel held a different status than the man on the
street. But his steady emphasis on the 'moral effect' was inherently vague
and led many to think that this distinction was more apparent than real.
That this issue was not settled in the RAF either was indicated by the
commotion kicked up by an appreciation written for the ADGB Staff
Exercise of 13-15 March 1933, in which the Air Officer Commanding-in-
Chief based his air war plan on breaking the morale of the enemy civilian
population by 'striking at targets located in thickly populated areas'. 68 Some
of the reviewers had no major problems with the appreciation, but the then
Group Captain Charles Portal, who reviewed the document later in the year,
stated that the language was 'about as unfortunate as it could be', since
it 'leads directly to that idea that we can "make war on our own" by
"indiscriminate attacks on the civil population," which is exactly what ... we
have told the Government that it would not pay us to do. ' 69
The Commandant of the RAF Staff College, Joubert de la Ferte, was also
interested in trying to clarify the 'aim of the RAF', and made his lecture notes
available for the purpose. In a lecture he gave in the same year, titled 'The
Employment of Air Forces in War', he made the (rather remarkable) argu-
ment that:
... the scale of the attack must depend upon whether we are attempting
to inflict material damage, or, as is more probable, to interrupt the
normal existence of the enemy ... I have endeavoured to point out why
I think we are unlikely as a rule to try for material effect, and the
reasons for attacking the enemy morale. What we desire to do is to
make an area in which exists some organisation of a military nature so
uncomfortable that nobody can work in it effectively. Actual killing is
not in any way essential to our purpose. It is sufficient to indicate that if
a certain course of action is pursued, death or maiming is likely to
ensue. 70
The issue was hardly helped by the swirling air of fear and concern which
juxtaposed the government's desire for disarmament against an increasing
fear of a 'knock out blow' from the air, fed by a continuing - indeed
increasing - array of popular books and articles predicting aerial armageddon
in a future war, and helped along as well by once and future Prime Minister
Stanley Baldwin's 1932 statement in the House of Commons that 'the
bomber will always get through'. 7 '
When, after the failure of the Geneva talks, Britain found herself with no
choice but to re-arm, the process began haltingly. Confusion still existed
about what, exactly, the RAF would do in war and how it would do it. In
addition, the 'locust years' had taken a toll on the British aircraft industry,
and it could not be retooled overnight. And if this were not enough, the tech-
nology of air warfare was by then changing at such a rapid rate that there was
genuine fear of building an air fleet that would be obsolete even before it was
completed.
Economic issues entered the picture in a profound way, too, as Chancellor
of the Exchequer Neville Chamberlain was deeply fearful of bankrupting
Britain while trying to re-arm her. Ultimately British air rearmament policy
aimed at building aircraft so as to maintain parity with the Germans (and thus
deter them) without provoking them into further expansion. This policy, how-
ever, surrendered the initiative, and kept Britain in a reactive stance. 72
In these years, the RAF's faith in the power of the offensive continued to
hold up. 73 By 1935-36, with increasing developments in radar, there was
evidence that defensive air power had more to recommend it than previously
had been acknowledged. The RAF, as historian R. J. Overy has pointed out,
'accepted the development of defensive capability with an ill grace'. 74 Still,
they had had the foresight to hedge their bets by spending rare research
money on defensive techniques, and creating a communications net for
fighters and anti-aircraft weapons - two decisions that would would prove
critical during World War IP'
Despite developing an air defence net, the Air Staff continued to be
sceptical about providing escorts for bombers. In part this stemmed from the
sheer faith in the bomber's ability to 'get through', and in part it stemmed
from a belief that there were technical difficulties in building a fighter that
could stay with and defend a large, fast bomber. In 1936, responding to
reports about escort fighters being used in the Spanish Civil War, the RAF's
Deputy Director of Operations suggested, if unenthusiastically, that the
question of escorts be taken up, and that specifications for an escort fighter be
considered. The Director of Staff Duties (Air Commodore Sholto Douglas)
also advocated such an investigation, but qualified it, stating, 'My own
feeling in the matter is that the bombers should be able to look after them-
selves . . . ' Deputy Chief of the Air Staff Air Vice-Marshal Christopher
Courtney declared, 'I have no doubt in my own mind that the whole con-
ception of fighter escorts is essentially defective. ' 76
In general, the Air Staff looked warily on anything - including information

coming out of the Spanish Civil War - that ran counter to their own con-
ceptions of how an air war should be fought. 77 And they remained reluctant to
divert money from bombers to defensive fighters for Britain. There were
some in the RAF who championed the single-seat, monoplane fighter, and
their efforts are to be applauded - as are the efforts of those in private
industry who put forth excellent aircraft designs at a crucial moment. But in
the end it would take a shake-up in organisation and authority to change - if
temporarily- Air Staff priorities.
In March 1936 Sir Thomas Inskip was appointed to the unenviable position
'Minister for the Co-ordination of Defence', in order to help reconcile the
strategies and financial requirements of the three services. He was
empowered to act as deputy for the Prime Minister in the Chiefs of Staff
Committee, the Committee of Imperial Defence, and the Principal Supply
Officers Committee. During the latter half of 1937, Inskip undertook a review
of defence policy, resulting in what became known as the 'Inskip Report',
which one historian has called 'the single most important document produced
on defence matters in the 1930s. ' 78 The report, which became a blueprint for
British grand strategy in World War II, took on the whole counter-offensive
orientation of RAF policy. Inskip, whose prior experience of defence policy
was limited, argued what he believed to be a common sense approach to
defense policy; he felt that Britain initially ought to adopt a defensive stance
in war, endure German attempts at a 'knock-out blow', and prevail eventually
through a long-term strategy of attritional warfare based on the economic
strength of the Commonwealth. The report reconciled airpower with the
traditional tenets of British military strategy, and put the spotlight on air
defence. 7"
The Air Staff did not welcome this rather radical tum of events, and
accused Inskip of holding 'misconceptions' on airpower. But if Inskip's re-
orientation of air policy was a 'calculated gamble' with respect to both the
ability of fighters to stop bombers and the ability of the Luftwaffe to over-
whelm Britain in the air, it was one that turned out to be sensible."' The Air
Staff's hostility to it may have been ameliorated by their own increasing
awareness of the weakness of their offensive arm, which had since been
designated 'Bomber Command.' When Air Marshal Sir Edgar Ludlow-
Hewitt, now Commander-in-Chief of Bomber Command, set off on a tour of
his organization in September 1937, he found it to be 'entirely unprepared for
war, unable to operate except in fair weather, and extremely vulnerable both
in the air and on the ground'." He began taking the steps that would rectify
the situation and put Bomber Command on a better war footing, but there
was much work to be done - and many calculations now to be made. To his
credit, he set out to undertake this work with relentless energy.
The Development of US Air Service Thought

In World War I the US Air Service had no direct experience of strategic
bombing to influence its postwar behaviour. The armistice occurred before
the United States could field the aircraft needed for any sort of long-range
bombing campaign. 82 The Americans did draw up plans for such a campaign,
however, so it is possible to know what they were thinking with respect to
what they called 'strategical bombing'. In November 1917 Lieutenant
Colonel Edgar S. Gorrell, head of the Technical Section of the US Air
Service, was tasked with developing a plan for a future American bombing
offensive against Germany. Turning to his British colleagues for help, Gorrell
produced a plan that relied very heavily on Tiverton's September 1917 plan,
which divided German industrial and military targets into four geographical
groups. Much of what came to be known as 'the Gorrell Plan' was, in fact,
copied verbatim from the Tiverton plan. 83 Indeed, the plan later hailed as the
earliest statement of the American conception of airpower was based almost
entirely on the thinking of Tiverton, who, in 1917, was primarily interested in
the material and moral effects of bombing specific military-industrial targets,
and in developing rational, analysis-based methods of target selection. 84
In the opening section of the paper, Gorrell framed the argument, and
defined the object of 'strategical bombing' as follows: 'to drop aerial bombs
upon the commercial centers and the lines of communications in such
quantities as will wreck the points aimed at and cut off the necessary supplies
without which the armies in the field cannot exist. ' 85 He saw long-range
bombing as a kind of deep interdiction which would keep needed material out
of the hands of the enemy's army. In discussing specific objectives, he
followed Tiverton precisely - calling for attacks on four main target centers
in Germany's industrial heartland as the best and most efficient way of
seriously impairing the German war machine.' 6
Gorrell's plan also took from Tiverton an emphasis on systematic bomb-
ing. Changing Tiverton's wording only slightly, Gorrell wrote that, 'From
both the morale point of view and also that of material damage, concentration
of our aerial forces against single targets on the same day is of vital impor-
tance since it tends to hamper the defense and also to complete in a thorough
manner the work which the bombardment is intended to perform.'"'
The plan appreciated the potential for the 'moral effect' of bombing too.
Again following Tiverton's lead, Gorrell wrote that in a prolonged bombard-
ment against a German target, the breakdown of order might cause results
'out of proportion to the immediate effects of the bombs'."' With respect to
the 'moral effect,' Gorrell was influenced directly by Trenchard as well; he
incorporated several of Trenchard's ideas into a paper he wrote later called
'The Future Role of American Bombardment', which argued that, 'the
appearance of only one or two machines over London is the equivalent of a

loss of manhours which results in the loss of production of more airplanes
than the whole of the enemy aerial forces destroy over the period of a
fortnight on the front, and the loss of production of shells and cartridges
amounting to those necessary for a good size battle by the Allies, to say
nothing of the material and moral damage that the enemy airplanes cause in
addition. ' 89 From his British colleagues Gorrell learned to appreciate both the
moral and material effects of bombing. But Tiverton's work emphasised
a systematic approach based on analysis, as well as concentration and
thoroughness.
Chief of the Air Service, Brigadier General Benjamin Foulois, accepted
Gorrell's work and promoted him to head Strategical Aviation, Zone of
Advance, American Expeditionary Force (AEF). There he attempted to get
things underway with respect to his plan, but by mid-January 1918 he was
detailed to report to the Chief of Staff, AEF, to serve in the Operations
section of the General Staff.9" In the end, Gorrell's plan was never brought to
fruition due to aircraft production problems and American conservatism
regarding the question of making aerial bombing an activity independent of
the Army.
As a full colonel and Assistant Chief of Staff of the Air Service, Gorrell
was asked to write a history of the Air Service and a final report to be given
to General John J. Pershing, Commander-in-Chief of the AEF. He also co-
ordinated and compiled a series of 'lessons learned' reports from leading
American aviators, and initiated a bombing survey to determine what the
Allied bombing efforts had really accomplished in the war. The former
reports, which were uneven in quality and completeness, often lamented the
fact that the air effort had been 'ruined' by the Armistice. The bombing
survey, which was undertaken completely independently of the British
survey, examined not only the American efforts at tactical bombing but also
Allied strategic bombing, including the efforts of Trenchard's IF. 91
The US survey members (divided into 12 teams of one officer and two
enlisted men each) noted the material and moral effects of bombing in the
cities and factories they examined. They also noted the cost devoted to
defensive efforts in these areas. The individual reports on cities and factories
made frequent reference to the 'moral effect' of bombing. In addition, the
'Narrative Summary' section devoted to 'Moral Effect' began with the state-
ment: 'It is certain that air raids had a tremendous effect on the morale of the
entire people.' The authors pointed out that the enemy's factories were
running 24 hours a day, so that losses in production by workers could not be
easily made up. With reference to German iron and steel used in the manu-
facture of war material, they argued: 'The enormous expense of maintaining
balloon barrages, home defense flights, and anti-aircraft artillery must be an
indication that the material was needed as well as that the popular clamor for
protection was great. ' 92
In the section of the 'Narrative Summary' called 'Criticisms of Bombing in
the Present War', however, the Americans were quite critical of the British
efforts. Making a point that many on the Air Staff in London would have
agreed with, the Americans claimed that the greatest failing of the British
bombing was 'the lack of a predetermined program carefully calculated to
destroy by successive raids those industries most vital in maintaining
Germany's fighting forces.' The US survey stated further that, 'Evidence of
this is seen in the wide area over which the bombing took place as well as the
failure of crippling, beyond a limited extent, any one factory or industry. ' 93
The survey also noted dissent among the British ranks regarding targeting
policy, and pointed out that 'these [British] officers ... did not believe they
were getting the best results possible and that while the wish ... to "bomb
something up there" might have appealed to one's sporting blood, it did not
work with the greatest efficiency against the German fighting machine. ' 94
Significantly, the survey members insisted that to obtain useful results, it
would be important first to make a 'careful study' of the different kinds
of industries in an enemy nation, and to ascertain 'how one industry is
dependent on another· and what the most important factories of each are.' The
Americans were, in essence, recommending what Tiverton had recommended
during the war- and Trenchard had largely ignored.
While the Americans were willing to concede that World War I long-range
bombing had an effect, if unquantifiable, on the enemy nation, they were not
impressed with its overall effect on the enemy fighting forces. Indeed they
wrote: 'This investigation has decidedly shown that the enemy's morale was
not sufficiently affected to handicap the enemy's fighting forces in the field.
The policy as followed out by the British and French in the present war of
bombing a target once or twice and then skipping to another target is
erroneous.' Willing to concede the 'moral effect' of bombing, the Americans
were nonetheless unwilling to concede that seeking it as a primary effect was
an efficient way of fighting a war. They pointed out in closing: 'Bombing for
moral effect alone ... which was probably the excuse for the wide spread of
bombs over a town rather than their concentration on a factory, is not a pro-
ductive means of bombing. The effect is legitimate and just as considerable
when attained indirectly through the bombing of a factory. ' 95
Of course it is impossible to know how closely the Americans would have
followed their own advice, especially in the face of the very real technical
difficulties posed by bombing in the Great War. Ironically, the Americans'
virgin status with respect to bombing gave them the freedom to be critical of
their allies' efforts. The problems that Trenchard was up against, including
primitive technologies and aircraft shortages, ought not to be underestimated.
Yet the fact of serious dissension within RAF ranks indicates that he had at
least some room for choices in his targeting policy.
What is interesting to note here is that some of the distinctions between the
American and British views of bombing- distinctions that would last through
World War II- were already beginning to emerge, if in a rather rudimentary
way, by the spring of 1919. But there was no absolutely clean divide; many
of the views that took hold in Britain under Trenchard were repeated on
occasion in the United States. For instance, the 'Aerial Tactics' manual pro-
duced by the Director of the Air Service in June 1920, simply repeated (with-
out attribution) Trenchard's 20 to 1 rule on the 'moral effect' ofbombing. 96 In
1923 the Commander of the US 1st Pursuit Group, Carl A. Spaatz, pointed
out in a letter that, 'The first bomb dropped by an enemy on one of our cities
will cause such a clamor for protection that no executive would be strong
enough to withstand it. ' 97
Immediately after World War I the US Air Service - which was still
very much a part of the Army - was forced to accept constraints on its con-
ceptualisation of bombing in future wars. The Army's top leadership con-
tinued to conceive of the Air Service as an auxiliary arm. The Secretary of
War, Newton Baker, was hostile to strategic bombing for several reasons, not
the least of which was that he thought it immoral; American foreign policy
was isolationist, and official American security policy was defensive in
orientation.•' In the early 1920s official publications on the role of the Air
Service emphasised its position as an auxiliary service, and focused on
support missions including observation and defensive pursuit. 99
With no experience of long range bombing behind them, the men of the
Air Service had little leverage to apply towards gaining independence from
the Army. The question of the organisational future of the Air Service
garnered a great deal of attention in the 1920s; the issue was discussed in a
public debate, and scrutinised in a series of special boards, committees, and
congressional hearings. The flamboyant and debonair leader of the Air
Service insurgency movement was Brigadier General William (Billy)
Mitchell, who, during World War I had been influenced by Trenchard.
Mitchell did his best to persuade the American people that the national
defence ought to be built around independent airpower. 100 Though they
watched with fascination as he bombed battleships and staged mock air raids
on many cities in the northeast, the American people did not feel so
imminently threatened as to demand radical changes in the nation's defence
structure. Those changes came gradually. The 1926 Air Corps Act enabled
the Army's air arm to grow in size and to gain greater representation at
the top levels of the Army hierarchy, but it stopped well short of offering
organizational autonomy. 101
In the early twenties there was little opportunity for American airmen to
develop offensive targeting strategies for bombing. Billy Mitchell - whose

relentlessly demanding and insubordinate behaviour ultimately led him to be
court martialled in 1925 - addressed the subject in the books and articles he
wrote for public consumption. As time passed he tended to broaden his target
categories and to place increasing faith in the ability of bombers to get
through to those targets. He also sang the praises of the British for their
development of an independent air force. 102 But no official independent
bombing scheme could be developed within the Air Service itself. By the
time of the Air Corps Act, however, organisational shackles were proving
less and less able to contain the active imaginations of American airmen. The
1926 version of the 'Bombardment' text used at the Air Corps Tactical
School (ACTS) in Langley, Virginia took a fairly standard line on strategic
bombing. It cast doubt on the 'morale value' of bombing population centers,
and complained about the fact that the popular conception of bomber aviation
was increasingly that of independent, long range operations. But the con-
servative text also contained a few lines which hinted at the increasingly
central role US airmen perceived for bombing in future warfare. 103 Even more
important though were the ideas expressed in another text used for a course
called 'Employment of Combined Air Force', also taught in 1926.
The 'Combined Air Force' text foresaw aviation as a co-equal partner with
ground and naval forces. Its authors argued that the point in war was not to
defeat the enemy armed forces, but to undermine the nation's will to fight.
They believed that an air force ought to direct strategic attacks against a
nations 'vital points' at the outset of hostilities in order to shake the will of
the entire nation. 104 This conception had much in common with leading ideas
Britain at the same time. Most texts at the Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS)
in the 1930s discussed bombing as a means of attacking the enemy's ability
to wage war and its will to fight. 105 Indeed a debate seems to have been going
on within the Air Corps about the 'moral versus the material' effects of
bombing, and it can be suggested that Mitchell, the British, and popular
notions of airpower all may have influenced it to some extent. This debate
was never completely resolved in America prior to World War II, and the
residue of the conflict carried into the war itself. Increasingly, though, the
texts and the rhetoric of the Air Corps tended to give pride of place to the
'material effect' of bombing that would result from choosing specially-
selected targets.
The US Air Corps, Theory, and the Tactical School

The momentum behind this emphasis began to develop seriously in the early
1930s when instructors at ACTS came increasingly to focus on what would
be called the 'key node' approach to targeting for strategic bombing. As
BRITISH AND AMERICAN STRATEGIC BOMBING Ill
many planners in the British Air Staff had done during the opening phases of
strategic bombing in World War I, they attempted to identify essential
industries which formed the backbone of a nation's war economy. They
sought the central threads which would unravel the intricate web of a modem
industrial economy. By the mid-thirties these ideas were well-developed, and
by the late thirties they were established. The text for the 1938 'Air Force'
course text summed up the concept very well, explaining that: '. . . the
economic structure of a modem highly industrialized nation is characterized
by the great degree of interdependence of its various elements. Certain of
these elements are vital to the continued functioning of the modem nation. If
one of these elements is destroyed the whole of the economic machine ceases
to function ... Against a highly industrialized nation air force action has the
possibility for such far reaching effectiveness that such action may produce
immediate and decisive results.' 106
There are probably several, mutually-reinforcing reasons why the Air
Corps planners took this particular trajectory towards 'selective targeting'.
First, it re-emphasised many of the principles which had been used by
Gorrell, noted in the Bombing Survey, and subsequently absorbed into the
organisational thinking of the Air Service/Air Corps Tactical School. In his
1926 book, Air Warfare, William C. Sherman (formerly of the Air Service
Tactical School), wrote, 'Industry consists ... of a complex system of inter-
locking factories, each of which makes only its allotted part of the whole ...
Accordingly, in the majority of industries, it is necessary to destroy certain
elements of the industry only, in order to cripple the whole. These elements
may be called the key plants.' 107 A few years later the 1930 text fQr the 'Air
Force' course at ACTS specifically criticised the British in World War I for
their 'lack of a predetermined program calculated to destroy by successive
raids those industries most vital in prosecuting the war'. The authors of the
text explained Trenchard's rationale for dispersing his attacks, but argued that
'his defense was not convincing, except in that he seemed to believe that the
bomb was a weapon of moral effect rather than of destruction.' 108
Second, the MacArthur-Pratt agreement of 1931, which divided land-
based and naval aviation between the Army and the Navy, gave the Army
an officially-sanctioned, defensive use for long range bombers: defenders
of the American coastline. The need to hit a ship at sea put a premium
on 'precision' capability. 109 This need dovetailed nicely with the arrival
of the Norden bombsight, and the advanced Martin B-10 bomber aircraft,
which, with its sleek design, speed over 200mph, and altitude ceiling
over 20,000 feet, pointed out the direction that future bomber aircraft
might take. 110 Also, the memory of Secretary of War Newton Baker lingered;
the defensive nature of American security policy meant that US airmen
had to be very careful in their statements, and they had to be especially care-
ful not to imply that they were interested in anything that smacked of
indiscriminate bombing.
Finally, the trend of thought may have come from a momentum which
developed when ACTS moved from Virginia to Maxwell Air Force Base,
Alabama, and set out consciously to become the hub of air force thought and
theory. As a centre for 'air power' thought, Maxwell brought together a
group of men - including instructors Kenneth Walker, Donald Wilson,
Laurence Kuter, and Haywood Hansell - who tended to think along the
same lines, and to share their ideas with one another. Removed from the
immediacy of the air threat in Europe and its social overtones, they began to
think about strategic bombing in economic terms. The onset of the Great
Depression - which had a particularly harsh impact in America - had
reinforced the notion of the intricate interdependence (and thus the essential
frailty) of advanced industrial economies.
Interpreting this through the lens of economics, and combining it with con-
cepts of concentration and efficiency (ideas important to them as military
men), they developed a way of thinking which they viewed as uniquely and
distinctly theirs - a product of ACTS but also of the 'American way' of
thinking about airpower.'" Thus, as the theory evolved, it was invested with a
kind of national pride; those influenced by it became loyal to it, and
tenaciously committed to it. In fact, the ideas were not original or unique;
during 1914-18 British planners had written in detail about 'key targets',
'root industries,' and 'bottlenecks.' Indeed, the first American plan for
selective targeting in strategic bombing had come directly from the British.
But this did not matter to the men of ACTS, who very likely had no inkling
of those early British Air Staff efforts anyway .112 What mattered was their
belief that they had come upon a theory with a kind of inherent and funda-
mental truth to it.
As the 'key node' theory centred on sustained, 'precision' attacks on
essential elements of an enemy state's war industry, what were those
'essential elements'? By 1933 ACTS instructor Donald Wilson was absorbed
in trying to identify 'key node' targets in the American industrial infra-
structure so that he could use them as examples in his lectures and problem
sets. Along with some of his colleagues, he engaged in a grapeshot style
letter-writing campaign to solicit the information he needed. In one letter to
the Office of the Assistant Secretary of War, he requested information on the
industry of the northeastern US, including: 'principal electric power plants',
and 'key items and their source in each of the major industries such as: steel,
automobiles, clothing, printing, chemicals, rubber, etc.' In addition he asked
for information which would help him plan an air defence of industry in the
northern United States.'" Often Wilson used the subterfuge of 'planning a
defense' -especially when he wrote to War Department offices -because,
according to American policy at the time, he was not supposed to be thinking

about - or teaching his students to think about- offensive warfare.
If the responses Wilson and his colleagues received were often general,
they at least represented a step towards more sophisticated thinking about
targeting. The Americans were trying to create a rational and at least partly
scientific theory for strategic bombing. In contrast to Britain's Ludlow-
Hewitt, who in 1927 had eschewed overrelying on peacetime calculations,
Lieutenant Laurence Kuter of ACTS expounded in 1935, that: 'It is highly
desirable to base our computations upon sound mathematical considerations.
We would avoid chance, luck, or hazard and deal only in concrete facts.'' 14
The 'key node' theory assumed that bombers would be able to locate and
destroy specific factories and commodities; it placed a premium on accurate
strikes by heavy bombers in daylight.'' 5 The development of the Boeing B-17
only increased the enthusiasm of the ACTS selective targeting advocates.
But if the Americans were trying to be more precise in their thinking, how-
ever, they did not always succeed. The science of locating and hitting targets
was inexact and underdeveloped through the 1930s. Like the RAF, the Air
Corps had only minimal financial and material resources, and was thus limit-
ed in the actual hands-on experience it could acquire with new weapons and
techniques. The issues of absorbing and adjusting to new technologies were
considerable, and not all of the key questions regarding 'precision' bombing
were asked or anticipated. Like the RAF, the Air Corps seemed to be
balanced on the cusp between the old world and the new. For instance,
students at ACTS in 1933-34 were required to devote 100 hours of their
training program to horsemanship, while only 25 hours were required for air
logistics.'' 6
Perhaps the toughest interwar issue the American bomber advocates had to
face was that of getting through to the target. Stanley Baldwin's declaration
that 'the bomber will always get through' had not always held sway in the
United States, where, during the 1920s pursuit (fighter) aviation had received
both attention and respect. In 1930 ACTS still taught that bombers opposed
by enemy fighters would require the support of escort fighters. Only a few
years later, though, this attitude had changed. The demise of the fighter escort
concept in America took place simultaneously with the development of
sophisticated, fast bomber aircraft, and the rise of the precision bombing
theory at ACTS. The bomber advocates argued frequently that the sleek, fast,
high-altitude bombers would be able to use formation flying techniques and
their own guns to penetrate - without prohibitive losses - to the targets they
would need to reach. ACTS emphasised daylight bombing, when bomber
crews would have the best conditions for achieving 'precision'. 117
Not everyone at ACTS took to the idea of bomber invincibility however.
Captain Claire L. Chennault, who taught pursuit aviation at the School in
1931-36 was the bomber advocates' most outspoken opponent. He felt that
bombardment ought not to be made, 'the first exception to the ancient
principle that 'for every weapon there is a new and effective counter
weapon' .118 He argued that by using defense warning systems which relied on
improved radio technologies, fighter aircraft could intercept hostile bombers.
Finally, he felt that the exercises of the early 1930s, which allegedly 'proved'
that bombers were dominant over fighters, had been rigged and were dis-
ingenuous.119 Chennault went toe to toe on this issue with Lieutenant Colonel
H. H. Arnold, who commanded 1st Bombardment Wing, and later became
Commander-in-Chief of the USAAF in World War II. In exercises at Fort
Knox in 1933, Chennault was able to show that even outdated fighters could
intercept bombers if they were provided with adequate information through a
central control authority. Despite Chennault's pugnacious and worthy
challenges to the bomber advocates' theory, though, he was not able to slow
their momentum substantially. And when he retired in 1937, there was no
strong voice left to lobby for fighter aircraft.' 20 Their failure fully to heed
Chennault's warnings about defence would later prove to be a near fatal
mistake for the American bomber advocates. 121
Confidence that bombers would get through to their targets did not cause
the Americans to drop completely the idea of escort fighters however. As the
German threat grew, the Americans recognised that they ought to hedge their
bets, and thus they gave relatively more attention to escorts - but increased
attention to the problem did not yield an early solution. Unfortunately,
American designers tended to focus on large, twin-engined types like the the
Bell YFM-lA Airacuda, the Lockheed XP-58, and the Northrop XP-61
(which eventually went into production, but as a night fighter). The idea of
equipping certain heavy bombers to serve as escorts to the others was even
considered, yielding the YB-40 - a modified B-17, which proved eventually
to be a complete failure. 122
Ideas and Realities: The Early Phase

As the German threat loomed ever larger, Britain's Air Ministry began to
make detailed plans for coping with it. 'This process', wrote the British
official historians, 'certainly brought them down to earth.' 123 As they came
face to face with operational realities, they began to move gradually away
from the abstract and ethereal tones of the 1920s, and towards more concrete
ideas, and greater specificity in targeting. The first major step in the targeting
process took place in the autumn of 1937, just as the severe operational
limitations of Bomber Command were being laid bare. The Air Ministry sent
Bomber Command a list of 13 plans called the WA (Western Air) plans, with
orders to evaluate especially the first three for operational feasibility. That
year the Treasury finally, if reluctantly, agreed to a National Defence Loan to

help cover the costs of rearmament.
The plan ultimately favoured by both the Air Ministry and Bomber
Command was WAS, an attack on German war industry intended to produce
the maximum dislocation of the German war economy. The plan offered the
greatest flexibility and possibility to a force that would be working under real
operational constraints. 124 Indeed, it was not until the first meeting of the
Bombing Policy Sub-Committee (of the Bombing Policy Committee), on 22
March 1938, that the RAF really settled down to think about many of the
vital operational issues involved in getting bombs successfully to a target.
The committee members expressed the opinion that there was a 'crying need'
for a Bombing Development Establishment which could work out many of
the scientific problems vital to successful bombing. It was pointed out that a
similar proposal had been made at the second, third, and tenth meetings of the
Bombing Committee (which had begun meeting in 1934), but 'nothing had
eventuated.' 125
The issue that seemed most pressing as the clouds darkened over Europe
was: how might Bomber Command find a way to identify and strike
'military targets' only, so as to give the Germans an incentive to do the same
-at least until the initial crises could be weathered and Bomber Command's
strength built up? In the event of war, some air action would certainly be
required, but the priorities - and constraints - of the new grand strategy were
different than those Trenchard had imagined. Defending Britain - which now
seemed especially vulnerable because London was such an accessible and
critical target - and conserving the bombing force for a later day were the
new guidelines for action. 126
The government encouraged the Air Ministry to tighten, as far as possible,
the definition of 'military' targets in order to encourage the Germans to do
the same. The Air Staff's attempts to pick specific targets from the broader
set marked 'Ruhr industrial targets', brought them, in essence, into line with
the American search for 'key nodes'. In many ways this was a return to the
views promulgated by Air Staff planners in London during World War I,
whose first instinct had been to find a way to shut down the German war
machine most efficiently. In the summer of 1940 the Air Staff argued that,
'moral effect, although an extremely important subsidiary result of air
bombardment, cannot in itself be decisive. There must be material destruction
as a primary object.' 127
The Trenchardian insistence on the primacy of 'the moral effect' of bomb-
ing had been abandoned, but only for the moment. The change in emphasis
would be neither total nor permanent. Its revival was, in part, tied to the
legacy of the Trenchard years: inattention to the fundamentals of target find-
ing and bomb dropping. The problem, soon to be painfully discovered, was
that the inherent weakness of Bomber Command in the early years of the war
precluded a successful campaign against any specific military targets.
Ironically, some of the same issues that had helped to prompt a focus on
the 'moral effect' of bombing in World War I would do so again in World
War II.
The Luftwaffe's failure in the Battle of Britain did not seem to erode Air
Staff enthusiasm for attempting an air campaign against the Germans, but
perhaps this is not surprising since the RAF was in a desperate situation and
facing facts too fully would have meant despair. 128 Despite their best efforts to
find and hit specific German military targets in daylight, however, the British
simply could not achieve success. Without long range escorts, British
bombers could not fly in daylight because their losses to German defences
were too high. At night they proved capable of finding and striking only very
large targets. Already by June 1940 Air Marshal Charles Portal, who was
then AOC-in-C Bomber Command, was told to strike oil targets as a first
priority, but, in the event that these could not be found, his crews were to
attack 'any self-illuminating target or targets which are otherwise identi-
fiable'.129 As the 1941 photo-reconnaissance survey known as 'the Butt
Report' ultimately revealed, only about one in five crews were getting bombs
within five miles of their intended targets. 130 'Area bombing' was the only
feasible use to which Bomber Command could be put.
As this situation and its consequences sank in, arguments increased for
using bombers to attack German morale. While serving as Chief of Bomber
Command, Portal concluded that German actions in the war had justified the
destruction of German cities, and that such a course might, under the circum-
stances, be the most profitable one to follow. The Ministry of Information
had reported in December 1940 that 'the Germans ... will not stand a quarter
of the bombing that the British have shown they can take.' And Trenchard
(now Lord Trenchard) weighed into the debate in spring 1941, making a case
for area attacks. Using some of his infamous mathematics to support the
notion that no bomb is wasted on a city, he argued that 'ninety-nine percent
of the bombs dropped on cities would contribute directly to the destruction of
German morale.' He argued further that the attacks should be made every
night - even if only one bomber could be sent over. On 2 June 1941
Trenchard offered his views at a meeting held by the Chief of Air Staff, Air
Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal, to discuss bombing policy. He argued
exactly what he had argued in 1918 and 1928, pointing out that everything
turned on 'the difference between the German and British mentality'. He said
that reports from a wide variety of sources indicated that the German civil
population stood up 'very badly' to the strain of repeated bombing attacks.
Undermining German morale, he argued, ought to be Bomber Command's
primary aim; he recommended repeated attacks designed to force the popula-
tion into air raid shelters, onto the defensive, and into a state of demoralisa-
tion.131
In July Deputy Chief of Staff Air Vice-Marshal Norman Bottomley wrote
that the German weak points were morale and transportation, and that recent
attacks on cities had had an impact on morale. 132 In October Air Vice-Marshal
John Slessor, then AOC of Bomber Command's No.5 Group, wrote to his
commanders, '. .. the strength of a chain, however mighty it appears, is the
strength of its weakest link, and that link in the chain is the morale of
the German people.' 133 By the end of 1941 the Air Staff was preparing to
recommend a general area offensive against Germany. The offensive would
hinge significantly on the ability of the RAF to affect the morale and 'will to
war' of the German people. 134
The eventual outcome of all this was the bombing directive of 14 February
1942. Henceforward, Bomber Command's aim points would be the built-up
urban areas of cities, and the object would be to undermine the morale of the
enemy civil population - in particular the industrial workers. 135 It was a plan
of area attack designed to 'render the German industrial population homeless,
spiritless, and, in so far as possible, dead ... ' 136 Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur
Harris, who would take the helm of Bomber Command eight days after the
directive was issued, would prove himself deeply committed to the intent of
the instruction. 137
The winter of 1941-42 was a grave time for Bomber Command.
Arguments swirled as to whether it ought to get the budget and materiel it
claimed would be required for a successful offensive in the future. Churchill,
who in the aftermath of the Butt Report was beginning to have serious doubts
about Bomber Command's ability to achieve anything at all, was influenced
by his scientific adviser, Lord Cherwell, who, on 30 March 1942, addressed a
minute to the Prime Minister which supported the notion that bombing
Germany's 58 principal towns would 'break the spirit of the people'. 138
Another prominent scientist, Sir Henry Tizard, took issue with Cherwell's
calculations at the time. After the war, Sir Solly Zuckerman claimed that
Cherwell had grossly misinterpreted the data on which he had allegedly based
his minute. 139 Nonetheless, as the official historians have pointed out, the
timing of the minute and the nature of Cherwell's relationship to the Prime
Minister meant that the document would have an effect. 140
Just as the Butt Report's revelations were derailing any hope for selective
industrial targeting by the British, the Americans were codifying their
commitment to it in a plan called AWPD-1 (Air War Plans Division - 1),
written in August 1941. The plan, triggered by President Roosevelt's request
for information from the newly-designated US Army Air Forces (USAAF),
was developed by four men who were heavily indoctrinated into the 'selec-
tive attack' mentality of the Air Corps Tactical School. It designated 'key
node' targets in the German war economy for destruction by American

bombers flying in self-defending formation in daylight. The main targets
systems included: electric power, transportation, oil, and aircraft produc-
tion. 141
Even though AWPD/1 was based on 'selective targeting,' it also
incorporated the continuing attention paid to the 'moral effect' in American
thinking. The plan made a specific concession to psychological targeting by
allowing for the possibility of one big push at the appropriate moment - once
the enemy was already worn down - in order to send him over the edge into
surrender. The idea ultimately would be carried out in practice against the
city of Berlin in February 1945. 142 The authors of AWPD/1 also suggested
that escort fighters might be necessary to protect the bombers. But the authors
misjudged the type of aircraft that would be required when they called for
specifications to be drawn up for a large, heavily-gunned, two-seater type
with a range equal to the bombers to be escorted, and with armour to protect
each of the crew members. 143
Once the Americans were drawn into the war, the two allies had to form
some basis for cooperation. 144 By early 1942 they were heading in two
different directions, and these had to be reconciled - or at least dealt with. In
the event, the process would prove to be rather tumultuous. The British, due
to their own grim experience, had no faith in the Americans' ability success-
fully to pursue a daylight precision campaign in the skies over Germany. The
Americans, for their part, had no interest in changing their plans.
In a paper delivered at the US Air Force Academy in 1968, RAF official
historian Noble Frankland argued that there were three reasons why the
Americans clung so tenaciously to daylight bombing of selected military
targets even though there was plenty of evidence to indicate that it was a
problematical strategy. He said that: ( 1) they believed that the B-17 was
better suited to daytime operations than to night-time ones; (2) they were
less than impressed with the British effort so far; and (3) they were simply
determined to run their own air force and to operate independently. 145
He was quite right on all counts, though point three deserves elaboration.
Americans have always liked to do their own thing, and the USAAF posed no
exception to the rule - fixated as it was on the postwar fight for organisational
independence. But there was more at work than national assertiveness.
American airmen had genuinely convinced themselves that the theory they
had developed at ACTS was going to work. They felt that they had tapped
into a bit of genius down in Alabama, and they were determined to try it
out.l46
By the summer of 1942 the Americans were ready to commence their
offensive, but the early raids were mere pinpricks on the verges of European
airspace. The need to build up the infrastructure of the air arm at British
bases, and the drain on resources to support the North Africa invasion took
their toll. By the autumn Churchill was deeply concerned about the limited
capabilities of the American force, and the Americans' tenacious commit-
ment to daylight bombing. On 16 September he wrote directly to Roosevelt
urging him to support and prioritise the production of aircraft, so that the
Americans could begin a substantial contribution to the air campaign. 147 One
month later Churchill wrote to Roosevelt's special assistant, Harry Hopkins.
He diplomatically informed him that the British were not so optimistic as the
Americans seemed to be about the initial efforts of the USAAF over France,
and warned that there was a danger of committing too fully to the production
of bombers suited only to daylight work. 148 In London, a debate over 'what
to do about the Americans' raged between Churchill and his leading
air advisers, and the exchange of letters it produced makes for fascinating
reading. 149
Both Chief of the Air Staff (CAS) Sir Charles Portal and Churchill had
grave fears that the Americans would commit resources to a campaign they
could not ultimately carry out, at which time it would be too late in the day
for a tactical volte-face. Decisions made in 1942 would determine what could
be done in 1944. In a memo of 26 September Portal asked rhetorically if it
were not 'essential' to persuade the Americans to at least lay the foundations
for night bombing. 150 Assistant CAS Sir John Slessor, who had been in
America on a special mission in the winter of 1940-41, was by far the most
optimistic about the Americans' prospect for success with their preferred
approach. He argued:
I have talked about this a great deal to Spaatz and to others of my
American friends. They are, I think, a bit unwarrantably cockahoop as a
result of their limited experience to date. But they are setting about it in
a realistic and business-like way, paying special attention to gunnery
training, distribution of ammunition in the aircraft, cutting the bomb-
load and increasing the ammunition of wing aircraft, and so on. And
making all allowances for their natural optimism, I have a feeling they
will do it ... They have hung their hats on the day bomber policy and
are convinced they can do it ... to cast doubts on it just at present would
only cause irritation and make them very obstinate. 151
Slessor expressed confidence in the American plan and the American
commanders, and argued that he believed very large numbers alone might
make daylight bombing possible. 152
Neither Churchill nor Portal were convinced, however, and their letters and
minutes accurately foresaw many of the problems that the USAAF would
face in the coming year. But Secretary of State for Air Sir Archibald Sinclair
stepped into the fray as a voice of reason and diplomacy. He urged Churchill
not to bring the issue to a crisis before the Americans had made a real try at
their 'cherished policy of day light penetration'. And he further argued that to
be fractious over bombing policy would play right into the hands of navalists
like Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Ernest J. King, and might tempt the
Americans to focus on the Pacific. 153
At this point Portal followed suit and argued to Churchill that the
Americans at least be given a fair trial. He suggested though that the
Americans should look into radar navigation and bomb-aiming aids, and
'press on with night adaptation as an insurance'. Though still harbouring
grave concerns, Churchill chose to keep quiet for the time being.' 54
The Americans were aware of the British doubts; indeed the British press
was critical of meagre results from American 'precision bombing' in the fall
of 1942. The crisis prompted an aggressive response by the US Air Staff,
and, as the American official historians explain, 'a good deal of special
pleading was done in behalf of precision techniques, and comparisons were
sometimes drawn to the disadvantage of the British doctrine. ' 155 An American
special study of British bombing efforts at Rostock, Cologne and Osnabrtick
(dated 19 October) went so far that Major General Ira C. Eaker, head of US
VIII Bomber Command, had to distance himself somewhat from its conclu-
sions in an effort at alliance damage control. The study argued in general that
British area bombing was unreliable and inefficient, and that 'precision'
bombing of selected targets would provide greater economy and concentra-
tion of effort. 156
Ideas and Realities: The Combined Bomber Offensive

The issue had to be settled when the Allies met at Casablanca in January
1943 to plan their strategy for the year, and to establish how airpower might
best aid in the overall war effort. At the Conference General Eaker lobbied
hard for the American case, taking with him a lengthy and detailed memoran-
dum offering seven reasons why it was critical for the Americans to do day-
light bombing, and answering questions like: 'Why have there been so few
missions?' 157 Despite some optimistic and high-sounding rhetoric about
'round the clock' bombing, the Casablanca conference essentially papered
over the cracks. The resulting directive was, in essence, an agreement to dis-
agree. It stated that the 'primary object will be the progressive destruction
and dislocation of the German military, industrial and economic system, and
the undermining of the morale of the German people to a point where their
capacity for armed resistance is fatally weakened.' Such general language
contained in it something for everyone, and gave a good deal of latitude for
interpretation to the commanders in the field. Initial target categories included
submarine construction yards, the German aircraft industry, transport and oil,
and a catch-all called 'other targets in enemy war industry' .158
Portal was theoretically in control of what was now called the 'Combined
Bomber Offensive,' but the real power was in the hands of Harris and
Lieutenant General Ira Eaker, since, in so many respects, tactical decisions
controlled strategic ones. American operational plans, drawn up by Eaker,
assumed that 'precision pattern bombing' was tactically feasible from high
altitude [20,000 and 30,000 feet] in the face of enemy defences. Eaker hoped
that British and American planning could be coordinated so that RAF night-
time strikes would complement and reinforce American daylight strikes. He
realised that the success of his plan would hinge on the achievement of air
superiority, and thus he designated the offensive against German fighter
strength an intermediate objective second to none. This was reflected in the
'Pointblank' bombing directive of June. But trying to defeat the Luftwaffe by
bombing aircraft factories (and components factories) would prove to be no
mean feat. 159
While Harris posed no major objections to Eaker's plan, he would allow
himself to be pulled only so far in the direction of selective targeting. His
formal response was positive, but he continued to make sure he had the
practical latitude to continue his general area offensive. (Indeed he showed
a particular talent for subtly re-arranging the wording of the Casablanca
directive and Eaker's plan.) In order to maintain the area offensive, though,
he had to produce results. Thus, 1943 became, in the words of the British
official historians, a 'bombing competition' rather than a combined
offensive.' 60
The years 1942 and 1943 had brought some successes for Bomber
Command, including the devastating fire raids on Hamburg in July 1943. The
RAP's strategic arm had grown much larger and had developed radar and
electronic aids (including Gee, Oboe, and H2S) that enabled it to become a
vastly more destructive force. In addition, special units proved themselves
sporadically capable of remarkable bombing accuracy. But 1943 was also a
year in which both the British and the Americans would suffer severe set-
backs and would be forced to cope with the inescapable problem that air
forces could not proceed repeatedly to 'vital centers' without first defeating
enemy forces in being.
The American 'Waterloo' was Schweinfurt, chosen as a 'key node' target
for its anti-friction bearings industry. In two raids against the city's ball-
bearing works, in August and October, the theory of the self-defending
bomber was severely tried. During the second mission 60 of the 291
Fortresses sent out did not return, and another 138 came back badly
damaged.'"' In four raids carried out over six days in October 1943, 148
American bombers had failed to return to their bases, and the German fighter
force was increasing in strength. 162 There could be no sustained selective

bombing campaign until air superiority was won. 163
The crisis for Bomber Command came in the area campaign waged against
Berlin between November 1943 and March 1944, in which Air Chief Marshal
Harris had placed great hopes. A poor target for the H2S radar aid, Berlin
proved elusive and increasingly costly; rates of damage diminished while
bomber losses continued to rise. Some 9,000 sorties were flown, but they
brought Britain no closer to victory. There was no clear decline in the war
economy, and no crack in morale. German night fighters were taking an ever
increasing toll on British efforts, and Bomber Command had no answer to
them. 164
But the Americans were already working on a solution that would go far
towards saving the day for both air forces. In their moment of crisis they
decided to switch tactics rather than targets. Reassessing their earlier assump-
tions about the penetrative power of bombers in formation, they concluded
that fighter escorts were required after all. Outfitted with drop tanks for long
distance flying, planes like the North American P-51 Mustang helped to tum
the tide in the air war.' 65 Relying on their now enormous industrial production
base, the Americans built escorts and brought them into the European theatre
in large numbers. 166
Over the winter and spring the USAAF fought furious and costly battles of
attrition in the skies above Germany. By flying to strategic targets which the
Germans had to defend, the American bombers drew the German fighters into
the sky. The ensuing battles of attrition ultimately led to the defeat of the
Luftwaffe, which not only made possible the Allied amphibious invasion of
the Normandy coast, but also made possible a more sustained offensive
against selected targets, which in tum helped the advance of Allied armies. 167
This battle for control of the skies also helped pull British chestnuts out of the
fire, since victory immediately affected the German night fighter forces by
dislocating its training and practice flying, and more important since it
triggered events leading to the full defeat of the Luftwaffe. 168
In April 1944 command of the Anglo-American strategic air forces was put
under the control of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, who had been appointed
Supreme Allied Commander in Europe, and his deputy, Air Chief Marshal
Sir Arthur Tedder, in preparation for the Normandy invasion.' 69 Under
Eisenhower's control the strategic forces attacked key communications
targets and did much to upend the Germans' ability exploit interior lines of
communication on the continent. In September, control of the forces reverted
to their respective commanders: Harris of Bomber Command, and General
Carl Spaatz, who commanded the newly-designated United States Strategic
Air Forces (USSTAF), comprised of the Eighth and Fifteenth Air Forces. 170
A lively debate over targeting, begun in spring, resumed in late summer.
Tedder favoured extending attacks on transport and communications targets

into Germany, Spaatz pinned his hopes on diminishing German oil supplies,
and Harris sought to maintain the focus on area attacks - which he still
believed would lead to general collapse. In the end there was no real con-
sensus, and the effort of the forces was dissipated among these three target
sets.
Over the spring and summer General Spaatz had become convinced that he
had the key to victory in his clutches. To Spaatz, German synthetic oil looked
to be the long sought 'key node'- a real bottleneck in Hitler's war machine.
His feelings were supported by information derived from Ultra intelligence,
indicating that the Germans were indeed beginning to suffer critical short-
ages. There was no easy substitute for it, and the pressure on the Axis
increased as Soviet armies advanced west and attained the fuel sources of
Eastern Europe. When they were not engaged in tactical missions, Spaatz's
bombers were directed to strike oil targets as relentlessly as possible over the
summer. Spaatz was working against time. He knew that his bombers, which
had never adapted well to radar aids and relied on visual bombing methods
for real results, would be handicapped once the autumn weather began to
close in.' 7 '
Even after long-range escorts facilitated daylight raids into Germany,
American planners still faced the considerable problem of achieving anything
approximating 'precision' bombing. Large formations of bombers covered
large pieces of real estate - and all that land underneath came under attack
when the lead plane released its bombs, cueing all the others. In addition, the
consistently cloud-shrouded weather of northern Europe forced USAAF
crews to rely on blind-bombing techniques - which they never liked - far
more than they would have preferred. A careful study of 57 American
'precision' strikes on three separate synthetic oil plants revealed that only 2.2
percent of the bombs dropped hit 'damageable' buildings and equipment; no
less than 87.1 percent 'were spread over the surrounding countryside'- out-
side the perimeter of the plants. 172
By September 1944 Bomber Command had not only become a formidable
weapon, but also an accurate one. Britain's wartime attention to and invest-
ment in navigation and bomb aiming aids paid off considerably; Lancasters,
Halifaxes and Mosquitos were able to hit a range of military targets with
increasing accuracy at night and in cloud cover. Indeed, in this period the
RAF's accuracy was very often better than the USAAF's. Harris was thus in
a position to join - and to enhance significantly - the air campaign against
selective military targets. But he failed to take full advantage of the oppor-
tunity.
Many in the Air Staff had by this time returned to the conclusion that
selective attacks were in fact the best course to pursue. But the AOC-in-C
Bomber Command held fast to his belief that there was no magic thread
around which the web had been spun. As early as October 1942 Harris was
stressing emphatically to Portal that he did not wish to endure the 'Panacea
Target mongers and Diversionists' who were always coming up with new
ways to draw his force away from what he considered to be its primary
mission: 'attempting to make life intolerable for Germans in Germany'. 173 In
1944 he was completely unwilling to accept a new set of priorities. Portal
tried, through a series of letters, to bring Harris round to increasing Bomber
Command's attacks on the German oil supply. When in January 1945 Harris
threatened to resign, Portal finally backed down. 174
This issue was all the more sensitive because, as time went on, the Air
Staff became increasingly concerned about how far it had strayed from its
initial intent to bomb only military targets narrowly defined. Certainly they
believed that their own actions had been justified by German attacks on
Warsaw and Rotterdam (1939--40) as well as the bomber and V-weapon
attacks on British soil; but as Germany began to founder, the question
became more sensitive, and there was concern about public perceptions of the
role of Bomber Command. Indeed, the Secretary of State for Air had been
deflecting uncomfortable questions for some time. 175 Harris, for his part, was
utterly unconcerned about such things, and in fact had contempt for those
who tried to depict the British bomber offensive as anything other than what
it really was. Indeed, his opinion had not changed since October 1943, when,
in a letter to the Under Secretary of State, Air Ministry, he had made himself
jarringly clear when he stated: 'The aim of the Combined Bomber Offensive,
and the part which Bomber Command is required by agreed British-US
strategy to play in it, should be unambiguously and publicly stated. That aim
is the destruction of German cities, the killing of German workers, and the
disruption of civilised community life throughout Germany. ' 176
This singlemindedness of Harris was a pity, because when Portal did
prevail upon him for strikes on selective targets, the results were unfailingly
dramatic. With a big bomb bay, a crew of only seven, and less weight
of armament for self-defence than their American counterparts, Lancasters
could carry a more sizable bombload than B-17s. With their increased
accuracy, and having less to fear from the Luftwaffe, they were a
staggeringly potent force. 177 Had Harris been persuaded to put the full weight
of the resources at his command on German military targets, victory in
Europe conceivably might have come sooner than it did.m But just as the Air
Staff in London had failed to control Trenchard in World War I, so they
failed to control Harris in World War 11. 179
Interestingly, while the British Air Staff were becoming more fervently
persuaded of the importance of selective targeting, some in the American
camp were, by late 1944--45, beginning to flirt with the idea of bombing for
(primarily) psychological effect.'"" Perhaps each side, frustrated with its

failure to bring victory when victory should have been at hand, turned to
consider alternate methods. In Europe, the most serious American interest in
psychological targeting developed when it appeared as though the moment
for AWPD-1 's 'big push' had arrived. While participation in the infamous
Dresden raid (of 13-14 February 1945) is generally cited as evidence of the
American slide to terror bombing, the USAAF's stated aim point for that raid
- the railroad marshalling yards - was considered by planners to fall within
the rubric of selective targeting (under the general category of communica-
tions targets). The phrase 'marshalling yards', however, often served as a
euphemism for area bombing. An unarguable example of the American turn
to the 'moral effect,' however, can be found in the USAAF attack on Berlin,
staged 11 days earlier, and designed to see if one last big strike on the heart
of the Reich might cause German collapse.'"' At the end of February, the
United States took the lead in Operation 'Clarion'. Designed to prove to all
Germans the strength of Allied airpower, 'Clarion' dispersed thousands of
fighters and bombers all across Germany to attack transport targets, and
targets of opportunity.'" 2
A similar change in orientation took place, at roughly the same time, in the
US air campaign against Japan. During the winter of 194~5 the Americans
had grown frustrated by their inability to carry out a policy of selective
targeting in the Far Eastern theatre. Their failure was due to the constant
cloud cover over Japan, and the prevailing winds which made it difficult for
bombers (in this case B-29s) to keep and hold formation. Under pressure
from Washington to make headway in the air campaign, the commander on
the scene, General Curtis E. LeMay, opted to change tactics and to carry out
what constituted an area offensive against Japan's urban centres. The
Americans did not cite 'undermining enemy morale' as a key reason for the
shift to the night-time incendiary attacks in March 1945; while they recog-
nised that their tactics represented a 'radical departure from the traditional
doctrine', they argued that they were still trying to destroy Japanese industry
and war materiel - if somewhat less efficiently than in Europe. But their
willingness to make the shift at least indicates that they held no categorical
prohibition against urban incendiary strikes, and were prepared to use tactics
which, compounded by the ongoing naval blockade, were to bring extra-
ordinary hardship to Japanese civilians. 183
If, due to cloud cover, the distinction between American and British bomb-
ing in the European theater was not always apparent, it is nonetheless true
that the Americans remained committed to the theory supporting selective
bombing. And they sought every opportunity to engage in 'product differenti-
ation' with respect to their British cousins. The Americans embraced the term
'precision bombing,' and made sure to emphasise it to the audience back
home - an audience which. would soon help to decide if the air force deserved
to be a separate service. In a December 1944 letter to General 'Hap' Arnold,
Chief of Staff of the USAAF, Spaatz wrote: 'We have proven the precision
principle in this war. Our precision however is in a relative not a literal sense.
We must assume that our enemies will take this lesson to heart ... we must
develop bomb sights and bombadiers which, under all weather conditions,
cannot only literally drop bombs in a "pickle barrel" but in the correct
barrel. '' 84 Such capabilities, however, would be achieved by the US Air Force
only much later.
After the war, both the United States Strategic Bombing Survey (USSBS),
and the British Bombing Survey Unit (BBSU) argued against the utility of
targeting civilian morale per se. The USSBS revealed that: heavy bombing
was not proportionally more effective than moderate bombing, and sustained
heavy bombing led to diminishing returns in morale effects; lowered morale
did not necessarily lead to active opposition to the war; and only in the very
last stages of the war did it lead to diminished productivity at the workplace.
The BBSU final report concluded: 'In so far as the offensive against German
towns was designed to break the morale of the German civilian population, it
clearly failed. Far from lowering essential war production, it also failed to
stem a remarkable increase in the output of armaments.' This view was later
supported by the British official history.'"
Ultimately, airpower proved to be a tremendously important weapon, but
not wholly on its own. Its greatest achievements were those which took
advantage of the synergy and interaction of all three services. Air supremacy
and the attack on transport and communications targets made possible the
Normandy invasion and the progress that the Allied ground forces made after
that. 186 The fuel shortage produced by the oil campaign eventually
immobilised the remains of Luftwaffe and the Wehrmacht. The greatest
achievements of 194~5 were synergystic - the Wehrmacht had to be
stopped, and the ground forces had to do it. In the end the air campaign in
Europe proved that there are no shortcuts - even in air war. The enemy air
force must be defeated first, and once that is done the enemy's means for
prosecuting a war of maneuver and maintaining an army in the field must be
destroyed or denied to him.
Conclusion
A comparison of theories developed in Britain and the United States reveals
that each nation's ideas about strategic bombing overlapped the other's in
some important ways. Both air forces perceived 'strategic bombing' as a
means to undermine the enemy's ability to fight and will to fight. Lieutenant
Colonel Gorrell's views in 1917 were based on those developed by the
British in the months anticipating the creation of the Independent Force. An

earlier than expected conclusion to the war prevented a full trial of any plans
for long range bombing, and the absence of data left a void which would
come to be filled with speculation and extrapolation.
After World War I both nations recognised the potential for bomber air-
craft acting against an enemy state's will to fight. That the idea became more
pervasive in Britain is probably due to several causes, including: Trenchard's
personal grasp of the 'moral effect' and his use of it to maintain service
independence and organisational flexibility; the overriding conclusion that
domestic populations would be a weak point for all states in future wars, but
that the British population could be relied upon somewhat more than others;
the interwar emphasis on deterrence rather than warfighting; and the
anti-empirical mindset that brought 'moral' factors to the surface in an
exaggerated way. Many of the ideas which had defined the offensive a
l' outrance prior to the war seemed to have been absorbed by Trenchard,
adapted slightly, and applied to the air.
Between the wars the air forces of both nations were captured by the idea
that modem industrial states are made of what Liddell Hart described as a
'complex and interdependent fabric'.'" They both believed that the delicate
sinews - whether material or moral - holding together such intricate creations
ought to be easily subject to the overwhelming offensive power of aircraft.
Why the Americans chose, by the early 1930s, to emphasise the material
undoubtedly had much to do with the political, geographical, and economic
position of the United States at the time. By generally holding to the
ideas contained in the Gorrell plan, the Americans attached themselves
to the 1917 ideas of the British Air Staff- ideas which, ironically, Trenchard
ultimately chose to ignore. But both the US and Britain made the
same mistake in fixating an exaggerated faith on the offensive, and elevating
it - to an extraordinary degree - over the power of the defensive. Both
air forces incorporated biases into their air exercises, and tended to screen out
information that did not reinforce prevailing conceptions and prejudices.
Under the desperate pressures of combat that caused them to face the
tactical reality of their unenviable situation, the RAF re-evaluated its position:
the Trenchardian focus on the 'moral effect' of bombing, which had served
well for bureaucratic purposes, and which - for a time - had served as the
rhetoric of deterrence, was suddenly replaced by a focus on material effect and
a desire to do selective targeting. In a sense, one could say that RAF planners
were returning to their roots. But the gospel as it was preached by Trenchard
proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. And, with no other alternative at hand,
the RAF pursued it (for a while at least) with the vigour of true believers.
Ironically, the airman who came to head Bomber Command in 1942 proved to
be the one individual most irrevocably committed to the faith.
It is hard to say whether the desperate shape of Bomber Command in

1939-41 could have been avoided. The Ten Year Rule could not help but
dramatically affect all the services, and the gloomy economic situation that
hung over Britain through the 1930s ensured that there would be no swift
and robust recovery from the locust years. Anti-war attitudes and popular
enthusiasm for disarmament made the situation of the RAF particularly
difficult and tenuous. Slim finances meant that interservice fighting was a
fixture of the era. If there had been no Trenchard there might have been no
independent RAF after the war (and undoubtedly the Army and the Navy
would have considered that an excellent outcome for all concerned). But it
must be acknowledged that though Trenchard liked to hail the revolutionary
nature of air power, he did little to bring his service into a new era; indeed
he kept it fixed, as if in amber, in Edwardian attitudes to war. Some responsi-
bility for the RAF's situation in 1939 must inevitably fall upon the shoulders
of those who were content to downplay for too long the science of aerial
bombardment, and the very daunting operational challenges it posed.
In the end, though, perhaps a war was required to bring all of those many
challenges to light. Despite their efforts to sort out the science of bombing in
the 1930s, the Americans still fell short of doing so, and had to endure and
overcome the bitter wartime consequences of that failure. In many respects,
the air campaign of World War II resembled the ground campaign of World
War I. It was characterised by a struggle to understand and master new
instruments and methods of warfare, by large-scale battles of attrition, and by
the critical importance of defensive techniques. Just as the artillery and
machine-guns of World War I took their toll on the masses inspired by the
offensive spirit, so did the fighters and flak guns of World War II take their
toll on the bomber crews, whose stoic bravery helped them to carry out the
epic offensive they were called upon to pursue. In the end, the monumental
efforts of the RAF and USAAF did force Germany to devote vast resources
to a defensive effort, including two million soldiers, civilians, and prisoners
of war engaged in ground anti-aircraft defense, and an additional million in
repair and rebuilding. 188
Modem industrial societies, however, turned out to be quite robust, both
morally and materially. Civilian will proved itself susceptible to 'cracking' in
neither democracies nor totalitarian states, and the robustness of the German
economy surprised, over and over again, Anglo-American intelligence and
economic experts. Like a prize fighter unwilling to go down, the German
economy kept coming back from the worst bruisings the Allies could inflict
upon it. Attacks on German military and industrial installations were only
effective after they had become massive, sustained, and relentless. The
mistaken assumption that German industry might prove frangible drew
heavily upon another mistaken assumption - that in 1939 Germany was fully
mobilised and working at full stretch. 189 The theory of key nodes proved
problematical as well. Only those commodities for which there were no ready
substitutes were really candidates for 'key node' status. Electrical power
might have been such a target, but it was not pursued sufficiently by either air
force. Oil did fit the bill in the end, and helped to bear out the theory of
selective targeting, but only in cooperation with pressure exerted by the
Allied (especially Soviet) ground armies. All in all, the Anglo-American
experience of World War II ought to be cautionary tale for anyone tempted to
come to the conclusion that long range bombing is anything less than a
profoundly challenging and complex form of warfare.
NOTES
An earlier version of this essay was delivered to the 1993 annual conference of the Society for
Military History, in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. For their comments on previous incarnations of
the work, I would like to thank: Stephen Biddle, Eliot Cohen, Lynn Eden, Thomas Griffith,
Stephen J. Harris, I.B. Holley, Carl Kaysen, Paul Kennedy, Williamson Murray, Hays Parks,
Alex Roland, and Tom Searle. Sebastian Cox of the Air Historical Branch, London, provided
assistance and generously shared his knowledge on the subject. George K. Williams of the US
Center for Air Force History also gave generously of his time, and made available to me some
important documents in his possession. I am grateful to Alec Douglas and Stephen J. Harris of
the National Defence Headquarters, Canada, and to Timothy Dube of the National Library of
Canada, for giving me access to Canada's excellent collection of documents on British aviation
history. I am appreciative, as well, of the help provided to me by the staffs of: the Center for Air
Force History, the United States Air Force Historical Research Center, and the Royal Air Force
Museum. Funding to support the research for this article was provided by an SSRC-MacArthur
Foundation grant, and by the United States Air Force Historical Research Center, the National
Air and Space Museum, and Duke University.
I. Studies of British and American strategic bombing produced since 1980 include: R.J.
Overy, The Air War, 1939-1945 (NY: Stein and Day, 1980); S.F. Wise, Canadian Airmen
and the First World War (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1980); Lee Kennett, A History
of Strategic Bombing (NY: Scribner's, 1982); Malcolm Smith, British Air Strategy
Between the Wars (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984); Ronald Schaffer, Wings of Judgment
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1984); John Terraine, A Time for Courage, pub. in
Britain as The Right of the Line: The Royal Air Force in the European War 1939-1945
(NY: Macmillan, 1985); Malcolm Cooper, The Birth of independent Air Power (London:
Allen and Unwin, 1986); Neville Jones, The Beginnings of Strategic Air Power (London:
Frank Cass, 1987); MichaelS. Sherry, The Rise of American Air Power (New Haven, CT:
Yale UP, 1987); Lee Kennett, The First Air War, 1914-1918 (NY: The Free Press, 1991);
Horst Boog (ed.), The Conduct of the Air War in the Second World War (NY York: Berg,
1992); Alan J. Levine, The Strategic Bombing of Germany, 1940-1945 (Westport, CT:
Praeger, 1992); John H. Morrow, Jr., The Great War in the Air (Washington, DC:
Smithsonian Instn. Press, 1993); Conrad C. Crane, Bombs, Cities, and Civilians
(Lawrence, KS: UP of Kansas, 1993); Stephen A. Garrett, Ethics and Air Power in World
War 11 (NY: St Martins, 1993); Richard G. Davis, Carl A. Spaatz and the Air War in
Europe (Washington, DC: Center for Air Force History, 1993); Brereton Greenhous, eta/.,
The Crucible of War, 1939-1945 (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1994). On the pre-
World War I era, see Alfred Gollin, The Impact of Air Power on the British People and
Their Government. 1909-1914 (London: Macmillan, 1989); and Michael Paris, Winged
Wmfare, (Manchester: Manchester UP, 1992).
2. Report of the Committee of Operations Analysts, quoted by the official historians of

Britain's World War II strategic air offensive, Sir Charles Webster and Noble Frankland, in
The Strategic Air Offensive Against Germany, Vol.II, (London: HMSO, 1961), pp.213-14.
The original report containing this citation is called 'Report of Committee of Operations
Analysts with Respect to Economic Targets Within the Western Axis', 8 March 1943, in
the Papers of Carl Spaatz, Box 67, file: 'Air War Plans, Combined Bomber Offensive',
Library of Congress MS Room, Washington, DC.
3. The wording used by Webster and Frankland is as follows: 'The principle of general attack
was based upon the belief that there really were no key points in the German war economy
whose destruction could not be remedied by dispersal, the use of stocks, or the provision of
substitute materials. It postulated the theory that the only effective policy was that which,
by cumulative results, produced such a general degree of devastation in all the major towns
that organised industrial activity would cease owing to a combination of material and
moral effects'. Strategic Air Offensive Against Germany (note 2), Vol.II, p.5.
4. Trenchard's final dispatch was sent to the Air Board on 12 Dec. 1918, and was printed in
the London Gazette the following month. The complete text can be found also in AIR 6/19,
Public Record Office (PRO), London; portions of it were repr. in H.A. Jones, The War in
the Air, Vol. VI (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1937), p.l36.
5. See Trenchard's comments at the conclusion of a lecture by Dr E.B. Strauss on 'The
Psychological Effects of Bombing', repr. in RUSJ Journal 534 (May 1939), p.282.
6. Historian Malcolm Smith has called him 'a master of the wholly unfounded statistic'. See
Smith, British Air Strategy Between the Wars (note 2), p.61. A similar argument was made
by historian Malcolm Cooper, Birth of Independent Air Power, (note 2). On p.72 Cooper
argues: 'As a theorist of air power, Trenchard always depended on insight rather than
empirical observation. His ideas revolved around abstract principles, which were supported
in argument by meaningless statistics with little basis in operational research.'
7. AIR 6/19; and Jones (note 4 ).
8. Paper by Lord Tiverton (3 Sept. 1917) titled, 'Original Paper on Objectives', in the
Halsbury Papers, AC 73/2, Box 3, RAF Museum, Hendon (also in AIR 1/462/15/312/121).
I am grateful to George K. Williams for very kindly making this document available to me.
9. This trend can be discerned in the letters and dispatches contained in AIR 1/460/
15/312/101. See esp. a summary of the evolution of Air Staff thinking during the Great
War in a memo. written by Lord Tiverton on 1 Oct. 1918, titled, 'The Possibilities of Long
Distance Bombing from the Present Date Until September 1919'. See also the memoir of
Sir Frederick Sykes (Chief of the Air Staff in 1918), titled, From Many Angles (London:
Harrap, 1942); and Neville Jones, The Origins of Strategic Bombing (London: Kimber,
1973), pp.l30-202, and The Beginnings of Strategic Air Power (London: Frank Cass,
1987), pp.l4--21. Arguments about the increasing stress on 'moral effect' are developed
extensively in George K. Williams, 'Statistics and Strategic Bombardment: Operations and
Records of the British Long-Range Bombing Force During World War I and Their
Implications for the Development of the Postwar Royal Air Force, 1917-1923'. D. Phil
thesis, Oxford Univ., 1987.
10. Maj. Lord Tiverton, 'The Possibilities of Long Distance Bombing from the present Date
Until September 1919', (1 Oct. 1918) in AIR 1/460/15/312/101. For Tiverton's back-
ground, seeN. Jones, Beginnings of Strategic Air Power, pp.l4--15.
II. Regarding schemes for achieving a 'moral effect,' see Tiverton to All b., 26 Aug. 1918, in
AIR 1/460/15/312/97, and 'Incendiary Weapons as a Means of Aerial Warfare,' 30 Sept.
1918, in AIR 1/461/15/312/111. On the use of Handley Page V1500s, see 'Notes on
Potentialities of Norfolk as a Base for the "V" Type Handley Page Aeroplanes,' [June]
1918, in AIR 1/461/312/107. S.F. Wise analyzes many of these documents in Canadian
Airmen and the First World War, Vol.I of the Official History of the RCAF (Toronto:
Univ. of Toronto Press, 1980), pp.312-17.
12. See, for instance, a memo by Lt.-Col. J. Gammell to the Director of Flying Operations, (5
Oct. 1918), in AIR 1/461/15/312/107, or Tiverton, 'The Possibilities of Long Distance
Bombing from the Present Date Until September 1919', in AIR 1/460/15/312/101.
13. On the lines of communication between Trenchard and the Air Staff in London, see
Williams, (note 9), pp.223-4, and 232-3; also Wise (note II), p.299.
14. Trenchard was in many ways an odd choice for head of the IF since he had staunchly
opposed the formation of an independent air force when momentum for it developed after
the German bomber raids on England in spring 1917. (For Trenchard's initial concerns
about an independent air force, see his letter of 30 Aug. 1917 in AIR 1/521/16/12/3). It is
likely that he took up the reins of the new long-range bombing force because he knew he
had good relations with his allies in the field, and could at least oversee and control the the
resources being committed to the task. In Dec. 1917 Trenchard was recalled to London and
virtually forced to take the reins of the new service as CAS. He was almost immediately at
loggerheads with the first Secretary of State for Air (Lord Rothermere), however, and
resigned his post in March. Sitting in London without a job was embarrassing to him, and
made him more amenable to the offer made to him by Rothermere's successor (Lord Weir)
to take charge of the IF, but his acceptance was contingent upon certain conditions. On the
events of Dec. 1917 see Andrew Boyle, Trenchard (NY: Norton, 1962), pp.249-55, and
Cooper (note 6), p.l20. On Trenchard's decision to become head of the IF, see Smith,
British Air Strategy Between the Wars, p.21; also Boyle, pp.284-8, and Cooper (note 6),
p.l29.
15. Records of the work of the IF can be found in Trenchard's dispatches back to London,
located in AIR l/458/15/312/69. Historian S.F. Wise has analysed the figures in Canadian
Airmen and the First World War, pp.298-314. A very detailed analysis and critique also
can be found in Williams, 'Statistics and Strategic Bombardment,' pp.324-439.
16. During the months in which the IF operated, CAS Maj.-Gen. Sir Frederick Sykes wished
that Trenchard would dedicate more of his attention to genuine 'strategic' bombing. This
sentiment was shared by other Air Staff planners. For Sykes views see his memoir, From
Many Angles, pp.215-68. For the views of other Air Staff members, see complaints raised
about Trenchard in AIR 1/461/15/312/107, AIR 1/460/15/312/101, and AIR l/458/15/
312/69. See also Wise (note 11), pp.298-9, and N. Jones, Beginnings of Strategic Air
Power (note 9), pp.l7-21.
17. In early Aug. 1918 the Air Ministry's Director of Flying Operations, Maj.-Gen. P.R.C.
Groves, sent a request to Trenchard's staff, asking for six copies of all of Trenchard's dis-
patches, arguing: 'We are out to binge the Independent Force for all we are worth, the
opposition both inside and outside the building is considerable. I think a wide distribution
of the dispatches will help.' Groves to Lt.-Col. E.B. Gordon, 9 Aug. 1918, in AIR 1/479/
15/312/241.
18. Trenchard foreshadowed his postwar dispatch in an interview he gave to the Daily Mail of
21 Sept. 1918, in which he stated that, 'The damage to "moral" is of far greater extent and
importance than that to material, and for that reason bombing has to be carried out day and
night.' See Daily Mail clipping, 21 Sept. 1918, in AIR 1/462/15/312/116.
19. Williams (note 9), pp.l5-335, who traces this trend in enlightening detail. The views of
Newall (inc. his arguments regarding the 'moral effect') are expressed succinctly in a paper
he wrote called, 'The Scientific and Methodical Attack of Vital Industries', (with covering
note from Salmond to Sykes), 27 May 1918, in AIR 1/460/15/312/101. General informa-
tion on Newall's 41st Wing and 8th Brigade can also be found in H.A. Jones, The War in
the Air, Vol. VI (note 4), pp.l22-35.
20. In particular, Sykes' grand scheme for a large postwar RAF did not accord with the wishes
of the postwar government. His proposal is in From Many Angles, Appendix VII
('Memorandum by the Chief of the Air Staff on Air-Power Requirements of the Empire'),
pp.558-74.
21. On Trenchard's dispute with the Navy, see his retrospective memorandum of 1947 titled,
'A Memorandum by Marshal of the RAF the Viscount Lord Trenchard on the Argument
which led to the Organisation of the Independent Air Force ... ' in AIR 1/1999/204
/273/270. See also Stephen Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars, Vol. I (London:
Collins, 1968).
22. He continued: 'Naturally, moral strength must not be excluded, for psychological forces
exert a decisive influence on the elements involved in war.' Clausewitz, On War, Book 2,
Ch. I. (See p.127 of Princeton UP's 1976 trans. by Michael Howard's and Peter Paret). On
Clausewitz's influence, see Michael Howard's essay, 'The Influence of Clausewitz', in the
same volume, esp. pp.34-9. See also Christopher Bassford, Clausewitz in English (NY:
OUP, 1994), pp.104-12. Bassford argues that while it is difficult- perhaps impossible- to
trace the precise influence of Clausewitz on British military practice, it is nonetheless the
case that his theories had 'penetrated' British military thought. Finally, see Michael
Howard, Clausewitz (NY: OUP, 1983); and Azar Gat, The Development of Military
Thought: The Nineteenth Century (London: OUP, 1992).
23. See Tim Travers, The Killing Ground (London: Unwin Hyman, 1987), pp.37-97. On the
'cult of the offensive' generally, see Stephen Van Evera, 'The Cult of the Offensive and
the Origins of the First World War', and Jack Snyder, 'Civil-Military Relations and the
Cult of the Offensive, 1914 and 1984', in International Security 9/1 (Summer 1984),
pp.58-146; and Jack Snyder, The Ideology of the Offensive: Military Decision Making and
the Disasters of 1914 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1984).
24. Altham cited by Michael Howard in 'Men Against Fire: Expectations of War in 1914', in
Steven E. Miller et at. (eds.), Military Strategy and the Origins of the First World War
(Princeton: Princeton UP Press, 1991), p.11. The essay appeared originally in International
Security 9/1 (Summer 1984), pp.41-57.
25. Of Haig, Tim Travers has written: 'Another underlying message in Haig's [Staff College]
notes was the Clausewitzian emphasis on human nature and morale - success in war
required the highest moral qualities in the Commander-in-Chief and in the army - these
were the ultimate determinants of Victory. Courage, stamina, enthusiasm, determination,
disciplined obedience, all these were easily understood moral values which fitted in well
with Victorian attitudes and with the frequent "savage war" campaigns of the nineteenth
century.' The Killing Ground (note 23), p.87. On Trenchard's penchant for the offensive,
see his memoranda on air tactics and strategy in AIR 1/522/16/12/5. See also Cooper (note
6), pp.71-81. On his loss rates, see e.g. a memo by Lt.-Col. J. Gammell to the Director of
Flying Operations, 15 Oct. 1918), in AIR 1/461/15/312/107.
26. See a paper produced by Trenchard's staff (26 Nov. 1917), called 'Strategic and Tactical
n,
Considerations Involved in Long Distance Bombing,' in AIR 1n25/97 in which it was
stated that long distance bombing 'is indeed only an expansion of operations which have
been going on ... daily and nightly under the Royal Flying Corps on the Western Front.'
The document is discussed inN. Jones, Origins of Strategic Bombing (note 9) pp.162-3.
Michael Paris has stressed this general point too in Winged Waifare (note 1), pp.242-3.
27. See Travers (note 23), pp.250-1, who points out that Haig, in his 1919 Rectorial Address to
the Univ. of St Andrews, continued to describe war in terms of moral qualities.
28. John Keegan, The Face of Battle (NY: Viking, 1976), p.302. One might note as well the
current US Marine Corps Warfighting Manual, FMFM-1, (Washington, DC: Headquarters,
USMC, 1989), which states ' ... moral forces exert a greater influence on the nature and
outcome of war than do physical [forces] ... For example, the greatest effect of fires on the
enemy is generally not the amount of physical destruction they cause, but the effect of that
physical destruction on his moral strength.' p.l3.
29. That the urban working classes could pose a 'threat' was an idea that gained momentum in
Britain during the middle 1880s when the rise of socialism and various forms of collec-
tivism combined with an economic downturn and a chronic shortage of working class
housing. As historian Gareth Stedman Jones has written: 'It has been argued that the pre-
dominant reaction to the rediscovery of poverty in the early 1880s was not so much guilt as
fear. The discovery of a huge and swelling residuum and the growing uncertainty about the
mood of the respectable working class portended the threat of revolution ... From 1883
onwards the quarterly journals and the press were full of warnings of the necessity of
immediate reform to ward off the impending revolutionary threat.' Jones, Outcast London
(NY: Pantheon, 1971), p.290. On the concerns raised by the potential domestic threat, see
also D.C. Watt, Too Serious a Business (Berkeley, CA: Univ. of California Press, 1975).
On the mistrust by officers of the urban poor existing within the ranks of Britain's army,
see Travers (note 23), pp.37-40. European military thinkers also feared that the effects of
civil life would prove undermining for soldiers who, increasingly, would be comprised of
reservists. See Howard, 'Men Against Fire' (note 24), p.l4. Finally, see David Englander,
'Soldiering and Identity: Reflections on the Great War', in War in History 1/3 (1994), esp.
p.313.
30. Undated paper [June 1918] in AIR 1/461/15/312/107. Quoted also in Wise, (note II) p.316.
In a Nov. 1917 appreciation arguing for attacks on the German chemical industry, W/Cdr
C.J.R. Randall, (a Naval Air Staff officer who would join the RAF) argued that ' ... it may
be assumed that the ordinary working German is liable to panic when away from strict
discipline.' He added, 'The German Jew and the Polish Jew, from whom a majority of
German chemists are recruited, are also not usually very brave, which again adds to the
chance of panic.' See notes on bombing by C. Randall, with covering note to Capt.
Stopford, 12 Nov. 1917, in AIR 1/460/15/312/97.
31. Letter, Groves to Trenchard, 12 Sept. 1918, with attached secret communication from the
Foreign Office, in AIR l/1997/204/273/242.
32. For an explanation of some of these trends, see Josef Konvitz, 'Cities as Targets:
Conceptions of Strategic Bombing, 1914-1945', Woodrow Wilson Int. Center for
Scholars, paper no.85, esp. pp.6-7. For the interesting German reaction to this, see Peter
Fritzsche, 'Machine Dreams: Airmindedness and the Reinvention of Germany', American
Historical Review 98/3 (1993), pp.685-709.
33. In June 1918 the wartime CAS, Sir Frederick Sykes, wrote a paper which stressed an idea
he called 'national attrition'. He argued that in modem, total war, 'The entire population
and the whole weight of the resources and industries of the opposing nations are thrown
into the balance. The success of the armies or fleets entirely depends upon the energy and
"moral" of the nation supporting them.' See 'Review of the Air Situation and Strategy for
the Information of the Imperial War Cabinet', 27 June 1918, repr. in Sykes, From Many
Angles (note 9), pp.544-54, see esp. p.545.
34. Between 7 Dec. 1918 and 20 Jan. 1919 the British surveyed bomb damage done to target
sites in Germany. The survey, which was undertaken by three intelligence officers and
three other ranks under Maj. H.W.M. Paul, was submitted to the Air Ministry on 26 Feb.
1919. It was comprised of seven reports - six on specific targets, and a set of conclusions.
They are found in AIR 1/1998 and AIR 1/1999. Scholars interested in the World War I
bombing survey should see, in addition to the documents themselves, the pioneering work
of Wise, Canadian Airmen (note II), Ch.ll; and, esp. Williams, (note 9). For details about
the composition of the survey team see Williams, pp.46-48, and 337-9.
35. The Industrial Centres report claimed ' ... it may be said that the moral effect of air raids
was very considerable from every point of view.' See Air 1/1998/204/273/264. The report
on Chemical and Munition Center raids argued that, 'In contrast to the material damage
caused by air raids, the moral effect on the workmen and others at the BASF and the
Oppau works was considerable.' See AIR 1/1999/204/273/268. Frequent use was made of
the word 'considerable,' although there was never an attempt to define it in the reports; one
thus senses that its significance was mainly bureaucratic.
36. 'Results of Blast Furnace Raids', AIR 1/1999/204/273/269. The report on chemical and
munitions factories came to a similar conclusion, pointing out that, had the raids been more
frequent, the results 'might have been disastrous'. See AIR 1/1999/204/273/268.
37. Maj. E. Childers, and E.N.G. Morris, 12 March 1919, in AIR 1/2115/207/56/1. The survey
team (Childers, Morris, 3 draughtsmen and a photographer) was sent to Belgium on 19
Nov. 1918, and returned to Britain on 22 Dec.
38. See AIR 1/1999/204/273/268 (Chemical and Munitions), section titled, 'The General Moral
Effect and Its Causes Produced by Day and Night Air Raids on the BASF'; AIR
1/1999/204/273/269 (Blast Furnaces), sections titled: 'Difficulty of Retaining Employees',
and 'General Opinion of the Directors as to Our Bombing and the Effect of the Bombing of
Blast Furnaces'. See also Williams (note 9), pp.348-50; and Wise (note 11 ), pp.322--4.
39. They argued, 'Although the Directors of one or two of the works visited effected to make
light of the moral effect produced by air raids, there can be no doubt whatever that it has
been very considerable in many cases, and, if we regard the results as a whole, relatively
greater than the material damage achieved.' AIR 1/1999/204/273/269, section titled,
'General Moral Effect'.
40. 'Results of Air Raids on Germany', in AIR 1/2104/207/36.
41. On this general issue see Williams (note 9), who argues that 'the wartime editions of A.P.
1225 ... had firmly established an analytical precedent for the widely cited third edition of
January 1920.' p.340. He argues further that A.P. 1225 (3rd ed.) was dedicated more to
'advocacy than accuracy', and explains that Maj. Boyle's staff did not produce a compre-
hensive, analytical report based on 'substantive analysis of captured materials or thorough
cross-checking against RAF wartime records'. See his pp.341-3. In his thesis Williams
undertakes such a cross-checking himself, and produces the most accurate available record
of British strategic bombing in World War I.
42. 'Huns Raid Panic, Views of General Trenchard', in Daily Mail, London, 21 Sept. 1918,
clipping in AIR 1/462/15/312/116.
43. Commandant's Lecture, 'Air Warfare', RAF Staff College, 1924, in AIR 1/2385/228/10,
p.71.
44. It was a view that, ironically, borrowed heavily from Sir Frederick Sykes' wartime concep-
tions. See Smith, British Air Strategy (note 1), Ch.2.
45. On the French air threat in general, see John Robert Ferris, 'The Theory of a French Air
Menace: Anglo-French Relations and the British Home Defence Air Force Programmes,
1921-1925,' in Journal of Strategic Studies I 0/1 (March 1987), pp.62-83.
46. Trenchard quoted in AIR 41/39, 'The RAF in the Bombing Offensive Against Germany,
Prewar Evolution of Bomber Command, 1917-1939', an unpub. MS written for the Air
Historical Branch of the Air Ministry, p.25. See also Webster and Frankland (note 2),
Vol.IV, Appendix I (Minutes of a Conference held in the room of the Chief of the Air
Staff, Air Ministry, on 19 July 1923), p.66; and Vol.I, pp.54-6.
47. Letter, Trenchard to Sykes, 4 Aug. 1918, in AIR 1/460/15/312/100.
48. Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.I, pp.54-5.
49. ARP committee conclusions quoted in Richard Titmuss, Problems of Social Policy
(London: HMSO, 1950) p.18. See also p.17.
50. Titmuss wrote: 'In sifting the many thousands of papers, which passed through
Governmental agencies during the nineteen-twenties and nineteen-thirties, it is difficult to
find even a hint that this fear of a collapse in morale was based on much else than instinc-
tive opinion.' See Problems of Social Policy, p.18.
51. On this see GoUin, Impact of Air Power on the British People (note 1) pp.53--60. On the
general theme of literature and expectations, see also. Paris, Winged Wwfare (note 1); John
Gooch, 'The Bolt from the Blue', and 'Attitudes to War in Late Victorian and Edwardian
England,' in The Prospect of War (London: Frank Cass, 1981), pp.1-51; and C.F.
Snowden-Gamb1e, The Air Weapon (London: OUP, 1931). Finally, see an enlightening
chapter ('The Formative Years of Non-Military British Concepts of Aerial Warfare') in
Barry Powers, Strategy Without Slide Rule (London: Croom Helm, 1976), pp.107-57.
52. B.H. Liddell Hart, Paris or the Future of War (NY: Dutton, 1925). Fuller was more
circumspect; for instance he wrote in 1928 that a future war was unlikely to commence
with all-out air attacks on cities. Nonetheless, he clearly recognized the power of air forces
to strike at civilians directly. See On Future Warfare (London: Sifton Praed, 1928),
pp.210--15. See also an essay he contributed to the RAF Quarterly 112 (April 1930) titled,
'The Supremacy of Air Power'. On the writing and thinking of these men and others con-
tributing to the airpower debate, see Robin Higham, The Military Intellectuals in Britain,
1918-1939 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1966), pp.119-234.
53. Liddell Hart, Paris, pp.36-7. He further bolstered his case for airpower through speculation
about the 'panic and disturbance' that would be created by a 'concentrated blow dealt by a
superior air fleet'. Indeed, he postulated that a state with superior air power could deliver to
its enemy a blow so powerful as to paralyse its 'nerve system' within a few hours or, at
most, days. See pp.39-40. (Reading recommendations for RAF officers were listed in
S/Ldr's Leader R. Graham's, 'Some Notes on Preparing for the Staff College', RAF
Quarterly 1/1 (1930).
54. Remarking on this era, historian Donald Cameron Watt has pointed out that socialism and
Bolshevism raised the prospect that an internal threat to order and authority might justify
greater concern than foreign enemies. See Watt, Too Serious a Business (note 29), p.34.
55. L.E.O. Charlton War From the Air (London: Nelson, 1935), p.173.
56. These ideas were often reflected in the essays of students at the Staff College. See for
instance, 'Experiences of Bombing with the Independent Force in 1918', in 'A Selection of
Essays from the Work of Officers attending the First Course at the Royal Air Force Staff
College, 1922-1923', Air Publication 956, Air Ministry, Dec. 1923, in the RAP Staff
College Library, Bracknell, UK. See also Allan D. English, 'The RAP Staff College and
the Evolution of RAP Strategic Bombing Policy, 1922-1929', Master's Thesis, Royal
Military College, Canada, 1987, and an article of the same title in Journal of Strategic
Studies [hereafter JSS] 16/3 (Sept. 1993), pp.408-31.
57. The Manual continued: 'Such results are far more important than the actual physical
destruction and damage caused by air bombardment and will react upon the morale of both
enemy nation and its fighting forces.' See Royal Air Force War Manual, Part I -
Operations, Chapter 8, A.P. 1300 (July 1928), Air Ministry, London. For the history of the
Manual- and the earlier Manual of 1923- see English (note 56), pp.24-30.
58. The 'Ten Year Rule', which placed British defence planning on the assumption that 'the
British Empire will not be engaged in any great war during the next ten years and that no
Expeditionary Force will be required for this purpose,' was in operation from 1919 to
1932. For a detailed history of the Rule, see Appendix 1 of AIR 41/39. See also, John
Robert Ferris, The Evolution of British Strategic Policy, 1919-1926 (London: MacMillan,
1989). On the history of air control, see David E. Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Control
(NY: StMartin's, 1990), and Philip Towle, Pilots and Rebels (London: Brassey's, 1989).
59. See AIR 41/39, p.34; and Smith, British Air Strategy (note 1), pp.112-121. In a post-World
War II speech to members of the US Air Force at the Air War College, Alabama, Sir
Robert Saundby (formerly Dep. AOC-in-C Bomber Command, 1943-45) argued that the
uncertainty caused by the disarmament negotiations 'had a devastating effect on develop-
ment of the Royal Air Force at that time' Lecture by Saundby to the Air War College, lO
Nov. 1953, in the AWC file at the USAPHRC.
60. See English's critique of the Staff College entrance exam in his Master's thesis (note 56),
pp.51-8. He has written: 'To ensure the new Staff College students were properly prepared
for the course, they had to submit to an examination. The exam process involved the Air
Ministry, with the Staff College's advice, telling the students what they had to study,
examining them thoroughly, and then publishing the questions with the examiners' com-
ments. This allowed the Staff College to indoctrinate its future pupils before they even
arrived ... Comments such as, "the following tactical uses of aircraft were frequent but
undesirable;" the "question was badly done- only 20 per cent of the candidates adopted
[the examiner's solutions]" ... left no doubt in prospective candidates' minds that if one
wished to do well on the qualifying examination, it was safest to adopt the prevailing Air
Force view in matters of doctrine.' pp.51 and 57. See also his article in JSS 16/3 (Sept.
1993), pp.419-23
61. MRAF John S1essor, The Central Blue (London: Cassell, 1956), p.84. In general, see
Slessor's description on pp.82-4. Enlightening as well are the interwar issues of The Hawk,
the RAP Staff College journal, which offered detailed descriptions of the annual drag hunt,
described as 'the outstanding event of the week' at the annual combined exercise at
Camberley (which involved the Army, Navy, and RAP Staff Colleges). See especially the
1930 and 1931 issues. On the general issue of the lack of systematic thinking in the inter-
war armed forces, see Dominick Graham and Shelford Bidwell, Firepower (Boston: Allen
and Unwin, 1985), esp. pp.l57-8; and (on the Army) Brian Bond, British Military Policy
Between the Two World Wars (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), esp. Ch.2. On the cultural
determinants of doctrine in Britain, see Elizabeth Kier, 'Changes in Conventional Military
Doctrines: The Cultural Roots of Doctrinal Change', PhD thesis, Cornell Univ., 1992.
62. Air Cmdre Sir Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, 'The Air Force and Its Strategy', in lectures by
Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt to the RAP Staff College, 6th Course (Feb. 1928), in the Arthur
Tedder Papers, Box B270 (2 of 2), RAP Museum Archive, Hendon, London, UK. (This
echoes some of the sentiments expressed by Clausewitz in On War, Bk.2 Ch.2.)
63. On the air exercises of 1927-33, see William Scot Robertson, 'On a Wing and a Prayer:
The Development of RAP Strategic Bombing Doctrine, 1919-1939', PhD Thesis, the
University of New Brunswick, Canada, 1989, pp.l73-94. See also Smith, British Air
Strategy (note 1), p.72 (on. the air exercise of 1930); and Maj. C.C. Turner, Britain's Air
Peril (London: Pitman, 1933), pp.98-IOI (on the air exercise of 1931).
64. P.B. Joubert de Ia Ferte, 'Extracts from a Lecture on the Employment of Air Forces in
War', p.IO, [May]l933, AIR 2/675. In a 1925lecture titled, 'The Nature of War', Brooke-
Popham had stressed a similar theme. See AIR 69/6
65. Slessor, Central Blue (note 61), p.204.
66. See 'An address given by the Chief of the Air Staff to the Imperial Defence College on the
war aim of the Air Force', (Oct. 1928), in AIR 2/675. See also 'Memorandum by the Chief
of the Air Staff and comments by his colleagues,' (May 1928), in Appendix II, Webster
and Frankland (note 2), Vol.IV, pp.71-83. Trenchard once admitted, 'I am not good at
writing. I cannot set my ideas out in nice order.' See H.A. Jones' interview with Trenchard,
II April 1934, in AIR 8/67.
67. On the Hague Draft Rules and the history leading up to them, see W. Hays Parks, 'Air War
and the Law of War', The Air Force Law Review 32/1, (1990). Confusion on this point
would continue up to and into World War II. See also, D.C. Watt, 'Restraints on War in the
Air Before 1945,' in Michael Howard (ed.), Restraints on War: Studies in the Limitation of
Armed Conflict (Oxford: OUP, 1979), pp.57-77.
68. 'An Appreciation on the Employment of the Air Defence of Great Britain Bomber
Formations Against the Western European Confederation During the First Month of
Operations', (March 1933), pp.2 and 7, by AVM T. Webb-Bowen, in AIR 2/675. (Under-
lining in original.)
69. See Minute, Portal to DCAS, 2 Aug. 1933, in AIR 2/675. Interestingly Portal did not
believe that the problem stemmed from a lack of clarity about targeting in the RAF War
Manual. Instead, he suggested tactfully that the AOC-in-C probably had insufficient data
on the military situation in France, and this lead him to put forward an aim which was 'far
too high and vague to form the basis of an AOC's appreciation.' See also R. Brooke-
Popham, 'ADGB Staff Exercise, 13-15 March 1933, Notes on Appreciation by Syndicate
A,' in AIR 2/675.
70. Extracts from a lecture on the Employment of Air Forces in War', pp.ll-12, by the
Commandant, RAF Staff College (P.B. Joubert de Ia Ferte), [May] 1933, AIR 2/675. (This
idea probably was influenced by the experience of air control in which the RAF had relied
often on signalling instead of resorting to a lethal use of force.)
71. Historian Brian Bond has written: 'It would be impossible to prove that war fiction actually
determined official policy, but there can be no doubt that some governments, notably those
of Britain and France, were greatly influenced in their ordering of priorities in defence by
their own and their public's obsession with air attack.' He also provides a list of popular
book titles addressing the subject of attack from the air. See Bond, War and Society in
Europe, 1870-1970 (NY: OUP, 1986), p.l5l. And Uri Bialer has written: 'These writings
stressed especially the immense destructive capability of air bombardment. The difference
between the 'professional' analysis on the impact of air attack in a future war and the
"Science Fiction" of that times seems to be very small in this respect.' See Bialer's essay,
'The Danger of Bombardment from the Air and the Making of British Air Disarmament
Policy 1932--4,' in War and Society, Brian Bond and Ian Roy (eds.), Vol.I (NY: Holmes
and Meier, 1975), p.204. Stanley Baldwin's famous statement can be found in H of C
Deb., 10 Nov. 1932, Vo\.270, co\.632.
72. To understand the many problems faced by the British during the years of rearmament, see
Wesley K. Wark, The Ultimate Enemy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1985), pp.l7-79; N.H.
Gibbs, Grand Strategy, Vol.I Rearmament Policy, (London: HMSO, 1976); Robert Paul
Shay, Jr., British Rearmament in the Thirties (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1977); G.C.
Peden, The Treasury and British Rearmament, 1932-1939 (Edinburgh: Scottish Academic
Press, 1979); Paul Kennedy, The Realities Behind Diplomacy (Glasgow: Fontana, 1981),
pp.223-312; and Williamson Murray, The Change in the European Balance of Power
1938-1939 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1984). See also Smith, British Air Strategy
Between the Wars (note 1), pp.l40-226.
73. For a biting critique of the Air Staff's focus on the offensive, see Watt, Too Serious A
Business (note 29), pp. 72-7.
74. R.J. Overy, 'Air Power and the Origins of Deterrence Theory before 1939', in JSS 15/1
(March 1992), p.86. In his The Air War, 1939-1945 (NY: Stein and Day, 1980). he makes
a similar point, stating: 'The shift towards a mixed air doctrine of defense and offense was
met with some reluctance by those in the RAF who favored the bombing strategy. To
admit that there was a defense against the bomber was to question the whole basis upon
which an independent air force had been built up.' p.I5.
75. Stephen Peter Rosen offers an important defense of the RAF with respect to this issue. See
his Winning the Next War: Innovation and the Modern Military (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP,
1991. pp.I3-18.
76. See Minute Sheet DDOps to DCAS through DSD, Air Ministry file no. S. 40357
(23-11-36 to 1-2-37), AIR 2/2613. On this point see also Williamson Murray, 'The
Influence of Pre-War Anglo-American Doctrine on the Air Campaigns of the Second
World War', in Boog, Conduct of the Air War in the Second World War (note 1), esp.
pp.239-40.
77. For instance, W/Cdr. R.V. Goddard of the Joint Intelligence Sub-Committee (Spain), stated
(at the end of a lengthy report on the air war in Spain): 'The nature of this civil war and the
limitations in material and command cannot, it seems, be expected to produce military
information which is wholly capable of direct application to our own problems.' See 'Visit
of Air Staff Officers - General Report by Wing Commander R.V. Goddard', II March
1938, Office of Air Force (AF) History, Bolling AFB, Washington, DC, decimal
no.512.04F. Similar attitudes can be found in documents contained in AIR 2/2190, AIR
2/2613, and AIR 5/1132. For an overview of this issue, see AIR 41/39, pp.333-40.
78. Smith, British Air Strategy (note 1), p.174. The document itself, dated 9 Dec. 1937, is
reproduced in Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.IV, App. 5, pp.96-8.
79. Smith, British Air Strategy (note 1), pp.I73-97.
80. Ibid., pp.l89 and 194. Here I have borrowed Malcolm Smith's particularly apt phrase,
'calculated gamble'.
81. Quoted in Terraine, A Time for Courage (note 1), p.82. Terraine continues, 'Every
page, almost every line, of Ludlow-Hewitt's report contradicts the image of a highly pro-
fessional, efficient pre-war air force with which the British comforted themselves at the
time and continued to delude themselves in after years.' He points out also that as late as
Aug. 1939, Ludlow-Hewitt knew that 'over 40 per cent of a force of his bombers were
unable to find a target in a friendly city in broad daylight.' (p.85). See also Webster and
Frankland (note 2), Vol.I, pp.91-2.
82. On the history of the US Air Service in World War I, see LB. Holley, Ideas and Weapons
(New Haven, CT: Yale UP, 1957); John Morrow, The Great War in the Air (Washington,
DC: Smithsonian Instn. Press, 1993); and Maurer Maurer, Aviation in the US Army,
1919-1939 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1987). Key documents relating
to the American effort in the air can be found in Maurer Maurer (ed.), The US Air Service
in World War/, 4 vols. (Washington, DC: Office of AF History, 1978).
83. The Gorrell Plan (Nov. 1917), by Lt.Col. Edgar S. Gorrell, is repr. in Maurer (ed.), US Air
Service, Vol.II, pp.l41-51. See esp. sections I, II, V and VI. (The plan was also repr. in Air
Power Historian, April 1958, pp.103-13.) The reader should compare the plan with
Tiverton's 'Original Paper on Objectives' (note 8) See also Tiverton's note to Capt.
Vyvyan (15 Sept. 1917), in AIR 1/462/15/312/121, and finally Gorrell's note to Tiverton
(5 Jan. 1918), Halsbury Papers, Box 2, RAF Museum, in which Gorrell thanked Tiverton
for the use of his notes, stating: 'Your kindness is sincerely appreciated in sending these to
me and your co-operation is very much appreciated.' (I am indebted to George K. Williams
for enlightening me on this interesting and underappreciated connection.)
84. The claim about the Gorrell Plan was made by Gen. Laurence Kuter who taught at the Air
Corps Tactical School. See Maurer, US Air Service (note 82), Vol.II, p.l41.
85. Gorrell Plan, sect.II (b), in ibid., p.l43.
86. These target centers were: (a) the DUsseldorf group, (b) the Cologne group, (c) the
Mannheim group, and (d) the Saar Valley group, see the 'Gorrell Plan', sect. III, in ibid.,
pp.l43-4.
87. Gorrell Plan in ibid., p.l50; and Tiverton, 'Objectives' (note 8), p.7.
88. Ibid., p.150; and ibid., p.8.

89. He argued further, 'Actual experience demonstrates that the moral effect of bombing indus-
trial centres will be great even though at times the material effect may be small.' See Edgar
S. Gorrell, 'The Future Role of American Bombardment Aviation', Documents of the Air
Service Field Officer's School, ACTS History, USAF Hist. Res. Center (USAFHRC)
decimal no.248.222-78, (copy at the Office of Air Force History, Bolling AFB, Washing-
ton, DC.), pp.9 and 15. The document is undated but was very likely written in winter
1917-18. The reader should compare it to Trenchard's 26 Nov. 1917 paper called,
'Strategic and Tactical Considerations Involved in Long Range Bombing', in AIR 1{725/
97{1.
90. In summer 1918 the name 'Strategical Aviation, Zone of Advance' was changed so as not
to promote the idea that this operation of the Air Service was in any way independent of
the rest of the Army. See Maurer, US Air Service (note 82), pp.155-{i.
91. Ibid. Vol.IV, pp.l-3, and 363-7. See also, Williams (note 9), pp.338-9.
92. See 'Narrative Summary', US Bombing Survey, in Maurer US Air Service Vol.IV, esp.
pp.498-9. This volume reprints documents found in 'Gorrell's History of the American
Expeditionary Forces Air Service 1917-1918,' Record Group 120, National Archives and
Records Admin., Washington, DC. The reports on the effects of bombing are in Series R,
Vol.II; the Narrative Summary is in Series R, Vol.!.
93. 'Narrative Summary' in Maurer, US Air Service (note 82), Vol.IV, p.50l.
94. Ibid. It is clear that at least some members of the British Air Staff had a full opportunity to
express their grievances to the American survey team.
95. Ibid., pp.501-2. It is important to point out here that the Americans were not critical of the
direct bombing of troops in the field, which they recognised to have an immediate effect on
the morale of those troops.
96. The authors wrote: 'The effect of destroying the enemy's materiel and personnel is not
commensurate with the effect gained by day bombardment in weakening the morale of
troops and civilians in the bombed areas. The relation of the effect of lowering the enemy's
morale over that of destruction is estimated as 20 to I. See 'Aerial Tactics,' Vol.I, No.88,
(Washington, DC: GPO, 1920), Part II, Bombardment, p.25.
97. Letter, Spaatz to Lt. H.W. Cook, 13 Feb. 1923, Papers of Carl Spaatz, Box 2, Diary,
Library of Congress MS Room, Washington, DC. Spaatz's views were likely influenced by
Billy Mitchell, who had spent time with Trenchard during World War I. See Richard G.
Davis, Carl A. Spaatz and the Air War in Europe (Washington, DC: Center for Air Force
History, 1993), p.17. In 1926 William C. Sherman, an instructor in Air Tactics at the US
Command and General Staff School, reinforced a predominant British view of World War
I strategic bombing when he argued that, 'The Germans believed that the clamor of
civilians for protection would find a ready echo among the governing politicians who
would force the military authorities to protect their city. The event seems fully to have
justified their belief.' See his Air Warfare (NY: Ronald Press, 1926), p.211.
98. For Baker's views, see War Department Annual Reports, 1919 (Washington, DC: GPO,
1920), pp.68-75. Baker felt that 'the aerial bombardment of back areas and inland cities'
ought to ruled out 'upon the most elemental ethical and humanitarian grounds.' (p.70). And
he was unimpressed with air attacks on cities, arguing that they 'had no appreciable effect
upon the war-making power of either nation'. (p.68).
99. See for instance, 'Tentative Manual for the Employment of Air Service', (1919), reprinted
in Maurer, US Air Service in World War 1, Vol.II, pp.313-408; or 'Fundamental
Conceptions of the Air Service,' (1923), USAFHRC, decimal no.l67.404--IO. This docu-
ment was used as a training text for officers. Also enlightening on this issue is a letter (8
Jan. 1925) from Secretary of War John W. Weeks to the Chairman of the House
Committee on Military Affairs, in the Papers of Carl A. Spaatz, Box 3 (note 97).
100. The phrase 'insurgency movement' is one I have borrowed from David E. Johnson, who
used it in his doctoral dissertation, 'Fast Tanks and Heavy Bombers: The United States
Army and the Development of Armor and Aviation Doctrines and Technologies, 1917 to
1945', Duke Univ., 1990. Johnson's thesis comprehensively surveys organisational
developments in US Army airpower. He has a particularly perceptive section on Mitchell,
see pp.174--200.
10 I. It provided that: (1) an Assistant Secretary of War would oversee the Air Corps; (2) three
one-star generals would be assigned as assistants to the Chief of the Air Corps; and (3) an
air section would be included in each War Dept. Gen. Staff Div. 69th Congress, 1st
Session, 10 May 1926, 'Hearings before the Committee on Military Affairs,' pp.1-49.
102. In his 1925 book, Winged Defense (NY: Putnam's), Mitchell wrote: 'Air forces will attack
centers of production of all kinds, means of transportation, agricultural areas, ports and
shipping; not so much the people themselves.' p.16. He also celebrated the existence of the
RAF, and the prominence which he believed had been given to aviation as a 'first line of
defense' for Great Britain. See pp.21-4.
103. On morale, the authors of the bombardment text stated, 'Whether such [city] bombing
actually accomplishes its avowed purpose - to weaken the morale of the hostile nation and
thus hasten the end of hostilities - is doubtful in some cases. The reactions may be in
exactly the opposite direction.' Bombardment (Washington, DC: US GPO, 1926), p.64.
Regarding strategic bombing in general the authors wrote: 'Its use on strategical missions
is held to be in the same category as any other act of strategy; it is a necessary adjunct to
tactical employment; it will have an important bearing on the outcome of a war, but it must
not take precedence over the support of ground operations by proper tactical employment.'
p.72. See also, Thomas Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm,
1917-1941, (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1985- first pub. 1955), p.41;
and Johnson (note 100), pp.208-9.
104. Greer, Development of Air Doctrine, p.41.
105. Indeed, sometimes the 'moral effect' garnered more than a little attention. Part of the
1934--35 'Air Force' text, for instance, described the relationship of bombing to the 'social
sphere' in the following way: 'The object here is the dislocation of normal life to the extent
that the people are willing to surrender in the hope that they can at least regain a normal
mode of living. Large urban populations and high standards of living broaden the possible
range of dislocation and add length to the lever that an air force can apply against morale.'
See 'Air Force' course text ('Air Force Objectives'), 1934--35, USAFHRC, decimal
no.248.101-l, pp.3-4.
106. 'Air Force' text, 'Air Warfare' section, Air Corps Tactical School, I Feb. 1938,
USAFHRC, decimal file no.248.101-l. On this theme generally, see Mark Clodfelter,
'Pinpointing Devastation: American Air Campaign Planning Before Pearl Harbor,' in
Journal of Military History 58/1 (Jan. 1994).
107. He added, 'These will be carefully determined, usually before the outbreak of war. On the
declaration of war, these key plants should be made the objective of a systematic bombard-
ment, both by day and by night, until their destruction has been assured, or at least until
they have been sufficiently crippled.' Sherman, Air Wmfare (note 97), p.218.
108. See 'Air Force', a text for a course at the Air Corps Tactical School, April 1930, p.45.
AFHRC, decimal file no.248.101-l. See also Maurer, US Air Sen•ice in World War I,
Vol.IV, p.504.
109. Maurer, Aviation in the US Army (note 82), p.289, and Greer (note 103), p.69.
110. See Greer (note 103), pp.44--6, 57; and Johnson (note 100), pp.390-5.
Ill. In an interview done by Thomas Greer in 1952, Donald Wilson claimed that he might have
been influenced personally by the workings of railroads, and his understanding that an
entire railroad net could be held up for the want of a particular lubricating agent. See Greer
(note 103), pp.57-8.
112. Neville Jones has explained that: 'As soon as peace returned [in 1918-19) ... the Air Staff
papers dealing with the independent bombing operations were consigned to the discarded
files of the war, and to oblivion.' See Beginnings of Strategic Air Power (note I), p.l8.
113. Letter (14 Nov. 1933) from Donald Wilson to Maj. William H. Crom, AFHRC, decimal file
no.248.126 (16 Sept. 1933 to 24 Nov., 1933). The letters by Donald Wilson can be found
at the AFHRC, under decimal no.'s 248.126 and 248.12601. Johnson cites also some of the
letters of Wilson's colleague, Capt. R.M. Webster. See his pp.417-19.
114. Lt. Laurence Kuter, "Bombing Probabilities,' in the course 'Bombardment Aviation,' 18
Oct. 1935, p.3, USAFHRC, decimal no.248.222.
115. In the 1935-36 course on 'Bombardment Aviation,' Lt. Kuter argued: 'Where the objective
is a large industrial center, individual bombers must hit specific buildings or areas or the
mission may be a failure ... It is thus evident that the destruction of materiel objectives -
the reason for the existence or our arm - depends on the ability of bombardment to hit
small targets.' See 'Bombing Probabilities', p.2.
116. See 'Program of Instruction, Air Corps Tactical School, 1933-1934, Command and Staff
Regular Course, USAFHRC, decimal file no.248.192, and 'Comparison of Courses', Air
Corps Tactical School, I July 1934, decimal file no.248.192, AFHRC. On 24 Oct. 1935
Lt. Col. E.L. Hoffman wrote to the Commandant of the School, asking to be exempted from
the riding requirement. He argued: 'I have never liked a horse, nor admired one, except at a
safe distance ... I am afraid of a horse, do not understand them, and doubt if they have any
sense ... I fail to see that horses have any place in the science of aviation.' His request was
denied. See 'Equitation', Memo to the Cmndt. from Lt.Col. E.L. Hoffman, 24 Oct. 1935,
USAFHRC decimal file no.248.126.
117. On this see Greer (note 103), pp.55-8.
118. C.L. Chennault, 'The Role .of Defensive Pursuit,' (1933), p.l2. USAFHRC, decimal
no.248-282-4. On Chennault's views generally, see Greer (note 103), pp.58--67, and
Johnson (note I 00), pp.400--2.
119. He quoted the umpire of the official exercises of 1931 as declaring that, 'due to increased
speeds and limitless space it is impossible for fighters to intercept bombers and therefore it
is inconsistent with the employment of air force to develop fighters'. Cited in Greer (note
103), p.59.
120. Greer (note 103), pp.59 and 82. See also Johnson (note 100), who points out that
Chennault, who focused on defensive operations, proved uninterested in involving himself
with the question of long-range escort fighters, pp.40 1-2.
121. On the issue of defenses and fighter escorts in American planning general! y, see B.L.
Boylan, 'The Development of the American Long Range Escort Fighter', PhD thesis,
Univ. of Missouri, 1955; I. B. Holley, 'An Enduring Challenge: The Problem of Air Force
Doctrine' in H. Borowski (ed.), The Harmon Memorial Lectures in Military History,
1959-1987 (Washington, DC: Office of AF History, 1988), pp.428-30, and 'Of Saber
Charges, Escort Fighters, and Spacecraft', in Air University Quarterly Review 34/6 ( 1983),
pp.5-ll. For an investigation of the problem as it existed in both the US and in Britain, see
Williamson Murray, 'The Influence of Pre-War Anglo-American Doctrine on the Air
Campaigns of the Second World War', in Boog, Conduct of the Air War (note 1),
pp.235-53. On the British side, see also the documents in AIR 2/2613, PRO, London.
I 22. See Robert Frank Futrell, 'Historical Evaluation of the Combined Bomber Offensive:
Twenty Years and Two Wars Later', delivered at the Second Annual Military History
Symposium, USAF Academy, 2-3 May 1968, pp.3-4 (original draft); also Wesley Frank
Craven and James Lea Cate The Army Air Forces in World War II (Chicago, IL: Univ. of
Chicago Press, 1948), Voi.I, p.604.
123. Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.I, p.91.
124. Bomber Command evaluated WA I, a plan for the attack on the Luftwaffe and its main-
tenance organisation. But though the plan was listed first, it never had real pride of place
with the Air Staff. Though they recognised that it might be necessary to try to reduce the
Lutiwaffe in order to curtail attacks on Britain, they were not optimistic about the
prospects. Believing that the Germans would disperse their aircraft to numerous aero-
dromes, they could not see a way to reduce the enemy force efficiently, or without subject-
ing Bomber Command to heavy losses. Bomber Command itself agreed with the Air Staff
assessment. The second plan listed, an attack on German military rail, canal, and road
communications in the early stages of a war (W A4) was designed as a way of offering
some help to future allies on the continent. But the Air Staff was lukewarm about this too,
as they were not anxious to place a significant portion of Bomber Command under the
Army C-in-C. See Webster and Frankland (note 2), vol.I, pp.94-7. Also on the Western
Air Plans see Smith, British Air Strategy Between the Wars (note I), pp.269-305.
125. 'Minutes of the 1st Meeting of the Bombing Policy Sub-Committee of the Bombing
Committee, held at Air Ministry on March 22nd, 1938', in AIR 2/8812.
126. For an overview of these issues, see AIR 41/39, pp.254-64, and Webster and Frankland
(note 2), Vol.l, pp.97-IOO.
127. Quoted in ibid., pp.l50-l.
128. In the Sept. 1940 issue of RAF Quarterly, J.M. Spaight argued optimistically: 'Our great
and shining hope is in the air. It is there that we shall achieve victory, there that we shall
bring home to the Germans the truth that they who take the sword will perish by the sword.
We shall not emulate them in slaughtering and mutilating old men, women and children
deliberately. German civilians will suffer, but that will be the unintended result of attacks
on legitimate objectives.' He then listed such legitimate objectives, including oil and petrol
depots, aircraft factories, air bases, army stores, and railways. J.M. Spaight, 'Victory and
the Bombing of Hinterlands,' in RAF Quarterly 11\4 (Sept. 1940), p.335. Writing about
this period, Sebastian Cox has noted that 'the Air Staff, and indeed the government, were
sustained by a faith wholly at variance with the known facts of the situation.' See 'The
Sources and Organization of RAF Intelligence and Its Influence on Operations', in Boog
(note 121) p.577.
129. Quoted in Webster and Frankland (note 2) Vol.l, p.145.
130. The Butt Report is repr. in Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.IV, pp.205-13. See also
vol. I, pp.l78-80.
131. 'Minutes of a Meeting held by CAS on Monday, 2nd June 1941 to Discuss Bombing
Policy', in AIR 20/2795. See also Webster and Frankland (note 2}, Vol.I, pp.168-74.
132. For a detailed analysis of these arguments, see Webster and Frankland, ibid.
133. Slessor, Letter to Station Commanders, 28 Oct. 1941. Slessor Papers, File XIID, 'Bomber
Policy', Air Historical Branch, MOD London. In his letter he reminded his readers of the
collapse of the Germans in 1918. The 'rot' he argued, had 'started from within'.
134. See AIR 20/2795. The Vice Chief of the Air Staff, ACM Sir Wilfrid Freeman, resisted a
trend towards Trenchardian thinking. He argued, 'Lord Trenchard's theory ... depends on
a basis which is fundamentally unsound. Material damage would be negligible and the
enemy's morale, if not stimulated, will certainly be strengthened in a very short time.' See
VCAS to CAS, 2 Oct. 1941, in AIR 20/2795. See also, 'Development and Employment of
the Heavy Bomber Force,' 22 Sept. 1941, in the Portal Papers, Folder 2C, Christ Church,
Oxford. (Copy also at National Defence HQ, Canada.)
135. See Webster and Frankland (note 2}, Vol.l, pp.322-4.
136. The quote is from ibid., Vol.II, p.22.
137. ACM Sir Arthur Harris was appointed to head Bomber Command on 22 Feb. 1942.
138. See Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.l, p.332. On Churchill's gloomy outlook in
autumn 1941, see his correspondence with Portal in the Portal Papers, Folder 2C, Christ
Church, Oxford. (Copies at National Defence HQ, Canada.) In a note he sent on 2 Oct.
1941, Portal suggested that if the Prime Minister had lost faith in a strategic plan which
relied heavily on bombing, he ought to notify the Chiefs of Staff 'without a moments
delay' so that an alternate plan could be devised, such as 'defeating Germany with the
Army as the primary offensive weapon'.
139. Solly Zuckerman, From Apes to Warlords (NY: Harper & Row, 1978), pp.140-4.
140. Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.I, p.336.
141. AWPD/1, Munitions Requirements of the AAF, 12 Aug. 1941, AFHRC, decimal
no.145.82. For a summary see, Craven and James Lea Univ. of Chicago Press, Cate, Army
Air Forces in World War II (note 122}, Vol.I, pp.l31-50; Greer, pp.1231-7, and
Clodfelter, 'Pinpointing Devastation' (note 106) pp.87-94. The four authors were Maj.
Lawrence Kuter, Col. Harold George, Maj. Haywood Hansell, and Lt.Col. Kenneth
Walker. Hansell provides a personal account in The Strategic Air War Against Germany
and Japan (Washington, DC, Office of AF History, 1986).
142. To see how this worked out in practice, see Richard Davis, 'Operation Thunderclap: The
US Army Air Forces and the Bombing of Berlin', in JSS 14/1 (March 1991}, pp.90-lll.
143. AWPD/1,tab3,pp.l-3.
144. On the development of the Allied relationship prior to the official American entry into the
war, see 'Anglo-American Air Cooperation', '(Information Requested by Professor
Hopper)' - a narrative done by the Air Historical Branch of the Air Ministry, London,
dated Aug. 1946, in the Papers of Carl Spaatz, Box 70, Library of Congress MS Room.
Further insights into the Anglo-American relationship can be found in Richard G. Davis,
'Carl A. Spaatz and the Development of the Royal Air Force-US Army Air Corps
Relationship, 1939-1940', in Journal of Military History 54/4 (Oct. 1990), pp.453-72.
145. The Combined Bomber Offensive', a lecture delivered by Noble Frankland to the Second
Annual Military History Symposium, USAF Academy, 2-3 May 1968. (See pp.7-8). Copy
in Robert Saundby Papers, AC 72/12, Box 5, RAF Museum, Hendon.
146. The American official historians have pointed out that with respect to the theory of 'day-
light precision bombing,' the Americans were committed 'more as a matter of faith than of
knowledge empirically arrived at.' See Craven and Cate (note 122), Vol.II, p.298.
147. Letter, Churchill to Roosevelt, 16 Sept. 1942, AIR 8/711. In order to bolster FDR's enthu-
siasm, Churchill made an argument he himself did not fully believe, stating: ' ... we know
our night bombing offensive is having a devastating effect.'
148. Churchill wrote: 'Whether the Fortresses and Liberators will be able to bomb far into
Germany by day is one of the great tactical questions of the war and one that is at present
unanswered ... We do not think the claims of fighters shot down by Fortresses are correct
though made with complete sincerity, and the dangers of daylight bombing will increase
terribly once outside fighter protection and as the range lengthens.' Letter, Churchill to
Hopkins, 16 Oct. 1942, AIR 8/711.
149. The circle included ACM Sir Charles Portal, CAS, RAF; Sir Archibald Sinclair, Secretary
of State for Air; and A VM John Slessor, Asst Chief of the Air Staff for Policy. The docu-
ments on this internal debate are in AIR 8/711, PRO, London. Also, a chapter based on
many of these documents can be found in Webster and Frankland, Vol.!, pp.353-63.
!50. Memo by Portal 'Note on US Bomber Force', 26 Sept. 1942, AIR 8/711.
!51. Min., Slessor to Portal, 26 Sept. 1942, AIR 8/711.
152. Min., Slessor to Sinclair, 26 Sept. 1942. Slessor's views are perhaps surpnsmg given
some observations from his lengthy visit to the US. He wrote that 'their [the Americans']
system of supreme direction and co-ordination of defence matters . . . is almost un-
believably inefficient.' He pointed out that 'the Army and Navy really seem to hate each
other as much as they do the Germans.' And he was particularly concerned about the
organisation of the air forces which he pronounced 'hopeless'. Nonetheless, he believed in
general that the Americans possessed 'colossal material potential and splendid personnel.'
See undated memo by Slessor on his time in USA, [March] 1941, in the Slessor Papers,
File XIIC, Air Hist. Branch, MOD, London.
153. See Min., Sinclair to Churchill, 28 Oct. 1942, and also 'Note by the Secretary of State for
Air', [Oct.] 1942, AIR 8/711. In the latter, Sinclair wrote: 'Americans are much like other
people- they prefer to learn from their own experience. In spite of some admitted defects-
including lack of experience - their leadership is of a high order, and the quality of their air
crews is magnificent. If their policy of day bombing proves to their own satisfaction to be
unsuccessful or prohibitively expensive they will abandon it and tum to night action ...
They will not tum aside from day bombing till they are convinced that it has failed: they
will not be convinced except by their own experience.' References to other important
documents bearing on the issue can be found in Webster and Frankland, Vol.I (note 2),
pp.360--3.
154. Min., Portal to Churchill, 7 Nov. 1942, AIR 8/711, PRO. On 12 Jan. 1943 Sinclair once
again urged Churchill to be diplomatic, and to give the Americans a chance. See Min.,
Sinclair to Churchill, 12 Jan. 1943, AIR 8/711, PRO.
155. Craven and Cate (note 122), Vol. II, p.298.
156. See 'Special Studies of Bombing Results,' Headquarters, Army Air Forces, Director of
Intelligence Service (19 Oct. 1942), Spaatz Papers, Box 203, Library of Congress MS
Room, Washington, DC. The authors wrote, for instance, that the British attack on
Rostock, 'may well be cited by future airmen as a classic example of misdirected bombard-
ment effort'. Special Study No. I, p.15. See also Craven and Cate (note 122), Vol.II,
pp.298-300.
157. Text of Gen. Eaker's Presentation to Prime Minister Churchill at the Casablanca
Conference, Jan. 1943. USAFHRC, decimal no. 520. 54C. See also Memorandum on
'Night Bombing' by Gen. Ira Eaker (8 Oct. 1942), in Spaatz Papers, Box 10, Diary.
158. The Americans had long been convinced of the need to deal with the enemy air force early
on in a conflict. This belief stemmed back to their own experience of tactical bombing in
1917-18, and, perhaps, as well to their reading of Gen. Douhet. The method by which the
enemy air force should be attacked and overcome, however, was debated interwar.
159. On Casablanca and Pointblank, see Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.II, pp.l0-32;
Craven and Cate (note 122), Vol.II, pp.274--307 and 348-76. Also, William R. Emerson,
'Operation POINTBLANK: A Tale of Bombers and Fighters' in Borowski (note 121),
pp.441-72; and Richard G. Davis, Carl A. Spaatz and the Air War in Europe, (Washing-
ton, DC: Center for Air Force History, 1993), pp.161-5. See also 'Target Priorities of the
Eighth Air Force', Office of the Director of Intellige(lce, Headquarters, Eighth Air Force,
(15 May 1945), Office of Air Force History, decimal no. 520.317A; and 'The Combined
Bomber Offensive from the UK', Eighth Air Force (12 April 1943) in the Spaatz Papers,
Box 67.
160. The quote can be found in Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol. II, p.5. For how Harris
maintained his latitude, see, ibid., pp.l4--15 and 28-30. See also Letter, Harris to Eaker, 15
Aprill943, Spaatz Papers, Box 67.
161. See Craven and Cate (note 122), Vol.II, p.704.
162. Noble Frankland, The Bombing Offensive Against Germany (London: Faber, 1965), p.77.
163. 'The first sixteen and a half months of operations of the Eighth Air Force, through the end
of 1943, were largely a period of experiment, preparation, and accumulation of strength',
said the War Dept. Bureau of Public Relations on 29 March 1944. See 'Strategy of Bomber
Offensive Against Germany Explained', Spaatz Papers, Box 84.
164. On the Battle of Berlin see Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol. II, pp.190--211.
165. The P-51, an airplane originally developed for the British, had shown little promise until its
Allison engine was replaced with the more powerful Rolls-Royce Merlin.
166. For a sense of the strength and scope of American industrial production at this point in the
war see Paul Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers (NY, Random House,
1987), pp.353-5.
167. On this point see Emerson (note 159), pp.446-9; Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.II,
pp.269-300, esp. pp.280--l. See also Stephen McFarland and Wesley Phillips Newton, To
Command the Sky (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Instn. Press, 1991).
168. See Frankland (note 162), p.86.
169. On these command arrangements, see Richard G. Davis, 'Royal Air Force/United States
Air Force Co-operation: Higher Command Structure and Relationships' a lecture to the
RAF Historical Society, 29 Oct. 1990 (and pub. in that Society's 'Proceedings, No.9).
170. The Fifteenth Air Force had begun operating out of Italy in Nov. 1943.
171. On the oil campaign, see Craven and Cate (note 122), Vol.III, pp.280--302, and 640--6;
Webster and Frankland, Vol.III, pp.225-43; Davis, Spaatz (note 159), pp.490--5. Another
important source on this point, which highlights the role of Ultra in target planning, is F.H.
Hinsley et al., British Intelligence in the Second World War, Vol.III, Pt.2 (NY: CUP,
1988), pp.497-532 and 605-24. The British Chiefs of Staff agreed with Spaatz; a
Combined Chiefs of Staff Memorandum of 12 Sept. 1944 stated that, 'Any relaxation of
the tempo of our attacks against his [Germany's] oil installations will provide opportunity
for rehabilitation and dispersal.' See CCS 520/3 (Octagon), 12 Sept. 1944, Spaatz Papers,
Box 18.
172. Of the 12.9 per cent bombs that hit within the factory perimeter, 1.8 per cent failed to
explode, 7.6 per cent landed in empty spaces, and 1.3 per cent hit pipelines and other
utilities. See US Strategic Bombing Survey (USSBS), Oil Div. Final Report, 2nd ed., (Jan.
1947), p.l21. A similar sense of the accuracy levels achieved by the US Eighth Air Force
can be gained from, 'AAF Bombing Accuracy, Report No.2' by the Operational Analysis
Section of Eighth Air Force, in RG 18. Box 550, Air Ajt. Gen. Files, 470 (Classified,
Bulky File), National Archives and Records Admins:, Washington, DC. Report No.2
also is summarised in Charles W. McArthur. Operations Analysis in the US Army
Eighth Air Force in World War II (Providence. Rl: Amer. Mathematical Soc., 1990),
pp.287-98.
173. See Letter, Harris to Portal, 21 Oct. 1942, Portal Papers, Folder 9C (copy at Nat. Def. HQ,
Canada).
174. The relevant correspondence can be found in the Portal Papers, Folder IOC (copies at the
Nat. Def. HQ, Canada.) On this dispute, see also Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.III,
pp.75-94; and Max Hastings, Bomber Command (NY: Dial Press, 1979), pp.385-8.
175. See, e.g., the correspondence between Lord Salisbury and the Secretary of State for Air,
Archibald Sinclair, over the bombing of Berlin, in the papers of Arthur Harris, Folder H79,
RAF Museum, Hendon (copies at Nat. Def. HQ, Canada). In general see also Garrett,
Ethics and Air Power in World War II (note I).
176. Letter, Harris to Under Secretary of State, Air Ministry (Arthur Street), 25 Oct. 1943, in
AIR 14/843.
177. Here it is useful to point out that the Allied ground advance caused night-fighter bases to be
lost, and the early warning system to be overrun. See Frankland (note 162), p.86.
178. This argument was suggested in Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.III, pp.241-3.
179. Max Hastings makes this point, stating: 'Harris saw his own role in the ultimate
Trenchardian sense, as the independent director of a campaign that he was entitled to wage
in his own way for as long as he possessed the confidence of his superiors.' Bomber
Command (note 174), p.388.
180. In recent years this has been an important topic in American literature on strategic bomb-
ing. See Schaffer, Wings of Judgment; Sherry, The Rise of American Air Power; and Crane
Bombs, Cities, and Civilians (all note 2). For an earlier but still useful study, see Gary
Shandroff, 'The Evolution of Area Bombing in American Doctrine and Practice,' PhD
thesis, New York Univ., 1972.
181. Marshalling yards normally were within the centre of cities, and they were a target bombed
frequently in poor weather conditions. On the Berlin raid, see Davis, 'Operation
Thunderclap' (note 142) and (in general) Spaatz (note 1), Ch. 15.
182. In the USAAF a strenuous debate raged in winter 1944-45 about the utility, morality and
public relations effects of strikes that could be construed as aimed principally against
German civilians. On the day before 'Clarion' commenced, Gen. Spaatz was careful to
stress to commanders that press releases must emphasize the military value of the sites on
the Clarion target list. See Schaffer, Wings of Judgment (note 1), pp.86-95. See also,
Sherry, Rise of American Air Power (note 1), pp.144, and 260-3.
183. In reading official American explanations of this episode, one develops the impression that
the Americans, while they realised that the attacks might lower Japanese morale, were
primarily interested in their impact on the Japanese economy. For the most part they
viewed Japanese civilians as (however inconveniently) in the way of American bombing
efforts. See, e.g., 'Analysis of the Incendiary Phase of Operations, 9-19 March 1945',
Headquarters XXI Bomber Command, in Narrative History, Twentieth Air Force, vol. VII,
USAFHRC dec. no.760.01. On p.6 it is stated that: 'These operations were not conceived
as terror raids against the civilian population.'
184. Letter from Spaatz to Arnold, 3 Dec. 1944 (re: Air Force planning). Spaatz Papers, Box 58,
Library of Congress MS Room.
185. Thirty-one key reports of the USSBS are repr. in David Macisaac (ed.), The United States
Strategic Bombing Survey (NY York: Garland, 1976). See the USSBS overall Report
(European War), in Macisaac, voi.I, pp.96-7. On the British side see the BBSU report (a
confidential Air Ministry paper completed in 1946, but not released to the general public),
entitled, 'The Strategic Air War Against Germany, 1939-1945,' p.79; and Webster and
Frankland (note 2), Voi.III, pp.89, and 288, and Voi.IV, p.54. The British official histori-
ans labeled the area bombing offensive an 'uneconomic and even irrelevant policy'.
186. For an evaluation of the effects of attacks on transportation targets, see Alfred C.
Mierzejewski, The Collapse of the German War Economy, 1944-1945 (Chapel Hill, NC:
Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1988).
187. Liddell Hart, Paris or the Future of War (note 52), p.41.
188. See Davis, Spaatz (note 1), p.590.
189. See USSBS, Report No.3, 'The Effects of Strategic Bombing on the Germany War
Economy', 31 Oct. 1945.
'Precision' and 'Area' Bombing:
Who Did Which, and When?
W.HAYSPARKS
In the April 1945 issue of Impact (an official US Army Air Forces [USAAF]
publication), an article entitled 'RAF is a Potent Bombing Partner' offered
this back-handed praise of the Royal Air Force's Bomber Command:
Where American bombers in 1943 and 1944 were the pin-point
specialists and the RAF employed their saturation tactics, the two
forces now operate in a much similar fashion. The successful joint oil
and aircraft production campaign now permits the RAF to operate
around the clock with relative impunity and to practice daylight bomb-
ing as devastating as Eighth Air Force's best.'
The quote reveals an underlying desire among USAAF leaders to compare
themselves favorably to their British allies, and to pronounce their bombing
methods superior. The USSAF was anxious to identify itself as the
practitioner of 'pin-point' bombing methods in the European campaign. In
large measure, it was successful in creating this image during and after the
war. Today, most people with a passing familiarity with World War II bomb-
ing in Europe tend to characterise the British as the 'city busters,' and the
Americans as the 'precision bombers'.' Such an overdrawn distinction
conceals many of the realities of the campaign.
When it existed, the distinction in RAF Bomber Command and USAAF
bomber emphasis was between a general area offensive and selective bomb-
ing. Selective bombing concentrated on a group of related targets, all of
which were associated with the same activity; that is, a target system. The
philosophy of selective attack was that it was believed preferable to 'cause a
high degree of destruction in a few really essential industries than a small
degree of destruction in many industries'. General attack was based upon a
belief that 'there really were no key points in the German war economy
whose destruction could not be remedied by dispersal, the use of stocks or the
provision of substitute materials.' These alternatives differed from area
bombing and precision bombing, either of which might be employed in selec-
tive targeting. 2 The distinction in forces' practice was clear in concept, if not
necessarily in practice.
USAAF use of 'precision' and like terms was misleading or at least lack-
ing in necessary clarity. 'Precision' bombing is an artful expression.
Precision is defined as
the quality or state of being precise; the degree with which an operation
is performed or a measurement stated (e.g., the number 2.42 shows a
higher precision than 2.4, but is not necessarily more accurate); contrast
with accuracy.
Accuracy is defined by the same source as
the quality, state or degree of being accurate, e.g., the accuracy of a
firearm is its ability to deliver a close group of hits on target.
Any distinction that may have existed between precision and accuracy was
blurred in the American description of its strategic bombing operations
against Germany, to the extent that the terms became synonymous. For
example, the current Oxford English Dictionary defines precision as
the fact, condition or quality of being precise; exactness ... accuracy
... Usually implying an intended or actual precision or performance
[or] execution ... e.g., strategic bombing as carried out by the American
8th and 15th Air Forces in Europe was 'precision bombing' ... '
The difference in definitions of accuracy suggests the confusion that has
surrounded this subject, while also identifying a point of competition that
existed between RAF Bomber Command and the heavy bomber units of
the US Eighth and Fifteenth Air Forces. The image sought by the latter air
forces and their superiors clearly was one of being more accurate than RAF
Bomber Command's night-time general area offensive, and by a substantial
margin. Questions remain, however, as to whether the US heavy bomber
forces were as accurate as they portrayed themselves, and whether - when a
fair comparison is made - they were more accurate than RAF Bomber
Command.
The British did prosecute a general area offensive against Germany, and
the Americans did follow - much of the time, at least - a policy of selective
targeting against military and industrial installations thought to be contri-
buting directly to the German war effort. But the image conveyed by the
word precision is inappropriate to describe USAAF heavy bomber practice.
Enemy defences kept the American daylight bombers from achieving the
results they sought, and the consistently poor European weather regularly
forced the Americans to bomb using radar aids- a practice that inevitably led
to unsatisfactory results as the Americans were not as well trained, equipped,
or experienced as the British in radar-bombing techniques. Under certain con-
ditions and in the latter phases of the war - when both were operating mature,
'PRECISION' AND 'AREA' BOMBING 147
full-strength forces- RAF Bomber Command was more successful in placing

its bombs on target than the Americans.
This essay examines the historical record of the heavy bomber forces of
the USAAF and RAF to determine the nature of their respective bombing
practices, and to sort out the real meaning of the terms precision and area
bombing.
USAAF Bombing Accuracy

RAF Bomber Command's movement to a night-time general area offensive,
necessitated by operational requirements, is well documented.• The sub-
sequent entry of US heavy bomber forces into the fray was surrounded by
USAAF characterisation of its capabilities as 'precision', 'pickle barrel', and
'pin-point' bombing - descriptive terms participants and the official USAAF
history acknowledge were exaggerations and that of which legends, not
history, are made. 5
If the USAAF leadership persisted in its public emphasis on 'pickle barrel'
accuracy, it harboured no illusions as to the size of that barrel when it became
necessary to convert USAAF airpower theory into practice in order to build
the heavy bomber force necessary to wage a strategic bombing offensive
against Germany. In August 1941 the newly-formed US Air War Plans
Division, borrowing heavily from British data and experience, using bombing
range probable errors for US bombardment units for June through December
1940 multiplied by a factor of 2.25 squared, or five times peacetime bombing
(to estimate the influence of enemy defences and other combat effects on
bombing accuracy), offered calculations as to the probability of success in
attack of a target 100 by 100 feet (10,000 sq. ft.) in size. Its calculations were
that, bombing from 20,000 feet with 500lb or 1,OOOlb bombs, a single hit
under visual conditions would require a force of 220 bombers. The proba-
bility of at least one hit by a Combat Wing (54 aircraft) dropping 108 bombs
was 75 per cent.•
The American air leadership nonetheless persisted in emphasising the
superior accuracy of its bombing potential over that of RAF Bomber
Command's night offensive. In selling the complementary nature of a 'round-
the-clock' approach to bombing Germany at the Casablanca Conference,
Eighth Air Force commander Major General Ira C. Eaker declared
... [D]ay bombing is more accurate; small targets like individual tar-
gets can be found, seen, and hit ... The truth of the matter is that night
bombing is area bombing, good for destruction of cities. Day bombing
is point bombing, effective in destroying factories and other key targets
... It is easier to locate the target by day, easier to hit it because the
image can be clearly seen in the bombsight and the accuracy is at least
five times the best that can be done at night.'
AWPD-1, the 1941 USAAF air war plan, reflected Air Force doctrine and
public statements by emphasising daylight visual attack against selected
targets in order to destroy the industrial and economic infrastructure of
Germany. But the USAAF blueprint suffered the experience of a 'reality
check' in its execution. Bombing accuracy had to be balanced against force
survival, and offensive objectives against defensive requirements.
American bombers flew to their targets in formation, attacking in combat
boxes (generally 18 to 21 aircraft). Early bombing procedure was for the
combat wing to split into combat boxes at the Initial Point, complete the
bomb run in a combat box, then reassemble the combat wing at the Rally
Point. The lead aircraft in each combat box controlled the direction and
path the formation took to its target; the bombardier in each plane, sighting
visually, was responsible for delivering his bombs on to the target.
Formations were not maintained on the bomb run, as each aircraft
manoeuvred for accurate sighting.
For defensive and other operational reasons individual sighting was
abandoned; the combat box maintained its tight formation, with each aircraft
dropping its bombs on signal from its lead aircraft. This practice of 'bombing
on leader' was tested on 3 January 1943, and generally adopted by all groups
over the next three months. While it increased the percentage of bombs that
fell within 1,000 feet of each aiming point, accuracy was one-third
that possible with individual bomb runs, resulting in bomb pattern dimen-
sions of 1,500 feet in length and breadth for each combat box under optimum
visual bombing conditions. 'Pickle barrel' accuracy yielded to pattern bomb-
ing.'
Early missions made it apparent that bombing regarded as 'accurate' might
not produce a corresponding measure of damage to the target; bombs landing
between vital portions of a target might be gauged as 'accurate' because they
fell within I ,000 feet of the aiming point, but in fact cause no damage
because they struck open areas. Accuracy was relative, depending on the
position of the observer. On Eighth Air Force's second mission against the
Rouen-Sotteville marshalling yard (5 September 1942), 80 percent of the
force's bombs fell outside the marshalling yard and into the city, killing as
many as 140 civilians and wounding another 200. Eighth Air Force claims of
'precision' bombing were not particularly appreciated by the French, who
were justifiably sceptical about the ability to bomb accurately from 25,000
feet. It was a problem that would plague US heavy bombers striking targets
in proximity to friendly civilians or Allied ground forces throughout the war;
high-altitude formation bombing was not a precision tool. In contrast, the
official USAF history notes that RAF Bomber Command during this same
period was referred to by the French as 'une arme de precision remarquable'.
This contradiction with the public image projected by the USAAF leadership
may be explained by the fact that, except for French ports containing U-boat
bases, the British general area bombing campaign was limited to targets in
Germany. 9
USAAF accuracy claims were qualified by deletion of targets of oppor-
tunity and two categories of errors. Targets of opportunity were bombed if
the assigned target could not be attacked. A target of opportunity was
selected by the mission leader, and included marshalling yards in urban areas
and city centres. Mission failures were missions in which no box in an attack-
ing force was able to place more than five per cent of its bombs within 1,000
feet of its aiming point; a circular error by a combat box in excess of 3,000
feet on a mission was termed a gross error. Mission failures and gross errors
were omitted from any analysis of accuracy. These failures were the product
of both mechanical and human error, and increased with combat. They also
could be intentional; because bombs dropped on a target of opportunity were
not measured against a unit's accuracy, cases were reported in which bomb
leaders elected to bomb a target of opportunity if doubt existed as to identifi-
cation of the aiming point of the primary target, in part to protect the unit's
rating in accuracy comparisons. 10
RAF Bomber Command also discounted gross errors, but with a broader
definition (bomb falls which did not conform to the general pattern of bomb
falls laid down in the mission). A distinction existed in the degree of gross
error, however, due undoubtedly to the American practice of navigating to a
target by group as compared to individual navigation by RAF Bomber
Command crews; when a US formation leader suffered a navigation error or
prematurely released his bombs, the entire group tended to follow his lead.
These omissions from bombing accuracy ranged from 20 to 50 per cent for
Eighth Air Force, while 14 per cent of RAF Bomber Command's bombs
dropped resulted in gross errors.''
As Eighth Air Force increased its aircraft numbers, other problems
affecting bombing accuracy were discovered; more aircraft on a mission was
not necessarily better, for example. The bombing of the first two groups
consistently was more accurate than that of following groups because
smoke from the first attacks obscured the target for following formations.
Adjustments in separation of combat wings improved bombing accuracy: 12
TABLE I
PER CENT OF TOTAL WEIGHT OF BOMBS DROPPED WHICH FELL WITHIN
1,000 FEET OF AIMING POINT
Position in I Jan-26 Ju/I943 27 Jul-I Sept I943 %

Attacking Force Improvement
1st 26.4 27,5 5

2nd 15.7 20.5 32
3rd 9.7 15.3 58
4th 7.5 16.0 105
5th & over 5.0 13.8 178
Entire force 13,6 18.7 38
Operations revealed other factors that affected accuracy. Flak forced

bombers to bomb from higher altitudes, diminishing accuracy while affecting
the size, shape, and density of bomb patterns. The delay in long-range fight-
ers to accompany bomber forces to the target not only caused Eighth Air
Force to suffer substantial losses during 1943, but demonstrably affected
bombing accuracy by a strained, debilitated force that had to fight its way to
its target. Other German defensive measures, such as decoys, camouflage,
and smoke were successful in denying American bomber forces the accuracy
desired. The difference could be significant: 13
TABLE 2
US BOMBING ACCURACY AS AFFECTED BY SMOKE SCREENED AND UNSCREENED
TARGETS AT ALTITUDES OF 25,000 FT
Visibility Condition Estimated Per Cent of Bombs Within

500ft of AP I ,000 ft of AP
Smoke-screened targets 1.8 5.4

Unscreened targets 7.8 22.7
Each of these factors affected US bombing accuracy. But the most impor-
tant factor affecting mission accomplishment was weather, and the effect of
weather on USAF bomber accuracy was greater than on RAF Bomber
Command.
RAF Bomber Command found that European weather significantly
affected its early operations, and advised the authors of AWPD-1 of its
experience; European weather was recognised in AWPD-1 as influencing
planning and execution, just as the American World War I strategic bombing
plan ('the Gorrell Plan') had acknowledged its importance. Early US heavy
bomber operations were seriously hampered by the weather, to the extent
that General Dwight D. Eisenhower (Commander, European Theater of
Operations, US Army) advised Major General Carl A. Spaatz (Commander,
Eighth Air Force) on 7 October 1942 that the necessity for good weather
was that command's 'only one real weakness', a point acknowledged by
General Eaker at Casablanca and in correspondence with USAAF Chief
General H. H. Arnold. 14
Weather was the major adverse operational factor during 1943 operations,
and remained a controlling factor once US heavy bomber capabilities reached
full maturity in spring 1944. The number of days on which operations could
be executed, the area(s) that could be attacked, force size, attack timing and
bombing method were determined primarily by weather. Weather restrictions
on visual bombing limited accuracy and, concomitantly, the amount of
destruction likely to be achieved.
Weather particularly affected USAAF bomber forces. Operating indi-
vidually at night, RAF Bomber Command crews became instrument and
navigation-aids proficient, and were able to operate under a greater variety of
weather conditions than their counterparts, who fundamentally remained a
daylight visual bombing force. Eighth Air Force bombers had an overall
weather abort rate of 10.4 per cent, and Fifteenth Air Force 12.9 per cent, in
contrast to RAF Bomber Command's 1.3 per cent.
Weather affected accuracy in that only about one-half of Eighth Air Force
bomber sorties were able to bomb their targets visually; as will be shown, its
non-visual accuracy figures were not good. Visual bombing ranged from 94
per cent of missions in August 1944 to 10 per cent in November 1944, to
illustrate the seasonal variation that occurred. Weather also varied between
day and night by season. In winter months RAF Bomber Command (bombing
at night) had an approximately three times greater chance than Eighth Air
Force (operating by day) of bombing a target visually, while Eighth Air Force
had a 1.5 times better chance of bombing visually than Bomber Command in
the summer months."
Any cloud cover decreased bombing accuracy, and cloud cover of 5/10 or
more became a primary cause of error. It was virtually impossible for the
Eighth Air Force to bomb visually if cloud cover exceeded 5/1 0; an accurate
attack was possible only when skies were clear and bombs could be aimed
visually. Alternative bombing techniques, such as offset aiming, met with
mixed results; crews tended not to want to bomb offset, hoping instead for a
lucky visual acquisition of the target. 16
Non-Visual Bombing Aids

The RAF tested a radar navigation device in 1936-37, and identified a need
for aids to non-visual navigation and bombing as early as 1938. But air
defence requirements lowered priority for offensive electronic programmes.
A Bomber Command appreciation prepared in 1941 concluded that an attack
by night on small military targets using visual methods not only was ineffec-
tive, but probably would become impossible in the near future. The solution
was to make use of radar aids to night navigation. The impetus came with the
1941 Butt Report, which was highly critical of Bomber Command accuracy.
Its examination of RAF night bombing missions in June and July 1941 found
that of total sorties only one in five arrived within five miles of the assigned
target. It prompted high-level interest, including that of Prime Minister
Winston Churchill, who gave British development and production of naviga-
tion aids for bombing a very high priority.
A variety of aids were introduced to facilitate navigation, each with the
hope that it also would improve bombing accuracy at night or in non-visual
conditions. Although each improved bombing accuracy to the extent of a
significant increase in the percentage of bombs plotted within three miles of
their aiming point, none proved adequate for precision bombing; essentially
they were navigation and area target-finding devices. All entered service
within a short time: Gee, on 8 March 1942; Oboe Mark I in December 1942;
Gee-H, 3 November 1943; Oboe Mark II, October 1943; Oboe Mark III,
April 1944; H2X (lOcm), 30 January 1943; H2X (the 3cm US version), 2
November 1943; and the x-band H2S Mark III (British 3cm version), 18
November 1943. Their introduction was an integral part of the build-up of
Allied bomber forces. Each had its limitations, some by range and suscepti-
bility to enemy countermeasures (Gee, Oboe), others by complexity of crew
training and operation (H2S/H2X).' 7
The device in which the greatest expectation was placed was H2S ground-
mapping radar, an unlimited range device that used the echo of radar waves
to show the target area on a scope inside the bomber. Its development and
employment by Britains and the United States followed fundamentally
different paths, leading to very different results in bombing accuracy by the
two heavy bomber forces.
The RAF introduced H2S in 1942 as an aid to navigation and as a low-
precision radar bombsight. Its first operational use by Bomber Command was
on the night of 30-31 January 1943, against Hamburg. H 2S-equipped
Pathfinder aircraft dropped target-indicator bombs and improved sky-marker
flares on the target area; follow-on aircraft bombed visually and individually
on the flares. Bomber Command efforts also benefited from measures taken
by No.5 Group to develop off-set marking, whereby a datum point up-wind
from the target was marked and used by the main force as its aiming point,
with a 'false wind' setting on the bomb sights being made so that the bombs
could be brought on to the true aiming point. Accuracy was enhanced by
overall control of 'an attack by a Master Bomber, who directed progress by
radio.
The US authorities became interested in bombing-through-overcast
possibilities in 1940. Long-range contracts were awarded to RCA, Sperry and

Bell in 1941. The need for such equipment for the European Theater of
Operations remained unanticipated until 1942, and lacked emphasis until late
in that year, when radar-equipped (Pathfinder) aircraft leading heavy bomber
formations were considered. On 23 October 1942 General Eaker ordered a
'study of navigational aids used in homing as well as location of targets by
radio means.' The first step taken by US experts was to familiarise them-
selves with British radar programmes of possible benefit to heavy bomber
operations. Trial installation of H2S was requested, followed by a request for
eight H2S units in March 1943. When British commitments to furnish H2S in
adequate numbers for Eighth Air Force could not be met, a crash programme
began in June 1943 at the Radiation Laboratory at the Massachusetts Institute
of Technology yielded the improved 3cm American H2X.
Two B-17s equipped with British H2S flew their first mission on 27
September 1943, leading 244 B-17s against a cloud-covered Emden. This
began a change in bombing practice: aircraft bombed by wing (three or more
combat boxes) on signal of the H2S/X-equipped Pathfinder aircraft, breaking
into combat boxes only if it was possible to bomb visually. Wing formation
bombing increased the bomb pattern over the target area, and reduced
accuracy; average circular error on the Emden mission was more than five
miles."
The USA leadership underwent a philosophical change of heart in October
1943. Impressed with the results of the combined attacks on Hamburg in late
July 1943 and the disastrous losses suffered by Eighth Air Force in its 17
August attack on Schweinfurt-Regensburg, area attacks on city centres
gained appeal at all levels of command. Further heavy losses in the 14
October return to Schweinfurt-Regensburg and the anticipation of winter
nudged decision-makers closer to RAF Bomber Command's area bombing
philosophy. On 1 November 1943 Army Air Force chief General H. H.
Arnold ordered heavy bomber forces to execute area attacks against selective
targets when visual bombing was not possible. Mindful of public image,
Arnold directed that H2X bombing not be characterised as 'blind bombing'.
Spaatz substituted the terms 'overcast bombing technique', 'bombing through
overcast', or 'bombing with navigational devices over clouds extending up to
20,000 feet'.
Thereafter resort to a selective form of area attack increased markedly.
Targets designated for attack by mission planners largely were dependent
upon weather at the target. Area bombing targets - railroad marshalling yards
and industrial areas- ranked first and fourth, respectively, in overall tonnage
delivered by Eighth Air Force in its strategic offensive. From November
1943 to April 1945, marshalling yards ranked first in weight of bombs among
12 target categories in 8 of the 8 months. Industrial areas were first in five
months, even though the overall weight of bombs was less than oil, chemical
and rubber targets. Of the 194,928 tons directed against marshalling yards,
124,865 tons (64 per cent) were delivered by blind bombing; of the 69,865
tons directed against industrial areas, 37,814 tons (54 per cent) were
delivered by blind bombing. 19 The US Strategic Bombing Survey was candid
about the spin Eighth Air Force was putting on its operations: 20
In many cases bombs dropped by instruments in 'precision' raids fell
over a wide area comparable to ... [an] area raid. If the specific target
was, for example, a marshalling yard located in a German city, as often
happened, such a raid had a practical effect of an area raid against that
city, but on the basis of the declared intention of the attackers it would
go into the air force records as a precision attack on the transportation
system.
As Spaatz's biographer Richard Davis correctly concluded, '"Marshalling
yards" was a USAAF euphemism for city areas. ' 21
As the war continued, blind bombing of marshalling yards increased sub-
stantially (Figure 1), in part because USAF statistical summaries following
the February 1945 attack on Dresden ceased to refer to 'industrial areas',
lumping those attacks under 'marshalling yards'. 22 From September 1944 to
VE Day marshalling yards were the most heavily bombed target in every
month but one. 'Marshalling yards' accounted for 28.4 per cent (194, 928
tons) of the total USAAF heavy bomber tonnage (679, 392 tons), more than
twice that of any other target category; blind bombing predominated by a
wide margin. In contrast, 83 per cent (21, 865 tons) of the 26,479 tons
directed by Eighth Air Force against aircraft factories were released visually,
indicating the desire to direct the most effective bombing against targets
requiring greater precision.
Ninety-two per cent of the total bomb tonnage that fell within 1,000 feet of
the aiming point was the result of visual bombing. The effectiveness of the
two bombing methods can be discerned from US Strategic Bombing Survey
estimates that of the tonnage delivered visually against marshalling yards,
25.19 per cent fell within I ,000 feet of the aiming point; of the tonnage
delivered by blind methods, two per cent hit within 1,000 feet of the aiming
point. The USAAF leadership knew blind attack was an inaccurate method of
bombing. But it was a way in which pressure could be maintained on
Germany, and they believed it was better than no bombing at all. Visual
bombing remained the preferred method of attack, but blind bombing, how-
ever inaccurate, took on an increased emphasis. 2'
Initial employment of H2X in the USAAF was directed against (in the
words of the official history) 'German industrial cities'. Bomb patterns were
highly scattered, resulting in no more than accidental damage to any given
FIGURE I "0
;;o
tT'l
n
......
TONS OF BOMBS RELEASED ON MARSHALLING YARDS BY MONTH en
......
by Method of Sighting, Eighth Air Force, June 43- April45 0
35,000
z
>
z
tl
3o,ooo I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I >
;;o
tT'l
>
25,ooo I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I tJ:J
0
~
tJ:J
2o,ooo I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I l. z
a
15,000
1 o,ooo I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
5,ooo I I I I I I I I t I 1,
O r•:;-;·*~-~ N D J F M A M J J A S 0
-
1943 1944
Source: USSBS, Vol. 61, Air Force Rate of Operation [5] Blind lEE Visual
Ul
Ul
target; the official history diplomatically notes that in attacks in November

and December 1943, '"aiming point" became a highly theoretical term'.
Blind bombing data from 15 October to 15 December 1943 indicates that
only 6 of 151 combat boxes dropped their bombs within one mile of the aim-
ing point; 17 within 2 miles; and 30 or not quite 20 per cent, within five miles
-a record no better than that recorded for night-bombing RAF crews in the
Butt Report two years earlier. Blind bombing permitted US heavy bombers in
December 1943 to drop more bombs than in any preceding month despite
bad weather, but a report (31 January 1944) concluded that blind-bombing
missions had averaged only five per cent of the bombs falling within five
miles of the aiming point - accuracy worse than that recorded for Bomber
Command in the Butt Report. 24
Despite its inaccuracy, the USAAF relied heavily on H2X. Of the
American attacks against Germany, radar was responsible for 61 per cent of
all bomb tonnage; of the 61 per cent, 81 per cent was delivered using H2X.
Yet neither the 10 em H 2S nor the 3 em H2X/H 2S Mark III presented as clear
a picture as attributed to it by some. Over large urban areas the entire screen
was filled with an 'intense blaze of response' that precluded identification of
specific targets or aiming points, except for certain targets with pronounced
radar features, such as the shoreline of a large body of water. The problem
was exacerbated as altitude increased. 25 The suggestion that Eighth and
Fifteenth Air Force Pathfinder aircraft could detect and accurately attack a
marshalling yard in a major urban area (such as Berlin) using H2X through
10/lOths cloud from 25,000 feet or higher assumes target acquisition and
bombing accuracy capabilities beyond those that existed. 26 For example, the
29 April 1944 Eighth Air Force attack on Berlin by 570 B-17s and B-24s pur-
portedly aimed at railway facilities in the Friedrichstrasse section in the city
centre. Only one of the eleven combat wings placed its bombs closer than
five miles from the assigned aiming point. 27
Although operational unit emphasis on use was high, the US H2X program
never experienced the high-level or scientific enthusiasm and support H2S
enjoyed in the United Kingdom. Early British H2S results could not be dupli-
cated in American tests, leading to strong US opposition to H2S development.
As the British were completing its development in June 1942, they were
diverted from their work by an American allegation that H2S research was
the result of 'personal irresponsibility for a mad enterprise which was
unscientific.' The US recommendation was that all H2S work cease. 2"
Even after H 2S had proved itself, there remained considerable scepticism
about H2S at the highest US levels. In Washington, HQ USAAF halved
Eighth and Fifteenth Air Force requests for H2X; even with these reductions,
manufacturing schedules remained behind demand. 29 RAF Bomber Command
had equipped more than 90 per cent of its aircraft with H2S by the time of the
Battle of Berlin at the end of 1943, permitting continuation of the practice of

each crew flying its own mission. In contrast, equipping Eighth Air Force
bombardment groups with H2X did not see progress until late in 1944: 30
TABLE 3
US EIGHTH AIR FORCE BOMBARDMENT GROUPS
WITH H2X PATHFINDER AIRCRAFT. 1944
Jan Feb Mar Apr May Jun Jul Aug Sep Oct Nov Dec
I I 4 4 6 8 II 24 28 35 38 39
Operational research of bombing accuracy suffered because H2X matters

were dealt with exclusively by advisers to Eighth Air Force from the US
Radiation Laboratory. The Eighth Air Force Operational Research Section
was unable to 'rate the Groups' monthly on their H2X bombing accuracy (as
it had done so successfully in enhancing visual accuracy) because a policy
decision had been made that Groups were not to be charged for bombs
dropped blind.
The US program also was hampered by personnel problems. Just as the
blind-bombing program was getting underway in the autumn of 1943, moves
were afoot to close down the operational training unit at Langley Field,
Virginia, needed for H2X operators, much to the consternation of General
Eaker. One year later, personnel requirements for H2X operators could not be
fulfilled; 124 H2X operators were required in November 1944, for example,
yet none had arrived by 22 November, and only 44 were scheduled to arrive
in each of November and December. H2X navigators trained in the US
required further training upon reaching Alcon bury.
H2S/X training differed significantly between Bomber Command and
Eighth Air Force. Each RAF designee received a rigorous six-month training
course in which he was taught by experts in navigation and radar bombing.
Before participating in Pathfinder missions, he had to obtain specified
accuracies on a test of practice missions. In the Eighth Air Force, H2X
operator training consisted of a four-week course conducted by homeward
bound personnel, their overseas tours extended for one to three months so
that they could train their successors. These extensions seriously affected the
morale of most, and few were of value for more than a few weeks. Quality
suffered further in that training was not as comprehensive as that for
bombardiers, even though the H2X equipment was more complicated than the
Norden bombsight and required a greater degree of skill if it was to be
exploited to its maximum potential."
Within the USAAF structure, there was enthusiasm for H2X at the Eighth
and Fifteenth Air Force command level, and a like enthusiasm at the operator
level. But enthusiasm and interest suffered at levels above the Eighth and
Fifteenth Air Forces, and in the echelon between their commanders and
operators. Efforts to enhance H2X performance, such as development of a
synchronous bombing method for co-ordinating information acquired through
the H2X with the Norden bombsight (for use where some visual acquisition
was possible), and a radar-mapping programme to produce target overlays,
failed to improve US blind-bombing accuracy. Throughout the European
War, US blind-bombing accuracy remained at approximately five per cent of
the forces placing their bombs within 1,000 feet of the aiming point. Mission
failures and gross errors increased, but remained uncounted in accuracy
figures; thus the five per cent figure does not accurately represent actual
performance. 32
RAF Bomber Command Selective Attack Accuracy

Through 1943 RAF Bomber Command remained committed to the general
area offensive. But neither selective attack nor precision bombing had been
abandoned. A chain of events was to enable Bomber Command to open a
parallel selective attack effort that would enhance its accuracy.
A Pathfinder Force had been established within Bomber Command in
August 1942 as a target-finding force; it proved invaluable after initially
failing to live up to expectations. During 1943 it improved its ability to mark
targets for the main force. The sudden increase in accuracy in early 1943
(Figure 2)33 can be attributed to operational use of Oboe and H2S, and use of
target indicator markers as a ground-marking technique. In the spring 1943
Oboe campaign against Ruhr targets, 73 per cent of the attacking bombers
placed their bombs within three miles of the aiming point; in the autumn
1943 H2S campaign against more distant cities, 55 per cent of the attacking
force bombed within three miles of their aiming points.
On 24 March 1943, No.617 Squadron was formed to carry out a night low-
level precision attack against three Ruhr Valley dams. The mission was
executed on 16 May 1943, with moderate success. Air Chief Marshal Sir
Arthur Harris, Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief Bomber Command, dis-
liked corps d' elite, but agreed to maintain No.617 Squadron for similar tasks.
Other requirements came for 617 Squadron and No.8 Group's Pathfinder
Force in rapid succession - attacks on aircraft factories, marshalling yards,
choke points on the German river and canal system, the battleship Tirpitz,
Peenemiinde V-weapons establishment, and the December 1943-January
1944 'Crossbow' attacks on V1 sites, for example -leading to further refine-
ments in capability and accuracy. From 1943 to the end of 1944, relative
density (per 1,000 tons dropped) at the aiming point increased more than five-
fold.34
In February 1944 Chief of the Air Staff Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir
FIGURE 2
"'
:>;l
tTl
n
....
....en
0
R.A.F. BOMBER COMMAND ACCURACY z
100%r-----------~~==============c=====~------~ >
* Excluded precision attacks against French z
marshalling yards & coastal defense. 0
>
:>;l
80o/o~--------------------~-------------------+------~--~~------~
ti1
0.
~
>
0 t:D
0
31"' 60% H-f-- I ~
·e t:D
"'c:
:s
z0
-~ 40% I I I I
en
.S Phase in which
g Bomber Command
u under direction of
Oi Supreme Allied Command
o. 20% (OVERLORD)
Oo/o I I J I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I 1 I I I 1 I !
C.t:l ._ ... >-c >-mo.-> u c.a ...... ::::..c >-~a.-> u c:.o._ ._ >-c:
>-01a.- > u
cg cu r.s a. m :J "5 :J lSI u o cu " Gl ca a. Q :J 3 :J Ql u o CJ ca Qt cu a. Q ::J
::J cu u o m :;
~~~<~~,<~Ozo~~~<~~~<~Ozo,~~<~~~~~ozo
1-- 1942 ... ,.. 1943---,_1.. 1944 ... I

Source: USSBS, Vol. 64, Description of R.A.F. Bombing
BBSU, The Strategic Air War Against Germany
-
Ul
\0
Charles Portal proposed that Bomber Command execute precision raids on

moonlit nights against marshalling yards in France. Raids against 11
marshalling yards and similar strategic and tactical targets between 6 March
and 10 April 1944, were executed despite the doubts of Air Chief Marshal
Harris, but with an accuracy that he acknowledged surprised him. They
would be followed by similar night-time precision attacks against French rail-
way and other small targets in support of Operation 'Overlord', and its use in
direct support of allied ground operations after D-Day. The former placed
emphasis on an absolute minimum of collateral civilian injury; it required
specialised techniques, leading to performances that were frequently more
accurate than daylight visual attacks by Eighth Air Force. Improved target
marking (more than bomb aiming) resulted in a 165 per cent increase in
accuracy in marshalling yard attacks of May 1944 over those executed in
March, which in and of themselves had set new standards for night-time
accuracy. 35
The attacks in support of Allied ground forces showed the same distinction
between US and British bombing forces that generally occurred in precision
attacks against selective targets: while Eighth Air Force employed combat
boxes from high altitude that bombed on the leader's signal, RAF Bomber
Command aircraft executed medium and low altitude individual attacks aim-
ing at target indicators delivered on to the target by pathfinder aircraft. Night-
time attacks proved more accurate than USAAF daylight visual bombing, and
with a greater density of bombs at the aiming point. This encouraged the Air
Staff to press Bomber Command towards greater emphasis on selective
bombing, an effort that proved not entirely successful. Whilst resisting
Air Staff pressure and persisting in his general area offensive, Air Chief
Marshal Harris nonetheless in May 1944 initiated a general drive on bombing
accuracy. In June, Bomber Command began further experimentation with
precision bombing by individual 'ordinary' (non-Pathfinder) squadrons, with
impressive results; these included day bombing attacks against tactical and
'Crossbow' targets during the summer of 1944. By the time Bomber
Command and Eighth Air Force could return to a strategic offensive against
Germany in the autumn of 1944, Bomber Command's abilities to execute
night-time and daylight precision attacks had been estab1ished. 36
Autumn 1944: The Real Combined Bomber Offensive

Originally the Combined Bomber Offensive was to precede the Allied
invasion of Europe. By necessity that sequence was reversed. Although
bombing had occurred in the name of the Combined Bomber Offensive, the
real strategic offensive against Germany did not commence until General
Eisenhower released the heavy bomber forces from Supreme Allied
Command control on 14 September 1944. The period from then until the end
of 1944 offers the best comparison of bombing accuracy between the two air
forces. These were mature forces; bomber forces were able to operate with
long-range fighter escort and/or air superiority, minimising the distracting
effect on bombing accuracy of enemy fighters; and while Harris continued
to place undue emphasis on general area attacks, both forces engaged in
selective attack of some of the same targets.
US heavy bomber operations against Germany between September and
December 1944 emphasised attacks on oil and transportation targets,
including marshalling yards. Bomber Command continued to focus on
German cities, with 53 per cent of its effort devoted to area attacks upon large
industrial cities - in large measure due to Harris' continued faith in the
general area offensive, partly in acknowledgement of how adverse weather
hindered precision attack accuracy. The balance was devoted to various
strategic and tactical targets: 14 per cent was directed at oil targets, 15 per
cent at railways and canals, 13 per cent at support for allied ground forces,
and 5 per cent at naval targets and miscellaneous objectives. RAF missions
against oil and transportation targets were executed both at night and during
the day as precision rather than area attacks. The night or adverse weather
precision attack capabilities that Bomber Command had developed over the
preceding 18 months paid dividends on more than one occasion; at times
No.3 Group (employing Gee-H) was the only Allied air element capable of
supporting Allied ground forces through the bad weather during the Ardennes
counter-offensive. 37
Bomber Command improved its performance quantitatively and qualita-
tively. Between April 1943 and April 1945 the sortie rate experienced a three
and a half-fold increase, while accuracy increased threefold. In April 1943,
30 per cent of the bombs fell within three miles of the aiming point, com-
pared to 90 per cent two years later. Together, there was a tenfold increase in
performance. Accuracy was not as great as it had been in its attacks on lightly
defended targets in France and the Low Countries, being affected by flak
density and a commensurate altitude increase, but greatly improved over
1943 performances.'"
The method of attack for the Eighth Air Force during the period from 31
September to 1 December 1944, varied, but remained heavily dependent
upon non-visual bombing aids, and H2S in particular:'"
TABLE 4
US EIGHTH AIR FORCE I SEPT-31 DEC 1944
Bombing Method Per Cent of Total Per Cent

or Condition Total Effort Non-Visual
H2X- 10/10 cloud 35}

H 2X- 8-9/10 cloud 15}
H 2X-6-7/10cloud 5} 76
H 2X- 4-5/10 cloud 3}
Micro-H 3}
Gee-H 15}
Visual- poor visibility 10
Visual -fair to good visibility 14
US bombing accuracy using H2X through 10/10 could fall off significantly:
only 0.2 per cent of bombs fell within 1,000 feet of the assigned aiming point.
The percentage improved to only 4.4 per cent where cloud cover was 4/10 to
5/10. Distribution effort and results are illustrated in Figure 3!" While many
of the US attacks were entered into the records as directed at selective targets,
such as oil plants, rail centres, marshalling yards, or factories within urban
areas, appreciating the degree of accuracy possible - particularly using H2X
in 10/10 cloud from the higher altitudes at which the USAAF preferred to
operate - these missions were, for all intents and purposes, general area
attacks!'
Eighth Air Force tonnage delivered blind against industrial areas, heavy
industry, marshalling yards, and oil, chemical and rubber between September
and December 1944 constituted 52.9 per cent of its tonnage for that period, a
figure comparable to the 53 per cent dedicated by Bomber Command to its
general area offensive.'2 Most, though not necessarily all, of these targets
were in urban, populated areas. Given American blind bombing accuracy, it
is difficult to distinguish between Bomber Command's general area offensive
and USAAF's blind (area) bombing of selective targets."
The Oil Offensive

On 8 June 1944 General Spaatz directed that the 'Primary strategic aim of US
Strategic Air Forces is now to deny oil to enemy air forces.' The first four
heavy attacks had taken place in May. The offensive against oil targets
received increased emphasis in the autumn of 1944; November was the prime
month of the entire war for the offensive against Gennan oil production.
Heavy flak defences, fighter opposition, effective smoke screening, and bad
weather took a toll on USAAF accuracy; weather had a particularly harsh
"0
FIGURE 3 ;;>;:l
tr1
DISTRIBUTION OF EFFORT AND RESULTS

--n
( /)
0
z
arH BOMBER COMMAND >
(1 SEP 31-DEC 1944) z
t:1
TONS ON PRIMARY TARGET >
;:o
tr1
>
•
tl:l
0
EFFORT 140,807 ~
tl:l
z
0
r- --- -- - ---
0 ISTRIBUTION..
MICRO H.' GEE H
1 25 •332
H-,2X
181,654 i
VISLAL
33,821
RESULTS .. I 1,482
Source: AAF Bombing Accuracy Report No.2 (1945)
I
TONS WITHIN 1,000 FT. OF AIMING POINT
I
I 674 I 7,544
......
0\
w
effect. As indicated by Figure 4 and the following, American accuracy for

attacks on synthetic oil targets during the oil offensive was not high: 44
TABLE 5
US BOMBING OF GERMAN SYNTHETIC OIL TARGETS MAY 1944 - APRIL 1945
Tons Estimated to Have Estimated

Total Tons Dropped Hit Within Plant Fences PerCent of Hits
1944
May 2,509 673 26.8
June 5,095 966 19.0
July 10,459 1,698 16.2
August 8,858 2,080 23.5
September 11,668 1,698 14.6
October 8,737 1,360 15.6
November 23,922 2,883 12.1
December 12,312 1,516 12.3
1945
January 9,754 1,479 15.2
February 14,114 2,282 16.2
March 12,909 1,880 14.6
April 3,249 514 15.8
TOTAL 123,586 19,029 15.4
As enemy defences declined, USAAF (visual bombing accuracy improved

(Figure 5).45 For the period 1 January 1944 to April 1945, Eighth Air Force
heavy bombers bombing visually placed 31.8 per cent of their bombs within
1,000 feet of their aiming point, while Fifteenth Air Force averaged 30.78 per
cent. 46 American blind-bombing accuracy showed no improvement during
1944 and 1945, and the bombing of oil targets by visual and nonvisual means
was particularly poor. An Eighth Air Force analysis of seven H2X operations
against the I.G. Farbenindustrie synthetic oil facility at Ludwigshafen-
Mannheim during September 1944 is illustrative. Bombing on four of the
days was through 10/10 cloud, while at least part of the bombing on the other
three days was conducted under conditions of 6/10 to 9/10 cloud.
The report determined that a disturbingly high proportional of the attacks
failed to reach the general area of the target; of 186 formations dispatched to
the target, the bombfalls of only 80 - less than half - could be identified. On
days of 10/10 cloud, approximately 20 per cent of the bombers found the
target; on days of partial visibility, approximately 70 per cent of the bomb
falls could be identified in the target area. Distribution of bombfalls per
mission was: 47
TABLE 6
DISTRIBUTION OF US BOMBS ON LUDWIGSHAFEN-MANHEIM OIL PLANT, 3-27
SEPT. 1944
Date of Estimated Per Cent of Total Attacks Which Fell Within

Attack Immediate Built Up One Mile Two Miles Three Miles
Target Area Area ofAP ofAP ofAP
3 Sept. 2 12 .4 27 37
5 Sept. 9 23 13.0 59 71
8 Sept. 13 37 35.0 47 51
9 Sept. 0 0 0 0 0
21 Sept.}
25 Sept.} .5 4 0 10 20
27 Sept.}
ALL 4.5 15 11.0 28 35
British support for the Oil Plan, negligible in October 1944, increased to
5,914 day and night sorties against 15 oil plants during November. Nazi
Minister of Armaments and Production Albert Speer reported on 19 January
1945, that 'the [RAF] attacks ... are considerably more effective than daylight
[US] attacks, since heavier bombs are used and an extraordinary accuracy in
attacking the target is reported. ' 48
The US Strategic Bombing Survey analysis of British and American
bombing of three oil plants (Leuna, Ludwigshafen-Oppau, and Zeitz)
revealed the following comparison of the accuracy of the two forces:••
TABLE 7
ALLIED ATTACKS ON THREE SYNTHETIC OIL PLANTS
Total Tons of Tons of Bombs

Type of Aiming Bombs Dropped Hitting Plant Per Cent of Hits
Eighth AF, Visual 3,993 1,069 26.8

Eighth AF, Part Visual 4,553 556 12.4
Part Instrument
Eighth AF, Full Instrument 11,870 641 5.4
RAF Night Pathfinder technique 9,540 1,505 15.6
TOTAL 29,956 3,781 12.6
The figures constitute a point of direct comparison and a representative

summary of the performance of the two bomber forces: when USAAF heavy
bombers could bomb visually, as they preferred, accuracy generally was the
best. Americans performance suffered significantly when faced with adverse
weather, to which it failed to adjust during the war. RAF Bomber Command
may have pursued its general area offensive longer than it should have, but
its emphasis on H2X acquisition, individual crew training and mission
FIGURE 4 ......
0\
US BOMBING OF GERMAN SYNTHETIC OIL TARGETS MAY 1944-APRIL 1945 0\
WHERE
OUR BOMBS 100%
DROPPED:
>
.,;;;
0
~
m
:;.1
...,
:z:
m
0
:;.1
....::
>
z
.,t:1
:;.1
>
n
j
n
m
FIGURE 5 "0
~
tTl
EIGHTH AIR FORCE BOMBING ACCURACY

--
n
CJ)
0
z
70% >-
z
0
60% >-
/ '\
~
tTl
>-
50%
-~ ----
I
Percentage
of bombs
dropped
I ttl
0
2:::
-z
ttl
40%'
'\ ~
y within 1000'
of aiming Cl
"
point
30% / [\
"
I \
-----
Percentage
20%
v --- of casualties
--!..
10%
0
I
' ~
an-Mar Apr-Jun
1943
Jui-Sep Oct-Dec !Jan-Mar Apr-Jun
1944
Jui-Scp Oct-DecJ Jan-Mar
1945-
Source: British Bombing Survey Unit, The Strategic Air War Against Germany ,_.
0'\
--J
performance paid dividends when it attacked selective targets at night or at

times of limited visibility conditions. The USAAF's daylight visual bombing
was neither five nor ten times more accurate than the best of RAF Bomber
Command's night-time attacks, nor as accurate as the latter under limited
visibility - which was the majority of the time.
Conclusion
One cannot help but speculate on why the USAAF leadership went so far out
of its way to distinguish American bombing from that of RAF Bomber
Command, and to mischaracterise the effort of its ally (and its own) in the
process. The USAAF leadership was anxious to distance itself from Bomber
Command's general area offensive. The Royal Air Force gained its indepen-
dence in 1918, while this remained an unobtained (and perhaps unobtainable)
goal for the Americans. USAAF leaders knew that the role of airpower would
be re-examined in any postwar debate over military service roles and mis-
sions, and in fighting for its independence. They did not wish to be tarred
with the same brush as Bomber Command should there be postwar
reappraisals of the strategic bomber offensive. In this they were prophetic;
RAF Bomber Command was denied postwar honors, and the US Air Force
gained its independence in 1947.
Certainly there were other reasons. The American air leadership was under
considerable pressure from senior British officials and the US Navy to join
hands with Bomber Command in a general area offensive, an operation they
recognised as less efficient and for which they had neither prepared nor
trained. Moreover, they sincerely believed in what they sought to achieve.
USAAF emphasis on precision bombing undoubtedly was necessary, too, as
a leadership tool to encourage crews to 'press on regardless', and do the best
job possible under difficult circumstances.
There were differences in the approach to strategic bombing of the
Americans and British. Neither was necessarily all right, or completely
wrong, at the time each embarked upon their respective paths. Each was
subject to operational constraints, not the least of which were the tenacity of
the German air defences and the vagaries of weather. The crews of each
risked their lives, day after day, or night after night, and many paid the
supreme sacrifice. Over a half century after those efforts, however, the record
merits reassessment. Examination of the data reveals that, when Bomber
Command and the USAAF were mature, full-strength forces, and when
Bomber Command could be enticed away from its area offensive, the
difference in theirbombing accuracy was not as great as generally has been
held to have been the case.
NOTES
The author wishes to express his appreciation to Geoffrey Best, Tami Davis Biddle, Sebastian
Cox, John F. Guilmartin, Jr. and Stephen J. Harris for their assistance in the preparation of this
article.
I. Impact, April 1945 (Washington, DC: Asst. Chief of Air Staff, Intelligence), p.46.
2. Sir Charles Webster and Noble Frankland, The Strategic Air Offensive Against Germany
I939-I945 (London: HMSO, 1961), Vol.I, pp.l3-14; II, pp.5, 213, 214.
3. Philip Babcock Gove (ed.), Webster's Third International Dictionary, Unabridged
(Springfield, MA: Merriam-Webster, 1976), pp.13-14, 1784-5; J.A. Simpson and E.S.C.
Weiner (eds.), The Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989),
Vol.XII, p.321. Presciently, the minutes of the first meeting (6 April 1934) of the Bombing
Committee of the British Air Ministry report that 'The meeting was practically unanimous
that the term precision was incorrect and misleading.' AIR 2/1369.
4. Webster and Frankland, Strategic Air Offensive (note 2), Voi.I, pp.167-87, 190-257; British
Bombing Survey Unit (BBSU), The Strategic Air War Against Germany, 1939-I945
(London: Secretary of State for Air, 1946), pp.6-9; Brereton Greenhous, Stephen J. Harris,
William C. Johnson and William G.P. Rawling, The Official History of the Royal Canadian
Air Force, Vol.III, The Crucible ofWar 1939-1945 (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1994),
pp.528-86.
5. Hugh Odishaw, 'Radar Bombing in the Eighth Air Force' (1946), Box 80, Spaatz Papers,
Library of Congress, MS Div., pp.I06-9; Wesley Frank Craven and James Lea Cate, The
Army Air Forces in World War II (Chicago, IL: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1948), Voi.I, p.599;
US Strategic Bombing Survey (USSBS), Vol. 2 Over-All Report (European War), 2d ed.
(Washington: GPO, 1947), pp.71-2; James Phinney Baxter, Scientists Against Time
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1946), p.294. A recent assessment is Richard P. Hallion,
Storm Over Iraq: Air Power and the Gulf War (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Instn. Press,
1992), pp.9-IO.
6. AWPD-1, 'Munitions Requirements of the Army Air Forces to Defeat Our Potential
Enemies', Film 145.82, AFHRC, Tab No.2B; James C. Gaston, Planning the American Air
War (Washington, DC: National Defense UP, 1982), p.56; Maj. Gen. Haywood S. Hansell,
USAF (Ret.), The Air Plan That Defeated Hitler (Atlanta: Private Publication, 1972), p.86.
Using Eighth Air Force data for 1943-44, against a target 400 by 500 feet (200,000 sq. ft.), a
Combat Wing bombing visually from 20,000 feet with 108 1,0001b. bombs had a 98.5 per-
cent probability of achieving a single hit. Hansell, pp.l18-21, 291-3. USSBS examination
of 194 missions revealed that visual bombing performance was better then predicted in 73
missions, but worse than expected in 121. USSBS, Report 63, Bombing Accuracy- USAAF
Heavy and Medium Bombers in the European Theater of Operations, 2nd. ed. (Washington,
DC: GPO, 1947), p.6.
7. Maj. Gen. Ira C. Eaker, 'The Case for Day Precision Bombing; Text of Presentation to
Prime Minister Churchill at Casablanca Conference, January 1943', pp.l--6, USAFHD
520.547C (emphasis supplied); see also Craven and Cate The Army Air Forces (note 5), Vol.
III, p.302. In a memo two months earlier Eaker declared that 'I believe it is clearly demon-
strated that the efficiency of daylight bombing over night bombardment is in the order of ten
to one.' Memo from Maj. Gen. Ira C. Eaker (Commander Eighth Bomber Command) to CG
Eighth Air Force, 8 Oct. 1942, in Spaatz Papers, Diary, Box 10, File 'Sept.-Oct. 1942',
Library of Congress, MS Division.
8. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces (note 5), Vol. II, pp.270-2; British Bombing Survey Unit
(BBSU), pp.47-8; Hansell, The Air Plan (note 6), pp.ll5-19; USSBS, Bombing Accuracy
(note 6), pp.2, 9, Exhibit G; Roger Freeman, Mighty Ei[?hth War Manual (London: Jane's,
1984), pp.23, 45--6; Charles W. MacArthur, Operations Analysis in the US Army Ei[?hth Air
Force in World War II (Providence, Rl: American Mathematical Soc., 1990), pp.31-3;
Richard G. Davis, Carl A. Spaat: and the Air War in Europe (Washington, DC: Center AF
History, 1993), p.477.
9. Craven and Cate (note 5), Vol. II, pp.217, 319-20; Greenhous (note 4), pp.638-9. Eighth Air
Force subsequently adopted a similar policy forbidding H2X attacks in Nazi-occupied terri-
tory. Davis, Spaatz, pp.382, 401, 564.
10. USSBS, Bombing Accuracy (note 6), pp.2, 3, 15; Craven and Cate (note 5), Vol. II,
pp.270-l. In a 27 May 1944 US Strategic Air Forces in Europe report on bombing accuracy
to the CG, Army Air Forces reported that 'about 30 per cent of our formation attacks fail to
attack assigned targets and attack targets of opportunity instead.' When attacking the
assigned target, aircraft bombing from 20,000 ft resulted in a gross error rate of 30 per cent.
'CEP for Heavy and Medium Bombardment Aircraft Operating from United Kingdom',
Spaatz Papers, Box 76, Library of Congress, MS Div.
II. 'Air Historical Branch Narrative - Operational Research in Bomber Command', Air
Historical Branch [hereafter AHB], MoD, London, Ch.5 (hereinafter 'BC Operational
Research'); USSBS Report 64, Description of RAP Bombing, 2d ed. (Washington, DC:
GPO, 1947), pp.7-9.
12 Memo, Eighth Bomber Command to HQ Eighth Air Force, 13 Sept. 1943, Subj: Bombing
Accuracy (Spaatz Files, Box 76, Bombing Accuracy, Library of Congress, MS Div .).
13. HQ Eighth Air Force, AAF Bombing Accuracy Report No.2 (1945), p.21 (RG 18, Box 550,
Air Adjt. Gen. Files, 470, National Archives.)
14. Odishaw 'Radar Bombing' (note 5), pp.9-12, 17-18; Hansell, Air Plan (note 6), p.86;
AWPD-1 (note 6), p.3; Harry C. Butcher, My Three Years with Eisenhower (NY: Simon &
Schuster, 1946), p.136; Craven and Cate (note 5), Vol.II, pp.232-3, 689-90. For the Gorrell
Plan discussion of weather, see Maurer Maurer (ed.), The US Air Service in World War I
(Washington, DC: GPO, 1978), Vol.II, p.l47.
15. Odishaw (note 5), pp.9-12 and Tables II and III; USSBS, Report 62, Weather Factors in
Combat Bombardment Operations in the European Theater, 2d ed. (Washington, DC: GPO,
1945), pp.l, 3, 15-16, 19-20, Tables IX and X; Craven and Cate (note 5), Vol.II, p.262. The
higher US abort rate was a result of its formation flying, which could be adversely affected
by weather throughout the mission -at base, takeoff, rendezvous and assembly, enroute, at
the target and on landing. Formation flying restricted the ability of a force to penetrate
cloudy weather at flight levels. 'Safe flying weather' for US crews in Europe was defined by
commanders after assessing equipment limitations, tactics, operational priority and state of
crew training. USSBS, Weather Factors, pp.2, 9, and Table II.
16. USSBS, Bombing Accuracy (note 6), p.4; Minutes of conference held in Brig. Gen. F.L.
Anderson's office, 28 Oct. 1944 (Spaatz Papers, Diary, Box 19, File Oct.-Nov. 1944,
Library of Congress, MS Div.).
17. Odishaw, 'Radar Bombing' (note 5), pp.31-9, 69-88; Webster and Frankland (note 2),
Vol.I, pp.l78, 179; Vol.IV, Annex I (pp.3-17), Appendix 13 (pp.205-213); BBSU (note 4),
pp.44-5, 46-8; A.C.B. Lovell, 'Historical Note on H2 S,' T.R.E. Journal (Jan. 1945),
pp.l-14; Dudley Saward, The Bomber's Eye (London: Cassell, 1959), p.223; Henry E.
Guerlac, Radar in World War II (NY: American Inst. of Physics, 1987), pp.737, 772, 784;
Bernard Lovell, Echoes of War: The Story of H2S Radar (Bristol: Adam Hilger, 1991). The
latter (pp.275-6) summarises the various H2S systems, which underwent continuous
improvement.
18. BBSU (note 4), pp.44-5; Odishaw, 'Radar Bombing' (note 5), pp.l5-19, 22-3, 31; Webster
& Frankland (note 2), Vol.IV, pp.ll-15; Guerlac, Radar, pp.776-8, 781,783,798-9. British
difficulties in getting H2S to operate at the higher altitudes desired by Eighth Air Force are
described in Lovell, Echoes ofWar, pp.l94-5, and Odishaw (note 5), p.31, fn.74.
19. Combined Chiefs of Staff Air Plan for the Defeat of Germany, Memorandum from the CG
Army Air Forces (I Nov. 1943), Papers of Henry H. Arnold, Box 39, Library of Congress,
Mauscript Div.; USSBS, Report 61, Air Force Rate of Operation, 2d ed. (Washington, DC:
GPO, 1947), pp.28-9, 35, 36, 38, 39-40, 41, Exhibits 24d, 25a; Davis, Spaatz (note 8),
p.297. USSBS Report 61 provides detailed analysis of 12 target categories, including indus-
trial areas (to include urban areas). USSBS Report 63 (Bombing Accuracy) does not include
industrial areas as a target category, apparently because of the Feb. 1945 recharacterisation
of industrial areas as marshalling yards.
20. USSBS, Overall Report (European War), p.72.
21. Davis, Spaatz (note 8), pp.508, 568-70. The British Air Ministry also played with words on
occasion. 'Industrial centres' was substituted for 'centres of population' in summer 1942
because of the negative political-legal connotation of the latter. Greenhous (note 4),
pp.620-l.
22. USSBS, Air Force Rate of Operation, Exhibit 24d.
23. Ibid., pp.38-9; Odishaw (note 5), p.122.
24. Craven and Cate (note 5), Vol. III, pp.13-22; MacArthur, Operations Analysis (note 8),
pp.68-71, 109; and Letter, HQ Eighth Air Force to CG, US Strategic Air Forces in Europe,
14 Feb. 1944, Subj: Comment on 'Overlord', Spaatz Papers, Diary, Box 17. In this letter
from Maj. Gen. James H. Doolittle to Lt. Gen. Spaatz, Gen. Doolittle cautioned:
There is often a tendency on the part of planners to measure destruction by tons of bombs
dropped rather than by bombs on targets. This must be assiduously guarded against in
connection with 'through the overcast' bombing. Our experience to date with this type of
bombing technique indicates that it is closely allied with area bombing and does not lend
itself to the precision bombing of pinpoint targets. We have not been able, with regulari-
ty, to take out precision targets using Oboe, GH or H2X. On those occasions when we
have hit a precision target it has been largely luck. Ordinarily bombs are scattered over at
least ten times as much area as with visual bombing ...
Odishaw (note 5), p.97, indicates that operational analysis revealed that to attain an
equivalent concentration of bombs within a circular area having a radius of I ,OOOft, an
Eighth Air Force H2X force operating under 10/10 cloud conditions had to be approximately
150 times larger than a visual force bombing on a clear day.
25. Office of the Air Inspector, USSTAF Memorandum to Commanding General, USSTAF, 4
March 1944, Subj: Navigational Errors in Operations, Spaatz Papers, Diary, Box 17, Library
of Congress, MS Div.; Memo from Eighth Air Force to CG, USSTAF, 22 March 1944, Subj:
Utilisation of Improved BTO [Bombing through Overcast] Equipment by Eighth Air Force,
Spaatz Papers, Diary, Box 17; Odishaw, 'Radar Bombing' (note 5), pp.97, 116; Craven and
Cate (note 5), Vol.III, p.13; BBSU (note 4), p.45; Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.IV,
pp.11-12; Guerlac (note 17), pp.772, 790-2, 794-5; MacArthur (note 8), pp.109, Ill, 218;
Baxter (note 5), p.96.
26. See, e.g., Conrad C. Crane, Bombs, Cities, & Civilians (Lawrence: Univ. of Kansas Press,
1993), pp.76, 113. In summer 1944 Eighth Air Force ran H2X tests in part to 'determine the
capabilities of the equipment under controlled conditions ... ' The study concluded that H2X
was an effective instrument against 'appropriate targets, namely city areas or isolated
industrial complexes. The experiment emphasises, however, that the chance of hitting a
pre-assigned industrial target within the built-up areas of a city is extremely slight with any
reasonable size force' [emphasis supplied]. The Oxford Experiment in H2X Bombing,
Spaatz Papers, Box 81, Bombing Overcast, Analytical Studies II, Library of Congress, MS
Div.; see also Gordon Musgrove, Pathfinder Force (London: MacDonald and Jane's, 1976),
p.239; and Guerlac (note 17), pp.772, 787. USAF officers with radar bombing experience
confim1ed to the author that this capability did not exist until more than a quarter century
after World War II.
27. MacArthur (note 8), p.154.
28. Saward, Bomber's Eye (note 17), p.l40; Lovell, 'Historical Note on H2S,' (note 17), p.6;
Lovell, Echoes of War (note 17), pp.l44-8.
29. Guerlac (note 17), p.736; Craven and Cate lll, p.18. The pessimism was apparently that of
Gen. Arnold and his staff. See Odishaw (note 5), pp.44-5. Washington scepticism prevailed
despite the urgings of Gen. Spaatz. In a letter dated 14 Jan. 1944 Spaatz stated that 'The
most critical need of the Strategic Air Forces is for more Pathfinder aircraft. A few H2X
airplanes now will profit our cause more than several hundred in six months.' Spaatz
Papers, Eighth Air Force file, 1942-45, Library of Congress, MS Div. Blind bombing equip-
ment (H 2X) was essential to maintaining a low rate of complete abortives under the policy
requiring a high rate of operations. USSBS, Report 62, Weather Factors (note 15), p.11.
30. Odishaw (note 5), p.48; Guerlac (note 17), p.785, Table VI. The Eighth Air Force practice of
equipping Pathfinder aircraft only with H2X contrasts with RAP Bomber Command H2S
use. Commencing 21 Feb. 1943, Bomber Command proceeded to equip its entire heavy
bomber force with H2S, i.e., all Lancaster (Pathfinder and non-Pathfinder) aircraft other than
those equipped to carry the 8,000-lb bomb, all Halifax aircraft, and Mosquito Pathfinder and
target-marking aircraft. Lancasters carrying the 8,000-lb bomb could not utilize H2S because
the rotating antenna could not be fitted due to the modified bomb bay and bomb doors.
Saward, Bomber's Eye (note 28), p.191; C. Martin Sharp and Michael J.F. Bowyer,
Mosquito (London: Faber, 1971), pp.354, 363. Comparing 12 H2X aircraft per US heavy
bomber group (Guerlac, p.813) with RAF Bomber Command operational strength in Dec.
1944 (excluding No.IOO Group and Oboe Mosquitoes) of 1,810 aircraft, and appreciating
that all of the other 160 Mosquitoes were not H2S equipped, US H2 X acquisition effort was
roughly one-half that of Bomber Command (RAF Bomber Command strength from 'Air
Ministry War Room Monthly Summary of Bomber Command Operations, December 1944',
p.27, AHB, MoD, London). By the time Eighth and Fifteenth Air Forces had equipped their
Pathfinder forces, however, RAF Bomber Command crews had more than a year's opera-
tional experience in H 2S use.
31. Odishaw (note 5), pp.48-54, 120-4; Craven and Cate (note 5), Vol.III, pp.666-7; Guerlac
(note 17), pp.785-8, 805-7.
32. The Operational Research Section reported that while 'the exact number of gross errors is
not known, the evidence indicates it is not negligible.' For example, on one mission 42
squadrons were dispatched to Ludwigshafen. One-half of the force misidentified check
points and bombed Stuttgart; Odishaw (note 5), p.99. Likewise, on the 3 Feb. 1945 Eighth
Air Force raid on Berlin, some groups missed the 883 sq. miles of Berlin completely. Davis
(note 8), p.553.
33. USSBS, Description of RAF Bombing (note 11), Exhibit H, and BBSU (note 4), Fig. 8.
34. BC Operational Research (note 11), pp.l4-16, 19; BBSU (note 4), pp.46-8; Webster and
Frankland (note 2) Vol. II, 179, 186-8, 214, 283, 288.
35. Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.III, pp.27-8, 39, 41, 125, 130, 151-3, 165-7, 182;
ACM Sir Arthur Harris, Bomber Command (London: Collins, 1946), pp.197-214, 266;
Greenhous, Crucible (note 4), pp.803, 805,808.
36. Richard P. Hallion, Strike from the Sky (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Press, 1989),
pp.206-14; Ian Gooderson, 'Heavy and Medium Bombers: How Successful Were They in
the Tactical Close Air Support Role During World War II?', Journal of Strategic Studies
15/3 (Sept. 1992), p.367; Harris, Bomber Command, pp.l91, 209,211-14.
37. BBSU (note 4), p.44; Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol.III, 183-4, 187, fn.2; F.H.
Hinsley, E.E. Thomas, C.A.G. Simkins, and C.F.G. Ransom, British Intelligence in the
Second World War, Vo1.3, Pt.2 (London: HMSO, 1988), pp.517-18; and 'The Development
of Gee-H,' Bomber Command Quarterly Review, October-December 1944, pp.27-9, AHB,
MoD, London. Sept.-Dec. 1944 was also selected for comparison due to other shifts in
bombing policy occurring thereafter that would affect any accuracy comparison. See, e.g.,
Richard G. Davis, 'Operation "Thunderclap": The US Army Air Forces and the Bombing of
Berlin' ,ISS 15/1 (March 1991), p.90.
38. BC Operational Research (note II), Ch.5; BBSU (note 4), pp.23-4.
39. AAF Bombing Accuracy Report No.2 (note 13), Table 3.
40. Ibid., Chart II, Table 9; USSBS, Bombing Accuracy (note 6), p.l3. Odishaw (note 5), p.93,
provides the following Eighth Air Force figures:
Estimated Per Cent of Bombs within Standard Distances According to Type of Bombing
(1 Sept.- 31 Dec. 1994)
Type of Bombing Estimated% of Total Bombs Dropped Which Fall Within
1000 ft of AP y, mile of AP 1 mile of AP 3 miles of AP 5 Miles of AP
Visual-
good to fair visibility 30.0 64.3 82.4 91.5 92.2
Visual-poor vis. 9.4 34.4 58.0 85.0 91.4
Gee-H 5.0 26.0 56.0 90.0 94.0
Micro-H 5.0 25.7 52.4 78.2 88.5
H2X- 4-5/10 cloud 4.4 22.8 48.5 89.1 96.0
H2X- 6-7/10 cloud 2.0 12.5 36.5 84.0 90.5
H2X- 8-9/10 cloud 1.0 7.3 22.5 67.4 82.0
H2X- 10/10 cloud 0.2 11.2 5.6 39.8 58.5
In contrast, 50 per cent of RAF Bomber Command bombs dropped using H2S fell within 1.2
miles of the aiming point. Odishaw, p.l23.
41. AAF Bombing Accuracy Report No.2, Table 9; MacArthur (Note 8), pp.71, 29~. 296,
297; Davis, Spaatz (note 8), pp.508, 550,551,568,570.
42. USSBS, Vol.61, Air Force Rate of Operation (note 19), pp.61-73.
43. Arguably the USAAF differed from the British in that the former intended to hit the target
listed in their records, while the British engaged in a general area offensive against industrial
cities. Certainly intent counts where there is some degree of accuracy. But when the USAAF
leadership directed blind-bombing attacks against a selected target in an urban area knowing
that accuracy was five per cent or less, and as low as 0.2 per cent, their claimed intent is
subject to challenge.
44. Craven and Cate (note 5), Vol. III, pp.281, 640--2, 644-5; USSBS, Air Force Rate of
Operation (note 19), Exhibit 24h; USSBS, Report 109, Oil Division, Final Report, 2d ed.
(Washington, DC: GPO, 1947), pp.l-2, 122; USSBS, Report 110, Oil Division, Final
Report, Appendix, 2d ed. (Washington, US: Dept. of War, 1947), Table Gl4.
45. BBSU (note 4), Figure 9. See also USSBS, Bombing Accuracy (note 6), Exhibit 0.
46. USSBS Bombing Accuracy (note 6), pp.I0--11.
47. HQ Eighth Air Force Operational Research Section Memorandum, Subject: Report on H2X
Operations During September [1944] Against Targets in Ludwigshafen and Mannheim (25
Oct. 1944), Table 2, Spaatz Papers, File 82, Bombing Overcast Operations. H2X discrimina-
tion was not fine enough to detect canals and rivers (such as that adjacent to the
Ludwisghafen-Mannheim target) unless they were exceptionally large. Odishaw (note 5),
p.ll6.
48. Webster and Frankland (note 2), Vol. III, pp.234-5; IV, pp.338. Maj. Gen. Gerlach of the
Staff of the Luftwaffe Flak Defence of Leuna stated in Nov. 1944 that 'The management
considers the guided English night attacks with heavy calibre bombs to be more dangerous
than the American day attacks, especially when the flak is handicapped by low visibility.'
USSBS, Oil Division, Final Report (note 44), p.l37. That volume reports that German oil
plant employees and defence personnel were 'almost unanimous' that 'RAF attacks ... were
more damaging,' attributing RAF success to each bombardier sighting his bombs indepen-
dently (as opposed to USAAF formation bombing on the leader) p.7, and RAF Bomber
Command using a single aiming point (as opposed to USAAF use of multiple aiming points)
p.l24.
49. Oil Division, Final Report (note 44), pp.4, 122. USSBS analysis of airstrikes against the I.G.
Farbenindustrie at Ludwigshafen revealed the following ratios:
Bomb %Bomb Hits %Bombs

Sighting Total Number within 1000 ft Hit in
Air Force Method Bombs Released of Aiming Point Plant Area
8thAF Visual 4,851 10.2 41.5

8thAF PFF*Nisual 5,402 2.7 8.9
8th AF PFF* 10,645 1.1 3.7
RAFBC Night 7,497 3.9 25.5
* H 2X bombing. USSBS, Report 194 (Part 1), /.G. Farbenindustrie, Ludwigshafen, Germany, 2d
ed. (Washington, DC: GPO, 1947), p.6.
Atlantic Airpower Co-operation, 1941-1943
JOHN BUCKLEY
Alliance warfare is at best troublesome, at worst disastrous and history is

replete with the failures of multinational forces, especially when confronted
with a single homogenous enemy. One need only consider the catastrophes
which often befell the heterogenous armies of the Byzantines, Charles
Valois' Burgundians or in more recent times the forces opposing Frederick
the Great during the Seven Years War to understand the potential disaster
awaiting military powers which attempt to co-operate together.
In contrast the Grand Alliance of the USA and Great Britain during the
Second World War stands up quite well to close inspection. Nevertheless,
whilst far from being disastrous the alliance was certainly troublesome and
this article will examine one area, airpower and trade defence, where the con-
flicting interests and approaches of the respective US and British forces
allowed opportunities to hasten the defeat of the U-boat menace to be lost.
The entry into the Second World War of the USA in December 1941
seemed to herald the turning of the tide of the conflict, particularly as the
massive industrial potential of the United States was at last to be brought to
bear fully upon the forces of Germany and Japan. However, for those con-
cerned with the trade defence war in the Atlantic, the entry of the USA posed
as many problems as it solved for although the Americans' involvement
made long-term defeat unlikely, in the short-term there remained the problem
of transporting supplies and materiel across the Atlantic to Britain in the face
of determined U-boat opposition. This campaign was not to be won until
mid-1943 and for this the failure of the US and Commonwealth forces,
especially the air forces, to co-operate together effectively was in part
responsible.
By late 1941 shipping losses in the Atlantic to U-boats had fallen markedly
from a monthly average of 263,000 tons in the year July 1940 to June 1941 to
an average of 103,000 tons per month in the period July to December 1941.'
For this the increased effectiveness of airpower was crucial with RAF Coastal
Command flying many more sorties with more effective and longer-ranged
aircraft. These forced the U-boats to operate farther out into the Atlantic, thus
reducing the amount of time they spent on active patrol, and hence the
amount of time available to attack convoys. The use of intelligence to direct
aircraft to protect convoys which were under threat was also of great benefit,
but ultimately the RAP became more effective simply by putting more air-
craft over convoys for longer patrols.
For the length of the war, RAP Coastal Command and the Admiralty
worked together without major difficulty. Combining the command of trade
defence forces into one administrative unit was crucial to the success of
British and Commonwealth forces over the Atlantic, and the principle of
central command for the direction of all trade defence forces in response to
gathered intelligence was the basis of British success. However, after 7
December 1941 the command and control of the trade defence forces
employed in the battle of the Atlantic became dispersed, disorganised and
divergent.
With the entry of the United States, the Commonwealth forces had a whole
host of new services and commanders to deal with, not least because the
Americans were organised in a manner completely alien to the British model.
Both the US Army Air Forces (USAAF) and the US Navy (USN) had
responsibility for anti-submarine warfare (ASW) for there was no indepen-
dent air force in the USA. Whereas this policy had fostered the creation of
both a central strategic bombing force 2 and an effective specialist naval
air arm,' it had not catered for the 'grey' areas of air power such as anti-
submarine warfare. Neither the USAAF nor the USN particularly wanted this
duty and consequently split the responsibility between them.
The problem of land-based maritime airpower was compounded by the fact
that the US Navy was only allowed to operate water-based aircraft from the
shore, not land-based types, and as had been demonstrated in Europe, it was
the large land-based aircraft that were proving most effective in protecting
convoys and trade routes. Such aircraft were the domain of the US Army Air
Forces and they, like Bomber Command in Britain, were not trained in naval
operations.
However, these were all operational difficulties which could have been
overcome if both parties on the Western coast of the Atlantic had been will-
ing. Unfortunately, they were not. Not only did they bicker intensely amongst
themselves, there were also certain parties who were actively hostile towards
the British. This was to prove the greatest tragedy as the two years of hard-
earned war experience gained by Coastal Command and the Admiralty were
partly ignored by the US Navy and the possibility of closer co-operation
between British and American trade defence forces was lost in a welter of
inter-service jealousies and bureaucratic wrangling.
It is not popular in modem historical writing to apportion great significance
to personalities but in this case one man did have a very significant impact on
Allied co-operation over the Atlantic, and that man was the US Navy's
Commander-in-Chief from late December 1941, Admiral Ernest J. King. His
role in confounding Allied co-operation was a major cause for concern during
ATLANTIC AIRPOWER 1941-1945 177
the years 1942 and 1943 as his efforts, driven by various reasons, seemed to
his contemporaries, both American and Commonwealth, to be decidedly
obstructive. Marc Milner records that General Dwight D. Eisenhower con-
fided to his diary that the whole war effort would have gone more smoothly
had someone eliminated King, and certainly, he argues, the Commonwealth
leaders would have agreed.<
Air Marshal John Slessor, who dealt with King more than any other
Coastal Command Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief (AOC-in-C) was not
particularly enamoured with him either. He perceived that King was not
anti-British, but virulently pro-American believing that the US Navy was
superior to all other navies and could do no wrong. 5 King's anglophobia was
illustrated in other ways however, notably in the enthusiastic prosecution of a
Naval College dissertation on war with Great Britain,6 and in conversation
with Admiral Andrew Cunningham, RN, when King stated that:
although the British had been managing world affairs for some three
hundred years, the United States Navy now had something to say about
the war at sea, and that the fact should be faced, whether palatable or
not"
King was also completely opposed to an independent US Air Force being
created and allowed this belief to complicate his relations with Coastal
Command. For example, King and the US Navy never acknowledged
the existence of RAF Coastal Command and there was never any direct
contact between them throughout the war.' It is important to note that other
personalities concerned with the Battle of the Atlantic had vested interests
and axes to grind, but no-one displayed them to the same degree as Admiral
King.
Although no formal alliance existed between the two Anglo-Saxon powers
before the US entry into the war, co-operation and assistance had taken place.
The Americans had been entrusted with the development of a new generation
of ASV (air-to-surface vessel) radar and many US-designed aircraft were
already being operated by British forces.
In other areas too the British were seeking help and co-operation from the
Americans. As early as June 1940 Anglo-American staff discussions were
underway, and as Director of Plans at the Air Ministry, the then Air
Commodore John Slessor was again involved. He was anxious at this early
stage to put these discussions on a 'proper footing' and argued for plans to be
drawn up involving the use of US squadrons in Britain and the Azores." In
July Slessor was again concerned that the discussions were being hijacked
by the Navy. He pressed the Chief of Air Staff (CAS) to ensure that air
representatives from both sides of the Atlantic got together at these staff
meetings, otherwise 'a great opportunity will be lost.' 10
In Canada the RAF was already well established with the UK Air Liaison
Mission set up to monitor the British Commonwealth Air Training Pro-
gramme and to ensure sound contact and communications with the Royal
Canadian Air Force (RCAF).'' A similar mission was in place in Washington
by July 1941, when for example, it was involved in fending off questions
concerning allegations that the British were using US loaned aircraft to build
up their commercial airline fleet. '2
However, these were all peripheral measures in comparison with the level
of co-operation in the period after Pearl Harbor. Prior to 7 December 1941
there was little in the way of direct communication from Coastal Command
and the Admiralty to the US Navy concerning information regarding the air-
borne anti-submarine war. No efforts were made to discuss a command
structure for running the Atlantic war should the US get involved, nor the
importance of airpower in such a campaign. It was in part this lack of learn-
ing from the British operational and organisational experience that led the
United States to disaster off the coast of the Americas in the first six months
of 1942.
Coastal Command was soon directly involved in an early effort to lend the
Americans the weight of their two years' war experience. In early 1942 Air
Vice-Marshal Geoffrey Bromet, Coastal Command, and Captain George
Creasy, RN, (Director of ASW, Naval Staff) travelled to America to discuss
and advise on the current and future ASW command structure in the USA.' 3
Not surprisingly, they suggested that the Americans should create a centrally
directed US coastal command, encompassing all their anti-submarine air
forces. They argued that this would solve the major problem of there being
too many air command structures and forces on the US East Coast, all
answerable to separate chiefs in Washington. Such a divided command
structure was incapable of meeting the challenge of modem anti-U-boat war-
fare, Bromet and Creasy claimed.
However, King was not interested in such remedies. He did not want to see
the creation of a separate coastal air force as this might have been regarded as
the first step on the road to a fully independent US air arm, which King was
fearful may result in the withdrawal of power and resources from the US
Navy. In addition, a centrally directed anti-submarine war would mean trans-
ferring authority to Washington and away from his front-line officers. This
was anathema to stated US Naval policy which placed great emphasis on the
independence and freedom of local naval commanders.' 4 The US Army Air
Forces were unable to act without the consent of the US Navy, and were in
any case hostile to moves which brought an independent US air force nearer,
for similar reasons to those of King. Thus, the US Navy and the US Army Air
Forces were quite willing to carry on their respective independent anti-
submarine campaigns without any co-ordinated central direction. Somewhat
ironically, Bromet noted, both the US Army's and the US Navy's head-
quarters for the anti-submarine war were situated on the same floor of the
same building, yet acted totally independently of each other. 15 It was a portent
of the chaos to follow.
In January 1942 the chiefs of the two major Allied air forces, General
H. H. Arnold and Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal, seemed to lay the
foundation for future harmonious co-operation between the US and British
trade defence air forces with the Arnold-Portal Agreement. This document set
the levels of deployment for the various kinds of aircraft around the world
involved in anti-submarine duties on a theatre level basis. 16 Discussion had
concerned the numbers of aircraft to be given to Coastal Command, for Air
Marshal Philip Joubert de Ia Ferte (AOC-in-C Coastal Command 1941-43)
and his staff had put in a request for 144 aeroplanes. 17 Arnold considered this
figure to be too high, but acquiesced in Portal's wishes with the caveat that
the RAF should use B-24 Liberators for Coastal Command, not B-17 Flying
Fortresses which the Americans thought very highly of. 18 Arnold in fact
agreed to give Coastal Command the only 'heavy bombers' not going to US
squadrons, which seemed to indicate a greater flexibility than was apparent in
the RAF's higher echelons. Ominously, however, Arnold also indicated that
Coastal Comand should seek as many aircraft as possible from the US Navy
-notably Catalina flying boats.
In March however, Field-Marshal Sir John Dill, head of the British Staff
Mission in Washington, was noticing a change in US opinion. 19 By April the
climate had certainly changed and Dill became worried that the Americans
were trying to wriggle out of the Arnold-Portal Agreement. Arnold was
apparently under some pressure to allocate more US aircraft to aid the
creation of US squadrons and not to 'beef up' existing British ones. 20 The
British, however, saw the obvious advantage of making use of existing RAF
experience and training. Moreover, they were aware that if the Americans
diverted too much of their production to US squadrons the RAF might be
starved of aircraft which were already equipping British squadrons, most
notably those in Coastal Command. 21 Slessor cabled Air Vice-Marshal
Douglas Evill, head of the RAF Delegation in Washington:
Do you think Arnold has the slightest idea of what is really involved in
raising and training a first line [USAAF] force of the strength envisaged
( 16,000) which is more than twice the first line strength of the British
and Dominion air forces after 2 Vz years of war? 22
The British representatives in Washington cabled back that political con-
siderations were emerging to complicate the issue still further." Neither
Arnold nor King were happy about placing US aircraft where they would not
be under the independent control of US commanders. Most importantly of all,
Admiral King was ' ... very adverse to providing American crews to operate
American aircraft in Coastal Command'. 24
In May various members of the US High Command visited Britain to
assess, amongst other issues, RAF requirements. 25 General Arnold and Rear
Admiral John H. Towers (USN Bureau of Aeronautics chief) accompanied
General George C. Marshall (US Army Chief of Staff) on this trip and
obviously formulated some opinions on Coastal Command, for by the end of
May, Arnold was giving the distinct impression of wanting to renege on his
previous agreement with Portal regarding Coastal Command's allocation of
aircraft. He now wanted the US Navy to supply Coastal Command's needs
and for the heavier land-bomber type aircraft to be allocated to the USAAF's
bomber groups. 26
Portal replied, however, that he wanted such aircraft in the shape of
Fortresses (rather than other types, including Liberators) because they could
be more quickly fitted with the latest types of radar equipment. He indicated
that any shortfall in the allocation of US long-range bombers was hopefully
going to be made good by Catalinas from the US Navy for which Admiral
Towers was going to ask Admiral King. 27 In June, King refused and told
Portal to press for Fortresses from Arnold and the USAAF. 28 Slessor soon dis-
covered that Arnold was as unwilling to compromise as King, and the
former's opinion of the US Navy had been prejudiced still further following
the Battle of Midway, where he felt the Navy had been 'pinching a lot of the
glory rightly due to shore-based bombers' .29 Slessor also reported that the
numbers of Liberators and Fortresses allocated to Coastal Command would
be just enough for the remaining months of 1942.3{' Portal replied that four
Liberators per month was not enough - eight would be nearer - but that the
major stumbling block was the American refusal to send the four squadrons
of Catalinas still owed to Coastal Command from the Arnold-Portal agree-
ment."
As a result of the meeting between Arnold and Slessor, Roosevelt was
informed that the two men had come to some arrangement on the allocation
of aircraft to Coastal Command. The President said as much in a cable to
Churchill, 32 who in tum quizzed Portal about this 'new agreement'. Portal,
somewhat peremptorily, requested Slessor to explain where this agreement
had come from. 33 Slessor was somewhat aggrieved at Arnold's action and
cabled the CAS to emphasise that he had agreed only to fmward details of a
possible agreement. 34 It is difficult to imagine that Arnold told the President
of the supposed agreement because of misunderstanding the tone of his meet-
ing with Slessor, for the British commander was hardly an ambiguous or
reticent personality. If Slessor had agreed merely to forward the details to
Portal, it does not seem in character for him to have let Arnold think
otherwise. One is led to conclude that Arnold got Roosevelt to endorse the
agreement in order to prevent further discussion which might see the USAAF
lose more aircraft to the RAF. He quite possibly hoped that in such circum-
stances the British would tum again to the US Navy. Whatever his motive,
his ruse failed and the next day he had to accept the need for more Liberators
to be diverted to Coastal Command. 35 The final details were agreed to a week
later by all concemed/6 but the wrangle had cost Coastal Command valuable
time with these aircraft, and the cause had been the rivalry between the
USAAF and the USN.
By the end of 1942 Portal was again searching for more Liberators for
ASW operations in the Bay of Biscay to replace those sent to close the mid-
Atlantic gap. Roosevelt's special assistant Harry L. Hopkins directed Portal
to request the loan from Eisenhower of 21 Liberators assigned to his
European command. 37 Eisenhower willingly agreed, on the understanding that
if the US Army desperately needed them elsewhere they would be retumed. 38
Churchill enthused on 16 December to Portal and Admiral Sir Dudley Pound
(First Sea Lord), 'Surely this is very good!' 39 This arrangement worked very
well until mid-1943 when the USN took over all control of American aerial
ASW duties. By then, however, Coastal Command and the RAF had already
collided with King over the problem of central command and relations were
deteriorating when the tussle over the US squadrons operating in the UK
arose.
The entry of the USA into the war had resulted in Atlantic trade defence
war being commanded from several headquarters spread around the theatre.
For the next two years efforts were made to rationalise this command
structure by appointing one supreme organising body. This it was hoped
would fully co-ordinate the resources and intelligence available to the Allies
and thus make the defeat of the U-boats that much easier. However, the plans
continually foundered when confronted by vested interests and obduracy and
eventually by a complete breakdown in trust by the services involved.
The idea of a central air command for the Atlantic had first been mentioned
in September 1941, when Coastal Command staff and the AOC-in-C Joubert
had discussed the matter with Vice Admiral Robert L. Ghormley, who was
the US Navy's official observer in London. The plan called for a combined
Anglo-American HQ in Iceland and/or Newfoundland and concerned ' ... the
co-operation in, and rationalising of air support in the North Atlantic'. 40
Unfortunately, the plan was rejected by the then US Navy's Chief of Naval
Operations, Admiral Harold R. Stark. In early 1942 Joubert again pressed for
a Central Atlantic Command but this too was blocked, this time by the US
Chiefs of Staff.' 1
The issue then seems to have fallen from the agenda and it was the down-
tum in the U-boat war which in early 1943 precipitated a reappraisal of the
command structure over the Atlantic. At the Casablanca Conference in
January 1943, the trade defence war was elevated to a new level of impor-
tance, for it was considered that without victory in the Atlantic, the invasion
of Europe could not take place. For the British the Atlantic Campaign had
long been of great importance, but it was the threat to Operation 'Bolero' (the
build-up of US troops in Britain for the invasion of the Continent) caused by
the huge shipping losses in late 1942 that prompted the Americans to view
the trade defence war with more than passing interest.
Having been promoted in the list of priorities, the Atlantic Campaign
began to receive new attention from the various command and staff bodies,
all examining new methods of combating the U-boat menace. The notion of a
supreme air commander of the Atlantic re-emerged, initially as one of
Joubert's last acts as AOC-in-C, Coastal Command.'2 On taking over, John
Slessor continued to advocate the idea, although no details remain of the
exact measures both Joubert and Slessor were pressing for.
Events began to accelerate in February 1943 as the Admiralty and the USN
agreed to set up a committee under the auspices of Rear Admiral J. M.
Mansfield, RN (Chief of Staff, Western Approaches Command) and Admiral
James L. Kauffman, USN (Gulf Sea Frontier Commander) to investigate
ways of improving the use of resources deployed against the U-boats.43 In
addition, pressure was growing from the eastern side of the Atlantic for the
Americans to sort out the command muddle across the width of the ocean,
but more particularly in the west where nine different commands existed to
control the American and Canadian forces. The Admiralty began discussing
plans to create a Supreme Allied Commander for all trade defence forces
across the Atlantic,44 more out of duty than hope as Admiral Pound did not
consider such a structure to be feasible. Nevertheless, as the idea was being
bandied about it required consideration. 45 Indeed such was the nature of the
discussion that even Captain H. T. Thebaud, senior US officer in
Londonderry, recommended that King view the idea without prejudice. 46
However, the Royal Navy soon began to have doubts about a unified
command and the Admiralty's plans division advised caution in pressing for
the scheme. Their main concern was political. They perceived that the
various nationalities had different priorities regarding the Battle of the
Atlantic, and that the RN was the only organisation capable of taking on the
unified command but that the Americans would never accept this. 47 They
agreed that ideally a central command of both naval and air forces deployed
in the Atlantic campaign would be '. . . a consummation devoutly to be
wished ... ' but considered it to be politically untenable in the near future. 48
At this point, King intervened and used a Canadian call for a meeting to
discuss the command structure in the Atlantic to set in motion plans for a
major conference to take place in March 1943 to examine all aspects of the
anti-submarine war in the Atlantic. Given King's actions after this Atlantic
Convoy Conference and his continued refusal to allow any US forces to be

commanded by other nations, the reason for calling the conference was
obviously not to facilitate a central command structure for air forces or
surface units in the Atlantic.
King's attitude towards co-operation with his allies was clearly illustrated
during his opening address to the conference.
May I caution you not to think that unity of command is a panacea for
all military difficulties ... I have had what is to me conclusive proof
that these advantages are more than nullified by the handicap of effort
that is inherent when forces of different nations with different customs
and systems of command are brigaded together. 49
This statement clearly demonstrated King's opposition to a unified command
over the Atlantic. The RN's reservation that the USN would not accept
operational control from any body other than an American one were proving
correct. As it was, having been forced to confront the issue of disparate
command the Americans willingly withdrew from North Atlantic naval and
convoy operations leaving matters largely to the RN and the Royal Canadian
Navy (RCN). In this way the USN was able to avoid having its forces
commanded by the British or the Canadians. 5°
Nevertheless, many anomalies inherent in the command structure over the
Atlantic were eradicated at the Convoy Conference and the Americans,
conscious that failure to create a more rational command structure would
result in a renewed clamour for a unified commander, were co-operative in
the discussions. Sub-committees were set up to analyse command relations;
convoy and escorts; air support for Atlantic convoys; training and material
readiness of operational escort groups; communication and operational
intelligence; and co-ordination and implementation of sub-committee
recommendations. 51
The conclusions of the sub-committee on Air Support for the Atlantic
Convoys made a number of pertinent recommendations that were to help
focus attention on the plight of the air forces operating over the Atlantic.
They called for the immediate deployment of more very-long-range (VLR)
aircraft to patrol the central areas of the Atlantic, currently under the
insufficient air protection of just such types. 52 It is worth noting that nothing
was recommended regarding the command of the various air forces operating
over the Atlantic. In view of King's statement, the sub-committee seemingly
considered it worthless to bring up the idea again.
The idea for a central supreme commander either of the Allied air forces
over the Atlantic, or for all forces deployed in the trade defence war came to
nothing at the Atlantic Convoy Conference. The overall commander idea
had been blocked by the USN, and to a lesser degree by the Admiralty's
equivocal stance prior to the conference, but the air commander idea was still
under discussion.
However, even this plan was marginalised when the Kauffman-Mansfield
Committee (see above) was elevated in importance by the Conference, and
redesignated the Allied Anti-Submarine Survey Board (AA/SSB) with air
representation to add further credibility. 53 This board was intended by King to
deflect pressure for a unified command, and the British were willing to accept
it as a reasonable compromise as they realised that the USN would never
agree to a command which appeared to give the British control all the way to
the coast of the Americas, not least the US seaboard itself. 54
Unfortunately, the AA/SSB achieved very little. It had no direct powers to
enforce any of its recommendations, and when it dared to suggest the aboli-
tion of an American-controlled air district in Morocco in August 1943, and
even that a unified air command of the Atlantic based loosely on RAF
Coastal Command would be an ideal solution to many problems, King
promptly wound the board up and ignored all of its main suggestions.55
In fact, many of the board's ideas were sound and it advocated much of
what Coastal Command and the Admiralty had been calling for since 1942.
For example, VLR aircraft, the board argued, were desperately required in
Newfoundland and Iceland to extend the range of air cover from 400 to 600
miles. They pointed out that Liberator aircraft offered the only realistic solu-
tion to the problem and that the USN should provide them. This would have
meant these aircraft, quite possibly crewed by Americans, falling under
Canadian and British operational control.'6 A further proposal made in April
1943 called for a central co-ordinating organisation to be set up to ensure that
mobile anti-submarine squadrons should be able to operate from any airfield
around the Atlantic. The board advocated that a standard supply and doctrinal
procedure be enforced to allow British squadrons to operate from the USA,
and US squadrons to operate from Canada or Newfoundland if necessary. 57 In
August a whole report was devoted to the creation of mobile ASW squadrons
to follow U-boat activity around the theatre. 58 All of these measures came to
nothing, and for this Slessor squarely blames King. 59
However, it must be said that although King did block all of these
measures, the plans were being proposed in mid-to-late summer 1943, after
the U-boats had been effectively defeated. By then the US Navy had taken
over all responsibility for anti-submarine operations in the Atlantic from the
USAAF, and King was more willing to pursue his policy of keeping all
Americans under US command. Unfortunately, King's pursuit of his plans to
assume sole control of US trade defence forces in the Atlantic had brought
him into conflict with both the USAAF and the British, and his subsequent
refusal to accede to any of the AA/SSB's proposals merely soured already
strained relations.
The deterioration in USAAF and USN relations had started to become

clear on 24 March 1943 when Air Vice-Marshal William Foster, Deputy
Head of the RAF Staff Delegation in Washington, attempted to obtain VLR
aircraft from General Arnold for the Canadians. He discovered that the
USAAF chief had already given the US Navy 400 Liberators for anti-
submarine work only to see King divert them to the Pacific. Consequently,
Arnold was unwilling to surrender further resources for the Atlantic until
spheres of responsibility had been properly defined. 60 In light of this, the
American general suggested that Foster and the Royal Canadian Air Force
(RCAF) ask King for the aircraft, and when King refused, as Arnold believed
he would, to go to the Combined Chiefs of Staff. Foster baulked at this, con-
sidering that such a showdown would not aid the situation. He believed the
USAAF chief was sincere in wanting to help the RAF, but also considered
that he would not be averse to using the British as a lever against the US
Navy. 6 ' That Foster could consider this likely was in itself indicative of the
breakdown in USAAF and USN relations.
However, the shortage of aircraft would not disappear. March 1943 saw
the second highest level of shipping lost to the Germans in the whole war,
and the shortage of VLR aircraft in the Atlantic, particularly on the US-
Canadian seaboard was a major factor in this. Foster cabled Portal about the
problem on 26 March pointing out that there were only 15 VLR aircraft avail-
able to cover the convoy at the most critical moment in the trade defence war.
He suggested that as King would not act, the President should be called upon
to make him do so. 6 '
Portal drafted a cable for Churchill to send direct to Roosevelt asking him
to take action to solve the confusion on the US side of the Atlantic which was
causing untold damage to the Allied war effort. 6 ' Churchill astutely decided
to await further events in Washington before sending such a pointed cable,
and in this the Prime Minister was proved correct for the next day Foster
reported to Portal that the Americans had begun to tackle the issue. The US
Chiefs of Staff had reported to the RAF Delegation that King was now will-
ing to divert 60 VLR Liberators for use in the North Atlantic, as opposed to
the 15 previously mentioned. Moreover, the Combined Chiefs of Staff had
agreed that conversion of Liberators to ASW duties in the North Atlantic
would get priority. The US Chiefs of Staff also accepted, with some
reluctance, that the fitting of ASV radar to Liberators was to get priority in
distribution of radar equipment and that a committee was to be set up to
ensure that this happened. 64
The reasons for this sudden change of heart appear to have been twofold.
King had just received a report from the AA/SSB criticising the level of air-
craft resourcing for the anti-submarine war over the Atlantic, and the report
also included a severe indictment of ASV training in the USN. It was further
pointed out that during the recent spate of heavy sinkings not one VLR
aircraft had been operating west of Iceland. King might well have been
able to ignore the report's recommendations, but he could not have
suppressed them, and the report's circulation caused the second and more
important reason for the US change of policy. Foster reported to Portal that
President Roosevelt himself had asked King to report on the heavy shipping
losses and as to the level of VLR aircraft operating over the Atlantic at the
time. 65
Thus, it appeared to be the threat of direct intervention by the President
which prompted King to accept that the North Atlantic had priority in the
allocation of ASW resources. This clearly underpinned the Admiralty's belief
that a supreme commander for the Atlantic would be constantly at logger-
heads with King, and that for any of his decisions to be acted upon the
Combined Chiefs of Staff would have to step in to force the obdurate King to
co-operate.
Nevertheless, although the British were now wary of the supreme com-
mander policy, the USAAF saw a supreme air commander as a means of
forcing their wrangles with King and the USN to a head, and it was Secretary
of War Henry L. Stimson, General Marshall, and Arnold who proposed this
measure in April 1943.
Having failed to obtain any co-operation from King regarding the creation
of a US coastal command66 and with pressure mounting for something to be
done about securing the build-up for Operation 'Sledgehammer' (the cross-
Channel assault) in 1944, the USAAF sought new initiatives regarding the
Atlantic trade routes. The first sign of this came to the RAF's notice on 9
April when Secretary of War Stimson raised the matter and began highlight-
ing many of the problems that had been obvious to the British for over a year.
The RAF Staff Delegation in Washington passed the new 'mood in Washing-
ton' back to the UK, which centred on new criticism concerning the un-
willingness of the US services, especially the Navy, to focus sufficient atten-
tion on the Atlantic trade war. The RAF Delegation also reported that 'Deep
rooted interservice jealousies ... tend to prevent objective view', and that
Stimson was determined to rectify the failure of the US forces to address the
Atlantic problem. 67 Foster of the RAF Staff Delegation additionally reported a
discussion with Robert A. Lovett, the US Assistant Secretary of State for Air,
in which the idea of a North Atlantic Air Commander arose. Although vague,
Lovett had mentioned Slessor by name as a possible appointment to this
post. 6"
The British Vice-Chief of Air Staff cabled Foster outlining the RAF's
position which was that whilst the principle was sound, an essential pre-
liminary would be that the US forces solve their problems by learning to co-
operate fully. As a further caveat, Foster was instructed not to cultivate any
proposals for a unified commander, and was to restrict himself to reporting

trends in US policy. 69
The level of Presidential interest in the scheme was illustrated when
Hopkins himself became involved, discussing with the British Ambassador,
Lord Halifax, in Washington, possible means of creating a unified air
command over the Atlantic. It was further stated by Hopkins that both
Marshall and Roosevelt approved of such a scheme. Three days later Arnold
supplied details of the 'tentative proposal' with the added warning that some
opposition might be expected from King. 70
Portal wrote to Churchill on 18 May outlining his thinking on the issue. He
criticised the current US command structure as being a 'penny packet system'
without any effective means of disseminating intelligence and new doctrinal
procedures. He went on to say that he believed the Americans were hoping
that a supreme air commander would solve all their inter-service problems,
which Portal considered to be ' ... putting the cart before the horse'. Such a
new appointment would only work, the RAF chief argued, if the Americans
sorted themselves out first"'
He also rejected the two names put forward by Hopkins as potential com-
manders: Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Tedder could not be spared from the
Mediterranean where he was Allied Air C-in-C, and in addition had no
experience of ASW and Lieutenant General George C. Kenney, Commander
of Allied Air Forces, SW Pacific, had no experience of anti-U-boat operations
on a large scale. Portal considered that Slessor was the only possible appoint-
ment if the policy was to be pursued, for he and the staff at Coastal
Command had the necessary experience and knowhow to ensure the effec-
tiveness of the command.
The Admiralty had already expressed its doubts about a unified command
structure for the Atlantic, and a supreme air commander received more than
just scepticism. Pound wrote to Churchill expressing his total oppostition
to the scheme, indicating that political obstacles would render the plan
inoperable. The Americans, Pound argued, would never accept a British
commander, and it would be inconceivable that an American could be
appointed as there was no-one with sufficient experience to take the job on.
He concluded that the best solution was for separate commands, but that the
Americans should set up a similar organisation to the RAF's Coastal
Command. 72
By May, Lovett, the US Assistant Secretary of State for Air, was in Britain
and on 17 May he dined with Slessor and discussed the situation of the
supreme air commander. Slessor stated that the idea was sound in principle
but that King was most unlikely to agree to it. Lovett agreed but said that
Stimson was most insistent on forging ahead with the scheme. The American
also passed on several stories concerning the US Navy allocating 70-plus
Liberators to the Pacific which were currently lying idle in California whilst
the Atlantic war was in desperate need of these aircraft. Stimson and Arnold
considered that an Atlantic command would have to be Coastal Commanded,
although Stimson had 'bitten on' Slessor's name for the post, despite the
advocacy of Lovett and Arnold. The AOC-in-C Coastal Command con-
sidered that the major stumbling block would be King, who Slessor thought
would not allow any supreme commander to move USN squadrons about
without his say-so. This would make the whole plan worthless, or would at
the very least mean that the US Chiefs of Staff would have to be consulted
everytime the supreme air commander made any decision concerning US
Naval units. 73 Slessor confided to Portal that a supreme air commander would
be an excellent idea if it could be made to work, but that given recent
experience he did not think it could be. He poignantly reflected that if the US
and Britain were one nation there would only be one air command for the
whole of the Atlantic. 74
Clearly it can be seen that 18 months of working with the US forces had
convinced both the Admiralty and Coastal Command that any kind of close
co-operation with the Americans, but particularly King and the USN, was not
practicable. Portal wrote on 21 May acknowledging that he agreed with both
Pound and Slessor that Lovett's proposal was unworkable. 75 As the CAS was
arguably the one man whose support the scheme needed his rejection of it
sounded its death knell.
However, the USAAF was still pressing for something to be done to rectify
the lack of unified control on the US seaboard. In April Marshall and Stimson
had proposed a plan which would have placed all US anti-submarine
squadrons under the direct control of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. 76 King rejected
this and countered with the formation of Tenth Fleet which would control all
anti-submarine forces within an area format controlled by task force chiefs. 77
Marshall considered this tantamount to naval control of all ASW aircraft,
which still included many USAAF squadrons, and he consequently blocked
this move. A 'compromise' was proposed by Marshall in which a US Army
air officer would be appointed to command all anti-submarine aircraft, as the
majority were USAAF types anyway. Again King blocked the move,'" and
further stated that his long term intention was to create a long-range bombing
force. This threat finally persuaded the USAAF that they would get nowhere
with King and they offered to withdraw from all anti-submarine duties if the
USN agreed not to create a long-range bombing force. 79 At first King agreed
to the latter, but not the former, but when Stimson threatened to withdraw his
offer if King did not co-operate, the Navy C-in-C acquiesced."'
Coastal Command and Slessor were furious that they had not been con-
sulted at any stage during these US negotiations and they foresaw many
problems when USN squadrons replaced USAAF units. Slessor wrote to
Portal stating that the Americans obviously had no idea how long it took to
train an ASW squadron and that the replacement of experienced army
air crews by inexperienced naval units would cause a major drop in ASW
efficiency." 1
The thought of having to work solely with King and the USN also caused
some trepidation in Coastal Command and the Air Ministry, and relations
with the USAAF were suddenly being viewed as having been harmonious.
Although this was untrue (one need only remember the problems of early
1942) relations with the USN had undoubtedly been much worse. However,
Slessor expressed sympathy for the USAAF's invidious position and clearly
understood why they were withdrawing from anti-submarine duties. He wrote
to Portal stating that aircraft had been obtained from the USAAF by the US
Navy, nominally for ASW duties, and had found their way to the Pacific, and
were being used by the Navy as heavy bombers, a USAAF task. 82
It was quite clear to the British that the USN had worn the resistance of the
USAAF down to such a degree that they were relieved to be free from the
bickering. For Coastal Command and the Air Staff now lay the unenviable
task of having to co-operate with King who had thus far in the war proved
himself incapable of co-operating with anybody, let alone the British whom
he regarded with suspicion bordering on antipathy.
British fears regarding King's uncompromising attitude manifested them-
selves when the USN began pressing for the return and redeployment of
American squadrons operating in Britain under Coastal Command, and in
King's refusal to eliminate the anomaly of the Moroccan sea frontier. This
latter issue had been the cause of some concern to the British since Operation
'Torch' when the USAAF created the frontier to protect their shipping as it
crossed the Atlantic. The British were annoyed that the US squadrons in '
Morocco were conducting similar duties in virtually the same geographical
position as the Gibraltar air base. Moreover, when the US forces continued to
operate from Morocco after 'Torch' the British became increasingly con-
cerned that the Americans were wasting valuable aircraft in an area where
they were not required.
In December 1942 Eisenhower had transferred two squadrons of Liberators
from North Africa to Coastal Command for use in the Biscay campaign. They
remained with the RAF until February 1943 when Marshall began to call for
their return to Eisenhower's control in Casablanca."' The Admiralty stalled by
stating that the squadrons were 'in training' and that it would be unwise to
move them at this time. •• Portal agreed saying that to move the squadrons
would not help the Biscay campaign. He continued that the British should use
the training excuse to keep the US squadrons in the UK."5
The Americans compromised and began planning to move only one
squadron to North Africa,"" but the British attempted to get the move deferred
until after the Atlantic Convoy Conference had examined all the issues
involved. This was rejected by the US Joint Chiefs of Staff who baldly stated
' ... if Eisenhower wanted them he should have them'. 87 Portal gave Durston
(Coastal Command's representative at the Atlantic Convoy Conference)
detailed instructions that he should endeavour not to allow the transfer of the
squadrons and to point out to the Americans that 'The protection of shipping
on this side of the Atlantic from North Cape to Cape Town is a British
responsibility'.'" Despite such efforts Marshall was adamant and informed the
War Cabinet Offices that both squadrons would be moved to North Africa 'as
soon as possible'. 89 It was undoubtedly disappointing to Coastal Command to
lose two such valuable squadrons, especially as Slessor had been employing
them with some effect in the Biscay offensive. 9"
In June 1943 Slessor began pressing the Americans for extra aircraft for
use in his much vaunted Bay Offensive. This strategy aimed to attack U-boats
as they traversed the Bay of Biscay, and the USAAF and to a lesser degree
the USN saw merit in the plan. Both the army and the navy offered aircraft,
although the US Navy's arrived late, short of the promised numbers and
eventually resulted in a running battle with the British as King did his utmost
to recover them!'
However, major problems were to arise when the USN began to take over
all anti-submarine operations from the Army in July 1943. In the UK this
included two Liberator squadrons and four other USAAF squadrons allocated
to Coastal Command for use in the Bay of Biscay offensive, prior to the
change in command in the USA. 92 Coastal Command was already sceptical
about the change and the USN did nothing to alleviate the RAF's nervous-
ness when they began the transition.
In a letter to Churchill, Portal outlined his thoughts and misgivings about the
US Navy's new role and staked his claim to the six USAAF squadrons already
in the UK or due there in the near future. As the CAS pointed out, the USN/US
Army agreement might well result in experienced army crews being replaced
with inexperienced naval crews. He wanted to see the transition carried out
everywhere else except in Europe, otherwise the Bay Offensive could be
harmed. He pointed out that King was no great believer in the Bay offensive
and was certainly antipathetic to the mixing of British and US forces! 3
The CAS therefore suggested that Churchill should press Coastal
Command's claims when he met Stimson on 22 July. The next day Portal
was told that the two squadrons already in the UK were to be withdrawn
without relief by the end of August. 94 He then prompted the RAF Staff
Delegation in Washington to apply pressure to the Americans, by sounding
out Amold!5 Initially the USAAF chief refused to get involved, 00 but he
relented after further talks, agreeing not to withdraw his two squadrons from
the UK and not to allow them to be replaced with inexperienced USN units. 97
In August the USN intervened in discussions with members of the RAF

Staff Delegation and the USAAF. Air Vice-Marshal Welsh, the RAF's repre-
sentative at the meeting, reported back unfavourably to Slessor, stating that
the meeting centred around the USN telling the RAF what they had been
allotted, and left little room for discussion. 98 Welsh tried to press for the six
squadrons in question to remain as USAAF units under Coastal Command. It
did not matter how well trained the USN squadrons were, there would be a
drop in efficiency whilst they settled in, he argued.
[Admiral Francis S.] Low [representing King] said the 6 squadrons
could not be found and that my proposal would cause great inconve-
nience to the arrangements they had made with the army. I made the
obvious remark about the greater importance of the inconvenience to be
caused to the Hun. 99
The next day Welsh met directly with King to discuss the matter in more
detail. The Admiral was apparently annoyed that the Army had been dis-
cussing the issue when it was no longer their responsibility. Welsh reported
that he considered King was being deliberately obstructive merely to demon-
strate to the Army that he was in charge. 100 The pressure brought to bear did
have an effect however, as on 9 August King, after discussing the matter with
Arnold, probably to make his point that the USN was now in charge of anti-
submarine operations, agreed to keep the six squadrons until 1 October when
the situation would be reviewed again.'"'
However, the RAF's problems with King were not over. The US Admiral
seemed determined to try and extricate his squadrons from British control,
and when October arrived he renewed his efforts. On 3 October King wrote
to the Admiralty saying that he intended to withdraw one of the VLR
squadrons assigned to Coastal Command to aid the Canadians,' 02 as well as
redistributing all the others.
He claimed in correspondence with Admiral Stark (Commander of US
Naval Forces in Europe) that this move had been prompted by the British
statement that the Biscay Offensive would be subdued during the winter
months due to the weather. He would return the aircraft when it had been
demonstrated that the offensive was worth pursuing again.'"' Once again
King's arbitrary decision making incensed the British. The RAF Staff
Delegation argued for taking the matter all the way to the Chiefs of Staff
level as King's ideas appeared ' ... to be a radical departure from the present
British anti-U-boat policy and to have been taken without previous consulta-
tions with us'. '04
Slessor drew up a memo to despatch to the US Chiefs of Staff and in it he
clearly stated his opposition to King's proposals. He wrote that although the
British accepted that the USN could move their squadrons around in the
British sector, it was only ' ... contingent with our acquiescence .. .', and if
the US strategic situation indicated such a need. 105 In Coastal Command's
opinion, supported by the Chiefs of Staff, there was no change in the US
strategic situation and there had been no consultation with any British
authority.' 06 The British Chiefs of Staff added to the memo that there had
been no mention in any correspondence about a fall in the intensity of Biscay
operations due to the winter. Moreover, if the US squadrons were withdrawn
it would be very difficult for Coastal Command to demonstrate in the future
that the Bay Offensive was profitable again as they would be unable to carry
out effective operations without the US squadrons.' 07
The Director of Operations saw Slessor's memo and fully endorsed it.
At this stage of the war such a paper should be regarded as 'A Boys
Guide to Strategy', but since such a guide is so obviously needed for
Admiral King's benefit I think that it should be given to the Combined
Chiefs of Staff with the full backing of the British Chiefs of Staff.'""
With the British Chiefs of Staff totally opposing his move King backed
down. He claimed that his original decision had been based on a conversation
he had had with John Slessor who, King reported, had said that the Bay
Offensive was to be of limited endurance. In view of the pressure from the
British, King agreed to keep three of the USN squadrons available for Biscay
operations until January 1944 by which time King expected the Admiralty to
be able to replace them.' 09
The British were not satisfied, however. The Admiralty drafted another
memo for discussion before dispatch to the Americans. In it they stated that
they considered the withdrawal of any Liberator squadrons (King still
intended to withdraw two squadrons) from the Bay offensive as unsound
strategy, and they hoped he would not withdraw the remaining two
squadrons, as proposed, in January 1944." 0 Portal conferred with Slessor
before adding his amendments to the Admiralty draft.
Air Marshal Slessor has no recollection of having said anything to
Admiral King to the effect that the Bay offensive would be a matter of
limited duration. We are unable to trace any assurance to this effect by
Slessor or any other authority.
We can see no strategic grounds for moving these four squadrons
from the south-west of England, in fact there is every reason to the con-
trary.'"
The British had clearly staked out their position and despite King's half-
hearted concession they were determined to stick to their opinions. However,
King was nothing if not stubborn and he cabled back to the Admiralty that he
was unwilling to compromise further, and if results from the Bay did not
improve before January he was intending to withdraw all US squadrons from

Britain.'" The American did now agree to keep a third squadron in the Bay
until January rather than send it to Bermuda as, in the words of the Admiralty
staff delegation in Washington 'this had caused much hilarity'."'
The strategic arguments against King's policy were as comprehensive as
results in the Bay during 1943 had been impressive, with 37 U-boats having
been sunk up to August, all but five by aircraft.'' 4 There had been a fall in
success since the Germans had started deploying their new radar detectors,
but Allied counter-measures were in hand. If King withdrew his squadrons
there would be a shortfall in the numbers of aircraft required to make the Bay
offensive worthwhile, thus making any future attempt to make the campaign
successful impossible. Additionally, there was no strategic reason as far as
the British could tell for the squadrons to be moved anywhere else.
Realising the level of strategic argument levelled against his measure King
changed his tactics. By the end of October he was openly stating that the
withdrawal of the USN squadrons from Britain was for administrative
reasons; King wanted these units to replace the remaining USAAF squadrons
still deployed on anti-submarine duties, and which were soon due to revert to
army control.'" This change in tactics undermined the British strategical
arguments. If it was an administrative issue between the USN and the
USAAF, as the Admiral was now arguing, then the British had no authority
or information to argue the contrary. 116
The squadrons were withdrawn in November 1943 much to Slessor's
chagrin.
The root of this trouble is, I am sure, that King for political reasons has
rushed this take-over from the Army Air Force before he is in a posi-
tion to relieve all the Army squadrons with fully trained Navy
squadron.'"
In the days following the argument with King the British Chiefs of Staff dis-
cussed creating channels of negotiations to be used in future when deciding
the redistribution of anti-submarine squadrons. These would include all the
parties involved, notably the British and the Canadians as well as the
Americans. However, Portal who proposed such negotiating machinery did
not receive unequivocal support from the other Chiefs of Staff who drew
back from the chance of further antagonising King. Nevertheless, they
accepted that this left them at the mercy of King's arbitrary decision -
making, though as the worst excesses of the Atlantic campaign were now
seemingly over, such a situation would have to be endured.'"
The issue fell from the agenda in 1944 and the three squadrons left in the
UK under Coastal Command control remained there until the end of the
Second World War. Nevertheless, King's attitude had inflamed feeling
towards the USN, and it is worth noting that the Admiralty, Coastal
Command and the RAF as a whole opposed King to a man. Even in
Washington the USAAF did not support King and had withdrawn from anti-
submarine duties largely to avoid close contact with him.
Conclusions
There can be little doubt that the failure of the Allies to co-operate effectively
in the defence of trade had serious consequences for the conduct of the Battle
of the Atlantic. In hindsight it has to be said the result of the problems was
not serious enough to warrant further intervention by the political leaders, for
if they had done so the parties involved, with their respective vested interests,
would have struggled furiously to pursue their own objectives and policies.
The system of aerial trade defence as existed in 1942-43 did function,
haphazardly perhaps and by no means as effectively as it could have done,
but it did work. It is quite possible that had events forced the Allies' hands
the political leaders would have imposed a central and co-ordinated system
upon the US and British forces but as things stood, even in the winter of
1942-43 total defeat in the Atlantic seemed distinctly unlikely, and the
political turmoil caused by such a measure would have been counter-produc-
tive, at least in the short term.
What made the possibility of forcing the armed forces involved to co-
operate less likely was that all the institutions involved had understandable
reasons for pursuing the policies they did. With hindsight it is easy to see that
the British system would have hastened victory over the U-boat but the
political reality in 1942 precluded imposing this command structure across
the whole Atlantic. This reality centred around US suspicion of the RAF.
What for example could the British teach the US about maritime air power?
After all, the RN was still operating biplanes, and relations between the RAF
and the RN over the previous twenty years could hardly be described as
harmonious. In addition, the US Navy and King's objection to central com-
mand of naval forces was based not on antipathy for Great Britain but on
practical and strategical beliefs.''" These centred on the policy that local naval
commanders should be responsible for initiatives and actions, not a distant
centralised command structure. After the debacle of Convoy PQI7 in July
1942 there must have been some support for this view.
However, this policy, correct as it may have been for distant operations in
the Pacific, was not effective for ASW against the Germans. That the
Americans were unwilling or unable to learn this was the greatest failing of
airpower co-operation over the Atlantic. The consequent breakdown in trust
and communication between the RAF and the Admiralty and the USN and
the USAAF resulted in the squandering of many opportunities to end the
trade defence war early on.

It was fortunate for the Allies that the Germans were unable to exploit the
failings of Anglo-American airpower co-operation, for aircraft were the bane
of the U-boat's existence and the effective deployment of Allied forces could
have won the Battle of the Atlantic sooner. Due to political myopia and insti-
tutional self-interest the campaign lasted as long as it did for undoubtedly it
need not have done so. In the post-Pearl Harbor era it was highly unlikely
that the Germans could have forced Britain out of the war by means of trade
strangulation, but the eventual Allied invasion of Europe could have been
held off until a more efficacious time for German strategy. That it was not
owed more to Allied luck than good strategy for their airpower co-operation
although troublesome rather than disastrous, was far from being the expedi-
tiously decisive factor that it could have been.
NOTES
I. J. Terraine. Business in Great Waters: The U-Boat Wars, 1916-1945 (London: Leo
Cooper, 1989). p.766.
2. M.S. Sherry, The Rise (){American Air Power- The Creation of Armageddon (London:
Yale UP, 1987).
3. C.G. Reynolds, The Fast Carriers - The Forging of an Air Navy (NY: McGraw Hill,
1969).
4. M. Milner, North Atlantic Run (Toronto: Toronto UP, 1985), p.74.
5. J. Slessor, The Central Blue (London: Cassell, 1956), p.491.
6. J. Gooch, 'Hidden in the Rock - American Military Perceptions of Great Britain
1919-1940', unpub. MS, 1991, p.ll.
7. E.J. King and W.M. Whitehill, Fleet Admiral King- A Naval Record (NY, Norton, 1952),
p.461.
8. D.V. Peyton-Ward, The RAF in the Maritime War, Volume IV The Atlallfic ami Home
Waters - The Offensive Phase. February 1943 to May 1944 (Air Historical Branch
Narrative), p.l9, AIR 41/48.
9. Slessor to Newall (CAS), 20/6/40, Slessor Papers. Box XIII, File A. Air Historical Branch.
I0. Slessor to Newall (CAS), 7/7/40, Slessor Papers.
II. UK Air Liaison Mission to Canada, Functions of ... , CAB 102164; also W.A.B. Douglas,
The Creation of' a National Air Force - The Official Historv o( the Royal Canadian Air
Force, Vol II, (Toronto: Toronto UP. 1986), pp.223-9.
12. British Air Mission to Washington, Britman Washington to Air Ministry, AIR R/1428.
13. AVM G. Bromet's trip to USA and Canada, Jan./Feb. 1942, AIR 20/1040.
14. E.A. Cohen and J. Gooch, Militarv Misf(!J'!unes- The Anatomy <!(Failure in War (London:
Macmillan, 1990). p.85.
15. Bromet's trip to USA and Canada (note 13).
16. Arnold-Portal Agreement, 13/1/42, AIR 8/637.
17. H.H. Arnold, Glolwl Mission (London: Hutchinson, 1951 ), p.l78.
18. Ibid.
19. A. Danchev. Ven· Special Relationship (London: Brassey's, 1986), p.RO.
20. Dill to Portal, 8/4/42, AIR '1'./637.
21. Discussions on the Arnold-Portal Agreement, undated, unsigned, AIR 8/647.
22. Slessor to RAF Delegation Washington (Evill), 1/5/42. AIR 8/647.
23. Joint Staff Mission (Washington) to Chiefs of Staff (London), 22/5/42. AIR 8/647.
24. ibid.
25. King and Whitehill, King (note 7), p.393.

26. Arnold to Portal, 30/5/42, AIR 8/648.
27. Portal to Arnold, 31/5/42, AIR 8/648.
28. Portal to Slessor, 10/6/42, AIR 8/648.
29. Slessor to Portal, 12/6/42, AIR 8/648.
30. Ibid., second cable of 12/6/42.
32. President to Former Naval Person, 13/6/42, AIR 8/648.
34. Slessor to Portal, ibid.
36. Aircraft Allocation Agreement - Amold-Slessor-Towers (Rear Adm., USN -Chief of the
Bureau of Aeronautics), Roosevelt and Churchill, 21/6/42, AIR 8/1360.
37. Hopkins to Portal, 2/12/42, AIR 8/1397.
38. Eisenhower (Algiers) to Chiefs of Staff (London), 14/12/42, AIR 8/1397.
39. Churchill to Portal and Pound, 16/12/42, AIR 8/1397.
40. Note by Peyton-Ward, 'Combined Anti-U-boat Command in the Atlantic', Slessor Papers,
Box II, File A, AHB.
41. D. Richards and H. St George Saunders, The Royal Air Force 1939-1945, Vol. III
(London: HMSO, 1953-54), p.36.
42. Notes on Combined Anti-U-boat command in the Atlantic by Peyton-Ward, reference to
Joubert's proposal, 4/2/43, Slessor Papers, Box IIA, AHB.
43. W.A.B. Douglas, Royal Canadian Air Force (note II), p.539.
44. Dir. of Plans to Pound, 15/2/43, ADM 205/27.
45. Dir. of Plans to Pound and Admiralty, 15/2/43, ADM 1/12663.
46. Milner, North Atlantic Run (note 4), p.229.
47. As note 45.
48. Conclusions to Dept of Plans, Investigations into unified command for the Atlantic,
15/2/43, ADM 1/12663.
49. Report on Atlantic Convoy Conference, 1-12/3/43, AIR 8/1083.
50. Terraine, Great Waters (note 1), p.538.
51. Report on Atlantic Convoy Conference, 1-12/3/43, AIR 8/1083.
52. Report by the sub-committee on air support for Atlantic convoys, Atlantic Convoy
Conference, 12/2/43, AIR 8/1083.
53. Pound to Churchill, 10/4/43, ADM 205/27.
54. Milner, North Atlantic Run (note 4 )., p.232.
55. Slessor, Central Blue (note 1), p.496; Terraine, Great Waters (note 1), p.543.
56. First Preliminary Report of the Allied Anti-Submarine Survey Board, 19/3/43, ADM
1/13746.
57. Standardisation of U-boat attack operations, report by the AA/SSB, 24/4/43, AIR 8/765.
58. Mobility of anti-submarine air squadrons, report by the AA/SSB, 6/8/43, ADM 1/12497.
59. Slessor, Central Blue (note 5), p.496.
60. Foster (RAF Staff Delegation) to Portal, 24/3/43, AIR 8/1399.
61. Ibid.
62. Foster to Portal, 26/3/43, AIR 8/1399.
63. Portal to Churchill, 29/3/43, AIR 8/1399.
65. Ibid.
66. King and Whitehill, King (note 7), pp.45~55.
67. RAF Delegation (Washington) to Air Ministry, 9/4/43, Anglo-American Co-operation.
AIR 20/848.
68. Note by Foster (RAF Delegation) to Air Ministry, 9/4/43, AIR '20/848.
69. VCAS to Foster, 10/4/43, AIR 20/848.
71. Portal to Churchill, 18/4/43, AIR 20/848.
72. Pound to Churchill, 23/4/43, AIR 20/848.
73. Slessor to Portal, 18/5/43, Slessor Papers, Box II, File A, AHB; Slessor to Portal, 18/5/43,
AIR 20/848.
74. Ibid.
75. Portal to Pound, 21/5/43, AIR 20/848.
76. Post-war notes on combined anti-U-boat command for D.V. Peyton-Ward by J. Slessor,
19/4/43 Slessor Papers, Box liB, AHB.
77. Ibid. 1/5/43.
78. Ibid. 11/5/43.
79. Ibid. 10/6/43.
80. Slessor to Portal, 17/7/43, AIR 8!780.
81. Ibid.
82. Ibid.
83. Marshall to Eisenhower and Andrews, 12/2/43, AIR 8/780.
84. Admiralty Comments, 14/2/43, AIR 81780.
85. Portal's note on the 43rd Chiefs of Staff meeting, 18/2/43, AIR 81780.
86. Andrews to Marshall, 21/2/43, AIR 8/780.
87. Joint Staff Mission (Washington) to War Cabinet Offices, 20/2/43, AIR 81780.
88. Portal to Durston (RAF Delegation, Washington), 24/2/43, AIR 8/780.
89. Joint Staff Mission to War Cabinet Offices, 1/3/43, AIR 81780.
90. Terraine, Great Waters (note I), p.581.
91. S. Roskill, The War at Sea, Vol.III Part I (London: HMSO, 1954-61), pp.22-23; Memo on
the US anti-submarine seventy-two aircraft for the bay offensive, Slessor Papers, Box liD,
AHB.
92. Portal to Churchill, 2117/43, AIR 81780.
93. Ibid.
94. Portal to Churchill, 2217/43, AIR 8!780.
95. Portal to RAF Staff Delegation, Washington, 22/7/43, AIR 8/780.
96. RAF Staff Delegation to Portal, 2317/43, AIR 81780.
97. Ibid. 2417/43, AIR 8/780.
98. Welsh to Slessor, 6/8/43, AIR 8/780.
99. Ibid.
100. Ibid.
101. Welsh to Slessor, 9/8/43, AIR 81780.
102. King to the Admiralty, 3/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
103. King to Stark, undated but almost certainly between 3/10/43 and 10/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
104. RAF Staff Delegation to Air Ministry, 11/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
105. British CoS to US CoS, 12/10/43, AIR 20/1167; Slessor Papers, Notes on the Bay
Offensive, Box liD, 12/10/43, AHB.
106. Ibid.
107. Ibid.
108. DofOps (AUB), W.L. Dawson to DCAS, 13/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
109. British Admiralty Delegation (Washington) to Admiralty, 20/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
110. Admiralty Draft of Memo to despatch as CoS to Joint Staff Mission, 21/10/43, AIR
20/1167.
Ill. CoS memo to JSM after amendments by Portal sent to Washington. 22/10/43, AIR
20/1167. NB. CoS underlining.
112. King to Admiralty, 28/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
113. Ibid.
114. CoS to JSM, 22/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
115. DofOps (AUB) to Portal, 30/10/43, AIR 20/1167.
116. Ibid.
118. CoS to FM Dill (JSM- Washington), 5/11/43, AIR 20/1167.
119. Cohen and Gooch, Military Misfortunes (note 14). ppJ~S-6.
Strategic Bombers over the Missile
Horizon, 1957-1963
PETER J. ROMAN
Literature in the security studies field has made great use of organisational
theory over the past two decades. Application of such concepts as organisa-
tional essence and standard operating procedures (SOPs) has become
commonplace in the study of modem military organisations. These ideas are
so influential that one would be hard pressed to find a scholarly work on the
military which did not rely on them either explicitly or implicitly. This
literature usually depicts military organisations as mature organisations with
well developed identity and ethos, rigid SOPs, defined boundaries, and
impervious to external control or influence.' The independence of military
organisations was captured in Franklin Roosevelt's colourful description of
the Navy: 'To change anything in the na-a-vy is like punching a feather bed.
You punch it with your right and you punch it with your left until you are
finally exhausted, and then you find the damn bed just as it was before you
started punching. ' 2 While such generalisations are necessary for theoretical
progress or for easier presentation of complex ideas, they also lead us to
overestimate organisational autonomy and underestimate the opportunities
for civilian control. The US Air Force's attempt to develop a new strategic
manned bomber at the beginning of the Missile Age shows the ability of
civilians to impose their perspectives on weapons and strategy upon the
organisation. In the process, they changed the Air Force's shape and identity.
From 1947 to 1957 the US Air Force (USAF) extended the World War II
experience of the US Army Air Forces and built an organisation by concen-
trating on manned strategic bombing. The Cold War, the development of
atomic and thermonuclear weapons, and President Dwight D. Eisenhower's
New Look and Massive Retaliation policies converged to accord the Air
Force primacy in the postwar defence establishment.' The Air Force gained
organisational riches. It usually received half of all defence dollars during the
Eisenhower years while the Army and Navy absorbed budget restrictions.
The Air Force's dominant command, the Strategic Air Command (SAC),
grew during this decade in terms of personnel (49,589 to 224,014) and
bomber aircraft (319 to 1,655)." Besides these materiel resources, the Air
Force, and especially SAC, enjoyed much more autonomy from civilian and
BOMBERS OVER THE MISSILE HORIZON 1957-1963 199
military superiors than most military organisations. Cold War secrecy

surrounding all aspects of nuclear weapons, codified in the Atomic Energy
Acts of 1946 and 1954, muted debates and limited oversight of Air Force
planning and operations. By 1957, the Air Force enjoyed the best of both
worlds: organisational wealth and autonomy. 5
The Missile Age began in October 1957 when the Soviet Union launched
Sputnik. This initiated a transition period for the Air Force as well. Even
though missiles had been under development for years, the superpower race
to develop intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) and submarine-
launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs) as well as the race into space began
in earnest after Sputnik. Missile development challenged the Air Force's
organisational essence and identity in two ways. First, substituting unmanned
missiles for manned aircraft threatened to remove the human element from
strategic bombing and replace it with 'push button' warfare. Missiles would
require future Air Force officers to be more technician than warrior.
Reducing the human role in strategic bombing to the decision of whether to
launch missiles dismayed Air Force leaders for whom the danger, sacrifice,
and heroism of World War II bombing operations were formative military
experiences." Second, missiles would undermine Air Force control over
strategic operations against the Soviet Union. Although the Air Force con-
trolled all aspects relating to ICBMs, Army intermediate-range ballistic
missiles (IRBMs) and Navy SLBMs would require that the Air Force co-
ordinate its nuclear war plans with the other services. The augmented role of
the other two services could revive long-standing debates over American
nuclear forces and strategy as well as reduce Air Force justifications for its
budgetary priority. 7 The problem facing Air Force leaders in late 1957 was
what could be done to preserve the organisation's essence- manned strategic
bombers - now that the missile age had begun.
This article examines the USAF's efforts to develop new manned strategic
bombers and air-tocsurface missiles (ASMs) in the first five years of the
Missile Age (1957 to 1963). Technological change and the resultant political
ramifications in both the United States and the Soviet Union challenged the
Air Force's organisational identity. The Air Force leadership, particularly
Generals Thomas White, Curtis LeMay, and Thomas Power, believed that
manned strategic bombers could remain viable throughout the missile age if
technological advances were exploited. This seemed like an entirely reason-
able expectation for a generation of Air Force leaders who began flying in
biplanes and now commanded intercontinental jet bombers carrying nuclear
weapons. These generals counted on developing a series of new bomber
systems which could keep pace with new missile systems. The most notable
were: nuclear armed air-to-surface missiles (ASMs) for B-52s; the B-70
bomber capable of flying at Mach 3; a nuclear-powered bomber able to
remain aloft for days; and exotic manned space vehicles capable of strategic
bombing missions.' Together, these programmes provided a blueprint for
maintaining strategic bombers by altering their performance and capabilities.
If successful, the Air Force in 1970 would be dramatically different from the
Air Force in 1957 - just as the 1957 force differed from the force that
finished World War II. Remaining constant across all of these periods, of
course, would be a doctrine of manned strategic bombing that made use of
the most advanced technology possible.
The Eisenhower Administration, 1957 to 1960

Sputnik and the impending missile age raised two questions about the utility
of manned bombers both in the immediate and over the long term. First,
Soviet deployment of a large ICBM force posed a potential first-strike threat
which might undermine America's capability to retaliate and in tum, deter."
Second, American missile programs presented a longer term threat to
strategic bombers. Vulnerable bombers might be replaced by ICBMs or
SLBMs that offered short flight times, quick response, and less vulnerability
before and after launch.'" The public uproar over Sputnik now threatened to
create unstoppable momentum for a shift from bombers to missiles. The Air
Force feared its organisation would be transformed from manned strategic
bombing to the silent silo-sitters of the sixties.
The Eisenhower administration made a series of important decisions
relating to manned bombers during the Missile Gap. The first group
addressed bomber vulnerability for the near term and included programs for
dispersal, Positive Control or 'Fail-Safe,' and ground and airborne alert.
The second group concentrated on expanding bomber capabilities by
arming B-52s with nuclear ASMs and by developing new bomber aircraft
(the B-70 and nuclear-powered bomber). The Air Force, eager to protect its
organisational essence and dominance over strategic missions, enthusiasti-
cally advocated both types of measures. Civilians and the other services
generally accepted programs to reduce bomber vulnerability immediately.
However the unanimity over bomber programs deteriorated when the issue
turned to expanding bomber capabilities. President Eisenhower, most of his
senior officials, and the other services opposed these programs largely on the
grounds that bombers would be a less effective and economical way of
delivering nuclear weapons than missiles. Such open questioning of the Air
Force's organisational essence contributed to the intense inter-service rivalry
over force planning and other associated policies.''
THE HOUND DOG AND SKYBOLT AIR-TO-SURFACE MISSILES
One Air Force strategy to improve bomber capabilities was to develop

nuclear-armed cruise and ballistic ASMs. ASMs offered bombers a 'stand-
off' attack capability which allowed targets hundreds of miles from the
bombers to be struck - most likely active defences which would then allow
the bombers to proceed on their penetrating missions. Concern about bomber
penetration capabilities against Soviet active defences before Sputnik led the
Air Force, under pressure from CINCSAC General LeMay, to issue a con-
tract to North American Aviation for the AGM-28 or Hound Dog ASM. 12 In
spring 1958 the Eisenhower administration approved the Air Force's $100
million Hound Dog acceleration as a hedge against projected Soviet missile
strength. 13 Deployed in early 1960, the Hound Dog ASM carried a four
Megaton (MT) warhead, had a range of up to 675 miles, a speed of Mach 2,
and a circular error probability (CEP) of one mile. The missile suffered from
some reliability problems and decreased B-52 performance since each pair of
'Hound Dogs' added 20,000lb of payload to the aircraft. Still, the missile
encountered little resistance from civilians or the other services since it
increased bomber capabilities at minor cost or effort and made the B-52 more
flexible, especially in alerts. 14 Hound Dog was soon deployed in very large
numbers: 54 in 1960; 230 in 1961; 547 in 1962; 593 in 1963. In fact, 308
Hound Dogs remained in service as late as 1976.' 5
In early 1959, just as North American Aviation prepared for the first
Hound Dog flight test, the Air Force proposed a follow-on missile, the
Advanced Air-to-Surface Missile or AASM for American and British
bombers. This missile, according to Air Force plans, would carry a .5 to 1.0
MT nuclear warhead between 1,000 and 1,500 nautical miles at speeds of up
to Mach 5 and have a 3,000 foot CEP. These performance criteria moved
beyond the necessity of destroying Soviet active defences for penetrating
missions. In effect, the Air Force was attempting to increase B-52 stand-off
capabilities so dramatically that manned bombers would be as cost-effective
as ICBMs and SLBMs. Department of Defense (DoD) Director of Guided
Missiles, William Holaday, recognised this and sought a Joint Chiefs of Staff
(JCS) evaluation before he would approve development.'"
The AASM fell victim to the inter-service rivalry which affected the JCS
during these years. The Army and Navy criticised the Air Force's cost
estimates and projected operational characteristics for the AASM as overly
optimistic. More importantly, they argued that the AASM would provide
little value after 1962 because of SLBM and ICBM deployments.
Development of this ASM would extend the period of dependence
on the manned bomber at a time when major emphasis in the US
retaliatory forces should be placed on ballistic missiles. Not only would
R&D funds for the AASM have to be diverted from advanced ballistic
missile programs, but also, once developed and produced, there would
be a natural reluctance to abandon the large investment in this weapon
by converting to missiles. 17
Air Force Chief of Staff General Thomas White asserted that the AASM
would aid bomber 'reaction time and penetration capability' . 18 On 17 April
1959, JCS Chairman Air Force General Nathan F. Twining forwarded the
split to the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) and recommended
approving a R&D programme only, which Defense Secretary Neil McElroy
subsequently approved.' 9
The AASM, now renamed the GAM-87 A Skybolt, encountered criticism
from many quarters in autumn 1959. As 'Hound Dog' entered production, the
Air Force argued in Fiscal Year (FY) 1961 budget negotiations for building
as many 'Hound Dogs' as possible even if it meant slowing B-52 procure-
ment.'0 At the same time, the results of a DoD study of Skybolt chaired by Dr
James Fletcher began circulating. The study concluded that Skybolt's opera-
tional requirements would necessitate more R&D effort than the Air Force
anticipated. As a result, the Fletcher report believed Skybolt would cost one
and two billion- three times more than the Air Force estimated. 11 This nega-
tive evaluation of Skybolt and the beginning of Hound Dog production led
some to argue for a modified Hound Dog instead of Skybolt. The Air Force
now occupied the uncomfortable position of having to defend two weapons
systems strongly enough to protect each but not so strongly that one would
undermine the other. 22
With Skybolt facing rising development costs and shrinking support, the
Air Force loosened the missile's operational goals after the Weapons System
Evaluation Group (WSEG) concluded AASMs could still be an economic
alternative to ICBMs in the 1960s. 23 An Air Force study group recommended
deploying Skybolts with ranges of either 600 or 1,000 miles (carrying 1 MT
or .4MT warheads respectively) and a CEP of 1.5 miles. The study group
projected production of 1,000 missiles with total programme costs of $893.6
million. The Air Force hoped this revised program would entice the OSD into
releasing $35 million impounded from FY 1960 appropriations. 24
Many civilians in the OSD and White House remained unconvinced of
Skybolt's utility. The Missiles Panel of the President's Science Advisory
Committee (PSAC) began concentrating on Skybolt, although technical
advisor George Rathjens felt that 'it may be that the pressures to continue
down the present path will be overwhelming, even if we should recommend
against it.'" In its May 1960 report to presidential science advisor George
Kistiakowsky, the panel concluded that 'we are not yet persuaded that the Sky
Bolt has great merit.''" A full panel review several months later confirmed
these suspicions: Minuteman and other ballistic missiles would be able to per-
form missions identical to Sky bolt's with greater reliability and at a lower cost.
Further, Skybolt might not provide the United States with any capability which
could not be attained by up-grading Hound Dog. The Missiles Panel advised
Kistiakowsky, with some concurrence from the OSD, to recommend to
Eisenhower that he terminate Skybolt immediately. The PSAC pressed for
Skybolt's cancellation in December 1960 as the administration completed its
FY 1962 defense budget. 27 Defense Secretary Thomas Gates decided not to
request any new funds for Skybolt but avoided cancellation by reprogramming
$70 million from the previous year's appropriation to help cover the projected
FY1961 Skybolt development costs of $149 million. 28
The indecisive outcome on Skybolt resulted, in part, from British
pressure on the Eisenhower administration. While Skybolt benefited the US
marginally, the British counted on it to preserve an independent nuclear
deterrent into the future and had even cancelled its own 'Blue Streak' missile
in anticipation of the American ASM. Deputy Defence Secretary James
Douglas, who had just served as Air Force Secretary, confided to
Kistiakowsky 'that he was also opposed to the Skybolt, but that the support
from the Air Force was very strong, and the British were putting pressure on
because for political reasons they wanted to have a "ballistic missile" in view
of the fiasco of the Blue Streak. ' 29 The Eisenhower administration assured the
British several times in 1960 of continued Skybolt development - contingent
on technical hurdles being overcome. 30 As a quid pro quo, the British granted
the US additional submarine basing rights for Skybolt development. 31
Strengthening the British deterrent by transferring Skybolt missiles - less the
nuclear warheads of course- reinforced Eisenhower's general policy goal of
promoting 'nuclear sharing' among the European allies. But Skybolt was
hardly a sturdy vehicle for such a sensitive policy because of its technical
problems. As the PSAC noted in its July 1960 report:
The Panel is aware of the fact that cancellation of Skybolt may possibly
result in embarrassment to the United Kingdom, in view of the fact that
its development appears to have been used as a rationale for cancelling
Blue Streak ... It may be noted ... that various conversations, agree-
ments, and the interchange of personnel between the UK and the US
are having, and will continue to have, the effect of solidifying and
deepening the US commitment to the UK in connection with this
program as time progresses. 32
Consequently, the Skybolt program lingered on at the end of the Eisenhower
administration. Its technical problems made an advanced Hound Dog missile
an attractive and possibly cost-effective alternative. Skybolt had few
supporters beyond the Air Force and the British.
THE B-70
The most significant Air Force efforts to maintain manned bombers into the
missile age rested on developing new aircraft which could distinguish them-
selves from missiles through either capabilities and/or cost-effectiveness. The
Air Force hoped to preserve its manned strategic bombing emphasis with
revolutionary aircraft like the B-70 and the nuclear-powered bomber. Both
development programs began several years before Sputnik. For the Air Force,
the Sputnik launch began a race against time. New bombers needed to prove
their strategic and economic viability before accelerated missile programs
reached deployment. If missiles overcame testing rapidly and entered pro-
duction sooner, then civilians and the other services would have a ready
excuse for cutting or even cancelling the bomber development. Under such
circumstances, manned bombers might be relegated to a supplemental or
even marginal strategic role in the future. But the B-70 and the nuclear-
powered bomber were hardly well-situated in October 1957 to prevent this.
Air Force development of a follow-on to the B-52 began almost three years
before Sputnik. To increase chances of funding, the new bomber needed
performance capabilities which distinguished it from existing bombers (B-47,
B-52, and B-58) as well as from first generation missiles. Based on research
by the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), the Air Force
decided the bomber should be propelled by a special new chemical fuel, fly at
altitudes over 70,000 feet to avoid active defences, and achieve very high
speeds for cruising and target runs (Mach .9 and 3 respectively). 33 It believed
that the high speeds and altitudes could overcome the problems existing
bombers would have in conducting penetrating missions while retaining the
payload and accuracy advantages of bombers over missiles. However, the
new bomber, the B-70, suffered from many problems, all emanating from the
Air Force's technical specifications and exacerbated by its management
plans. 34 In its first two years, the B-70 development programme faced
numerous readjustments for scientific and fiscal reasons.
The initial post-Sputnik defence expansion brought new activity in, and
hope for, the B-70. On 23 December 1957 North American Aviation received
the prime contract for the B-70, while General Electric received the contract
to develop the chemical high energy fuel (HEF) engines. The Air Force
accelerated development timetables to achieve flight by the end of 1961, with
initial deployment by August 1964. It estimated these actions would increase
costs by $165 million with total costs of $2.3 billion for a 45 aircraft pro-
gramme.3' But administration hesitancy over B-70 funding in the October
1958 FY 1960 budget deliberations prompted Air Force Chief White to delay
the projected dates for initial flight and deployments. The B-70 received only
$221 million in the administration's FYI960 budget proposaJ.3•
B-70 development encountered dramatic problems in 1959. Failures in

developing the HEF forced the Air Force to switch to conventional fuel
engines. 37 At the same time, the Eisenhower administration's tight budget
ceilings for FY1961 brought more bad news. As it formulated its budget, the
Air Force recognised it could not afford to develop the B-70 and a new
fighter, the F-108. The Air Force canceled the F-108, but this drove up B-70
costs since the two aircraft had split development costs for some common
subsystems. 38 Again, the Air Force was forced to reschedule initial B-70
deployments further into the future.
With the B-70 program mired in problems, the Air Force tried to formulate
a strategic rationale which could justify the aircraft in the upcoming FY1961
budget negotiations with the administration. The Air Force case rested on
four arguments. First, a strategic triad which included B-70 bombers
presented the Soviet Union with additional defensive considerations. Second,
only the B-70 could perform special tasks like strategic reconnaissance and
destruction of hardened targets. Third, B-70 development reduced the risk of
failures in missile development. Fourth, the human element in bombers
presented an important operational advantage over missiles. As Power told
White: 'Another major requirement for manned penetrators lies in the fact
that you cannot put eyeballs on a missile warhead. Only manned penetrators
can bomb poorly located and ill-defined targets. ' 39
The B-70 dominated the Eisenhower administrations final FY 1961 budget
deliberations at Augusta, Georgia in November 1959. In the first of a series of
meetings, Eisenhower expressed his doubts to key advisers about the Air
Force's need for a manned bomber-reconnaissance capability in the missile
age:
If we place ourselves in 1965, then in those six years we should know
whether missiles are as effective as we now believe. If they are effec-
tive, there will be no need for these bombers ... The Air Force must
make up their minds.
Defense Secretary McElroy tried justifying the B-70 by its civilian applica-
tions but the President 'sharply' objected and claimed to be 'allergic' to the
idea. The B-70 received tentative support from Deputy Defense Secretary
Thomas S. Gates and CJCS Twining while Kistiakowsky questioned the
plane's ability to evade Soviet active defences. Twining offered the B-70's
capacity to destroy Soviet mobile ICBMs as another justification for the pro-
gram. This prompted, according to Goodpaster, a stinging rebuke from
Eisenhower:
The President said that, if they think this, he thinks they are crazy! ...
To spend $385 million on a vehicle which would never be useful
militarily is foolish in his opinion. We are not going to be searching out

mobile bases for ICBMs, we are going to be hitting the big industrial
and control complexes. 40
The Air Force presented its case to Eisenhower in a budget meeting with the
JCS two days later. White argued for the B-70 on five grounds: other Air
Force programmes had been cut to keep it in the budget; it was 'too far' along
to cancel without wasting billions of dollars; America should not rely
on untested missiles exclusively for deterrence; bombers had unique per-
formance capabilities; bombers had a 'powerful psychological impact.' How-
ever, Eisenhower replied that the B-70 'left him cold' militarily and rejected
White's arguments. The Air Force Chief 'begged' to keep the B-70 alive with
a 'bare minimum' programme costing $200 million. Nonplussed, the
President replied that missiles would be able to perform identical missions by
the time the B-70 was deployed:
We [are] greatly overinsuring our ability to hit an enemy. There is no
uncertainty that we would be able to hit his cities. [I find] the missile a
cheaper, more effective way of doing the same thing ... In ten years
the missile capacity of both countries will be such as to be able to
destroy each other many times over ... We are going overboard in
different ways to do the same thing.
But White still claimed the B-70 should be funded because it was the only
bomber under development. The other Chiefs supported this except Chief of
Naval Operations (CNO) Admiral Arleigh Burke, although Army Chief
General Lyman D. Lemnitzer argued for less than $200 million. The
President said he would consider the proposal but compared bombers in the
missile age to 'bows and arrows at the time of gunpowder'. He reiterated:
Each Chief must look for every possible saving, even driblets ... The
question is simply one of success in rocketry. This success has made
possible and necessary reductions in aircraft programs. It is a change in
our thinking. 41
President Eisenhower revealed his budget decisions to his senior advisers at
the final Augusta meeting on 21 November 1959. The President limited B-70
funding to $75 million on the grounds that missiles would provide an equally
effective yet less costly means of deterrence. Eisenhower told them that 'all
we really have that is meaningful is a deterrent. If the Soviets think the B-70
is more effective than missiles, then it has value. If they do not, it is value-
less. ' 42
Eisenhower's logic for the budget decision struck at the Air Force's worst
fears - namely, that the manned strategic bomber would be replaced by
ballistic missiles. This outcome sent the Air Force reeling. Almost
immediately, it canceled B-70 subsystems development with the goal of
building a single prototype aircraft. 43 General White requested a briefing on
'How risky is it, from an operational standpoint, to rely on ICBMs as a
primary weapon in our deterrent force when we have yet to test the vehicle
married with a warhead?' 44 For the Air Force, the administration's FY1961
budget decision on the B-70 represented a major attack on its organisational
essence.
The Air Force decided that the high stakes demanded an appeal to
Congress for a higher B-70 appropriation. 45 As Congress reviewed the
budget, President Eisenhower tempered his opinion of the B-70 program and
came 'to the conclusion that continuation of research and development is
wise.' The President expected an increase in B-70 funding by the Congress
and told Twining he would not object so long as it kept the increase to $100
million. 4 " However, others in the administration continued opposing the air-
craft. Kistiakowsky alerted the President to various problems and claimed
that 'it is not clear what the B-70 can do that ballistic missiles can't- and
cheaper and sooner at that. ' 47
The summer and fall of 1960 proved to be full of twists and turns for the
B-70 program. The Air Force and North American Aviation signed a
development contract for a single experimental prototype (XB-70) on 27
June.'8 Three days later, the Congress completed the FY1961 budget which
included B-70 expenditures of $265 million - $190 million above the
administration's recommendation. Based on these additional funds, the Air
Force approved elevating the B-70 back to 'weapon system status'. The DoD
supported this action by expanding the programme to thirteen test aircraft on
24 August. However, the administration impounded $155 million of the
appropriation. Kennedy's campaign attacks on the Missile Gap highlighted
Eisenhower's vacillation on the B-70. He told a campaign audience:
'I wholeheartedly endorse the B-70 manned aircraft. ' 49 The Eisenhower
administration released the impounded B-70 funds one week prior to the
election, perhaps to boost Richard M. Nixon's presidential campaign in
California where much of the plane would be built. 5°
The Eisenhower administration's erratic course on the B-70 in 1960
continued through the final decisions on the FY1962 budget. The PSAC
recommended constructing two to four XB-70s for civilian benefits since it
did not 'believe that the B-70 is likely ever to be very useful as a weapon
system. ' 51 In budget meetings with senior advisers, the President cited Soviet
air defences and American missiles and concluded: 'The B-70 ... is four to
five years away, and ... it may be obsolescent as a military weapon before
we begin to have it available. ' 52 Defense Secretary Gates considered can-
celling it outright to save $400 million. Ironically, the B-70 was not even
raised at the final National Security Council (NSC) budget meeting. The
administration's budget requested $358 million which would be part of a $2.7
billion program to construct twelve XB-70s. 53 This may have been done to
anticipate the new administration's defense priorities. 54
THE NUCLEAR-POWERED BOMBER
The Air Force ·also investigated several other exotic projects for manned
aircraft during the Missile Gap, with the most important being the nuclear-
powered bomber. Nuclear propulsion appealed to the Air Force in the 1940s
and 1950s for a variety of reasons, including unlimited range and very long
times aloft. Such aircraft would not depend on overseas bases or air refueling
and would be ideal for airborne alert and airborne command posts. But the
technical obstacles were enormous. Simply developing a nuclear reactor
small enough for an aircraft yet powerful enough to propel it was a major
undertaking. Airframes would be needed which could shield the crew from
radiation. Even if these. problems could be solved, it would not necessarily
result in a militarily useful aircraft. The plane would still need to possess
performance and cost characteristics which would be competitive with exist-
ing conventional aircraft and missiles. However, reactor/shielding weight and
costs made this a difficult proposition. As a result, the programme changed
many times in the pre-Sputnik years. It concentrated mostly on building a
suitable reactor, although twice focusing on developing a full weapons
system."
When the Soviets launched Sputnik, the Air Force's nuclear bomber pro-
gramme was limited to building a reactor unit (together with the Atomic
Energy Commission (AEC)) with little or no commitment toward developing
a complete weapon system. The Air Force planned to deploy a few nuclear-
powered bombers capable of subsonic and supersonic speeds sometime
between 1966 and 1969. 56 After prompting from Congress' Joint Committee
on Atomic Energy (JCAE), the Air Force and AEC proposed an accelerated
nuclear flight program to regain the 'psychological edge' from the Soviets.
Eisenhower rejected the request but approved continued reactor develop-
ment.57
Yet the idea of developing an entire weapon system was far from dead
within the Air Force. In spring 1958 SAC proposed combining nuclear power
with the stand-off missile mission into an aircraft called the Continuously
Airborne Missile Launcher or Carnal. This system would be virtually immune
to the two factors which degraded SAC bomber capabilities in the Missile
Age: A pre-emptive Soviet attack and active defences. Plans called for Carnal
to be able to remain aloft two to five days, carry two ASMs and a lO,OOOlb
bomb, fly at about Mach 1, and enter service by 1966. However, the AEC and
OSD believed Carnal added only 'marginally' to planned strategic weapons

for the 1960s, especially since basic research yielded no results sufficient to
justify formal application of nuclear propulsion to specific projects. But they
suggested continuing research efforts because of the 'growth potential' and
for 'political and psychological' reasons:
[l]t would be unwise, however, to appraise the future value of nuclear
propulsion of aircraft on the basis of present knowledge just as it would
have been unwise to assign limits to jet engine performance in the early
1940s ... We believe there is no question but that the US public and
the world at large will attach great significance to first nuclear flight as
positive evidence of the relative technical statures of the United States
and the USSR, regardless of the real military value of the accomplish-
ment.'"
President Eisenhower endorsed this approach, telling Defense Secretary
McElroy and Deputy Secretary Quarles 'that the Government should concen-
trate on the development of the power plant. ' 59 The OSD reservations about
nuclear flight arose in part from the tight budget - it simply could not afford
to waste funds on projects with minimal returns like nuclear flight during an
era of fiscal stringency.
Pressure from nuclear propulsion advocates in Congress, concentrated in
the JCAE, led Quarles to promise a thorough review of the research pro-
gramme, particularly work by General Electric. After a visit to GE in May
1959, Quarles evidently decided nuclear propulsion warranted an additional
$25 million. 60 Before he could implement his plan, Quarles died in his sleep
that night. Defense Secretary McElroy directed his replacement, Thomas
Gates, and the Director of the DoD Advanced Research Projects Agency
(ARPA), Herbert York, to examine the nuclear propulsion programme. The
nuclear-powered bomber gained some support from the WSEG, particularly
for Anti-Submarine Warfare (ASW), warning, logistic, and strategic bombing
missions. According to Robert Little, WSEG-37 ('Evaluation of Military
Applications of Nuclear Powered Aircraft') claimed 'CAMAL had a pro-
nounced advantage over both the B-52 and the proposed B-70 if the reactor
had an operating life of 1,000 hours.' The report endorsed a greater experi-
mental nuclear flight programme.•' The JCS soon approved this approach.
ARPA Director York completed his review of nuclear propulsion in late
June 1959 and presented it to the President, Gates, AEC head John McCone,
and White House staffers. A nuclear-powered aircraft, York told them, had
been under development for 13 years at a total cost of $900 million. Current
plans called for additional expenditures of $400 million over the next four
years for development of a 600,000lb nuclear-powered aircraft.• 2 In York's
opinion, the project would cost far more than this amount and would not
become operational until at least 1970. The ARPA Director stated that the
primary difficulty, namely development of a nuclear reactor small enough to
fit on an airframe and still produce enormous amounts of energy, still had not
been overcome. He proposed limiting research to 'the reactor-engine combi-
nation rather than the other elements of the program'. Goodpaster recorded
that 'the President vehemently agreed, commenting that the only difference
he has is with the mild way in which Dr York put this. ' 63 The other senior
advisers agreed with York to varying degrees but those supporting a more
aggressive programme refrained from voicing their support because of the
poor results, dimmer prospects, and the budget situation.
Research on nuclear-propelled aircraft continued at a very low level for the
remainder of the Eisenhower administration. Strict funding constraints pre-
vented the reactor research from ever becoming a very high priority. The
administration had given up on nuclear-powered flight as a strategic and
economic alternative to conventional aircraft but allowed some minimal
funding to placate advocates in Congress.
The Air Force's efforts to expand bomber capabilities encountered
numerous technical and political problems. The sole exception, the Hound
Dog ASM, was successful because it required no major technological
advancements and it expanded America's strategic capabilities before ICBMs
were deployed. The other three programs - Skybolt, the B-70, and the
nuclear-powered bomber - possessed neither of these virtues. These three
weapons offered a tremendous expansion in bomber capability or perfor-
mance but required engineering feats beyond the state-of-the-art. 64
Consequently, each development program suffered delays and escalating
costs when the technological advances failed to materialise. In other times,
civilians might tolerate delays and rising costs to develop a new, revolution-
ary weapon. But the Eisenhower administration viewed these bomber
programs as strategically unnecessary and fiscally extravagant as strategic
missiles moved through development toward deployment.
President Eisenhower's unwillingness to support bomber development
programmes initiated a downgrading of bombers in favour of strategic
missiles. SAC reached its Cold War peak of 1,854 bombers in 1959 but
began declining immediately because of B-47 retirements (which comprised
two thirds of SAC bombers). Technical problems and the Eisenhower
administration's priorities meant there would be no new bomber for the Air
Force for years. With key bomber development projects on the brink of
cancellation, the Air Force hoped in January 1961 that the Kennedy adminis-
tration would keep its campaign promises to expand the strategic arsenal and
build the B-70.
The Kennedy Administration, 1961-1963

John F. Kennedy's victory in the 1960 presidential election raised Air Force
hopes that its positions on nuclear strategy and bomber weapons systems
would be adopted by the new administration. This was not an unreasonable
expectation. After all, Kennedy criticised the Eisenhower administration in
the Senate and the presidential campaign for allowing a 'Missile Gap' to
develop in favour of the Soviet Union. Candidate Kennedy promised to
increase defence spending by some unspecified amount and to build the B-70.
Fortune continued to shine on the Air Force when President-elect Kennedy
chose Senator Stuart Symington, a former Secretary of the Air Force and
perennial airpower advocate, to head a study on the defence establishment
during the transition. Air Force leaders tried to increase their influence with
the new administration by placing key personnel in staff positions in the
Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD). 65 What the Air Force had not
counted on was the new Secretary of Defense, Robert S. McNamara.
McNamara came to the office with little background in security issues.
While this might humble lesser mortals, McNamara was confident that the
systems analysis and rational management techniques he had learned at the
Harvard Business School and practised at Ford could be applied in the
Pentagon. Very early after his appointment he found kindred spirits at the
RAND Corporation and brought them into an expanded OSD. McNamara
quickly became the centre of defence policymaking in the Kennedy adminis-
tration as a result of a combination of factors including his intellect, increased
authority resulting from the 1958 Defense Reorganization Act, a weakened
NSC system, and reduced presidential oversight. But McNamara alienated
the services which viewed him as arrogant and unfamiliar with military
affairs. In time, cracks developed in America's civil-military relations as each
service conflicted with McNamara's decision-making substance and style.••
One of the first to do so was the Air Force, and the major issue was, of
course, manned strategic bombers.
McNamara formed four Task Forces shortly after taking office to advise
him on revising Eisenhower's FY1962 defence budget submission. One Task
Force examined requirements for strategic weapons assuming, McNamara
ordered, 'That we will not strike first' and that the US would retain a second-
strike force capable of destroying Communist missiles and 'war-making
capacity'. Another Task Force concentrated on military R & D programmes
relating to space and 'controversial projects'. For the latter category,
McNamara listed the specific items he wanted examined. At the top of the list
stood the four weapons that the Air Force hoped would preserve strategic
bombers: the B-70, Skybolt, the Dynasoar space plane, and the nuclear-
powered bomber."' Less than two weeks later, McNamara circulated a list of
96 questions throughout the Pentagon. Dubbed the '96 trombones', the list
included a variety of issues relating to nuclear strategy, the mix between
missiles and bombers, and specific weapons systems. 68 These reports played
an important role in establishing administration policy on bomber weapons
programmes. 69
SKYBOLT
In late February 1961 McNamara completed his recommendations for

changes in Eisenhower's FY1962 defense budget submission. Skybolt passed
this first hurdle when McNamara reversed the Eisenhower administration's
decision against Skybolt funding and added $50 million to the FY1962
budget to continue the program for another 15 months. A White House aide,
probably Ted Sorenson, sceptically reported to the President: 'Although we
have a moral commitment to the British on this, will equipping more bombers
with more missiles be necessary, when this doubtful weapon . . . only
replaces similar though shorter-range Hound Dog missiles . . . ?' 70 But
Kennedy accepted McNamara's recommendation and included it in his
special defence message to Congress on 28 March 1961. In testimony to the
Senate Armed Services Committee, McNamara justified the increase on the
grounds that 'an effective Skybolt missile would offset the expected increase
in Soviet air defence capabilities by increasing the effective attack radius of
the B-52 and the penetration capability of its weapons, as well as increasing
its ability to launch "stand-off' attacks against multiple targets.' He con-
cluded: 'Either the project should be dropped entirely or it should be pursued
in an orderly and efficient manner. On balance, we feel that the advantages of
this weapon system warrant an effective development effort ... ' 7 ' It appeared
that Skybolt was back on track, at least for the time being.
One month later, the Director of Defense Research and Engineering
(DDRE), Harold Brown, completed two reports as part of the '96 trombones'
which cast doubt on Skybolt's utility. The first report examined Skybolt's
technical prospects and employment by aircraft besides the B-52. On the
technical side, it found that Skybolt's problems could be overcome to pro-
duce a missile before 1965 -only slightly behind schedule. There had been
some management problems, according to the report, but funding restrictions
had imposed discipline. While the Air Force now estimated R&D costs at
$415 million, it believed the 1959 Fletcher report's estimate of $500 million
to be more 'realistic'. Yet the report found serious questions concerning
Skybolt deployment. The Air Force had revised Skybolt plans so that only the
B-52 and British 'V' -bombers could carry the missile. Neither the B-58 nor
the B-70 would be able to carry it without modifications in both aircraft as
well as in the missile itself. However modifications would drive development
costs even higher and delay deployment even further into the future. The
report raised the obvious question: should the US spend over a billion dollars
to develop and deploy an ASM which could be carried by the current genera-
tion of bombers but not the next? The report hedged its answer, offering that
Skybolt development and testing should continue to 'gain experience' with
perhaps employment in a new manned aircraft designed for stand-off missile-
launching which it called Dromedary. 72
A second report investigated the feasibility of developing Dromedary. The
idea of developing a new bomber designed for stand-off missions arose out of
the studies for Carnal and continued even as the nuclear-powered bomber
project receded - hence the name of the new aircraft. Unlike previous
strategic aircraft, Dromedary would not penetrate enemy airspace but would
spend long periods airborne (15 to 100 hours) during which it could attack by
launching ASMs. Moving from a penetrating to a non-penetrating strategic
mission made Dromedary's requirements quite different from other Air Force
bombers. Most importantly, endurance would have a higher priority than
speed. As a result, the report argued, Dromedary could be developed with
existing technology. In fact, the DDRE found that the most cost-effective air-
craft would be a turboprop plane carrying IOO,OOOlb of bombs and would
remain airborne for up to 68 hours. Unfortunately, Skybolt was an unattrac-
tive weapon for use with Dromedary. Coupling Skybolt's range (600-
1,000nm) with Dromedary's operations well outside of enemy radar meant
that only a few targets could be attacked with this combination (all on the
enemy's periphery). The report concluded that if Dromedary was
developed then a missile with greater range than Skybolt would also need to
be developed. But it noted that Dromedary, whether armed with Skybolt or a
new missile, would be less economical than existing penetrating bombers or
Minuteman. 73 Between the two reports, Skybolt seemed an orphan: it could be
carried by only one bomber; if a new aircraft was developed specifically for
stand-off missile attacks, Skybolt would not be the best weapon; new stand-
off aircraft and missiles would be less competitive economically than other
systems. These were problems as difficult to overcome as the technical ones.
The reports were circulated to the JCS by the OSD for comment but the
chiefs split on them. The Navy and Army assaulted Air Force bomber pro-
grammes with the knowledge that the new Secretary's decisions on aircraft
would influence other longstanding disputes like nuclear strategy debates
over targeting. They argued that Skybolt would not add any new capability
beyond Hound Dog and would be of limited use because of increasing
bomber vulnerability. The two services recommended cutting off funding and
prohibiting any effort towards production. 74 The Navy expanded on this
theme in its response to the Dromedary report. It noted that the US should
de-emphasise manned aircraft since missiles would be more effective and
less costly than Dromedary or other strategic bombers. The Navy admitted
that aircraft remained essential for some missions in a general war, but
claimed carrier aircraft could accomplish them. The Navy was not shy
about recommending increases in its coffers either: 'The funds required
[for Dromedary or Carnal] could be better used for versatile Navy, Marine,
and Army forces for limited and general warfare.' Finally, the Navy recom-
mended that the addition of missiles required the 'the reassignment of
preplanned nuclear targets' away from manned strategic bombers to carrier
aircraft which could 'exercise their flexibility against theatre contingency
targets, unforeseen targets which develop at the last minute and precision
follow-up strikes following the initial long-range missile exchange. ' 75
McNamara's studies had opened the door for a full frontal assault on the Air
Force's manned bombers and control over strategic missions - core elements
in its organisational essence.
The Air Force tried to put the best face on the Skybolt report and empha-
sised the report's certification of the weapon's technical feasibility. On the
broader question of Skybolt's utility, it pointed out that B-52s carrying four
Skybolt missiles would be more cost-effective than ones armed with Hound
Dog missiles or the Navy's Polaris nuclear-powered ballistic missile sub-
marine (SSBN). While the Navy claimed the US possessed strategic forces
sufficient to strike all Soviet targets, the Air Force argued differently:
Our present strategic capability is marginal. An analysis of SIOP-62
clearly indicates that current forces do not satisfy the strategic task as
set forth in the approved NSTAP [National Strategic Targeting and
Attack Policy]. Continuation of B-52 force (sic) is essential to success-
ful attack of targets in the NSTL [National Strategic Target List] with
the appropriate mix of bomber/missile systems.
Finally, the Air Force asserted that Skybolt was essential for strengthening
B-52 capabilities for the rest of the decade, particularly since it looked like
the B-70 might not replace the B-52 soon. 76
McNamara took no immediate action on the Skybolt Dromedary issue and
turned his attention to nuclear strategy. Since his first exposure to America's
operational nuclear war plans, McNamara had been disturbed by the
indiscriminate destruction and the absence of options. 77 He moved toward a
more selective strategy, guided in part by briefings on WSEG-50 and William
Kauffman's work at RAND on counterforce targeting. 78 In late September
1961 McNamara revealed his new strategy of 'controlled response' to
President Kennedy in his 'draft memorandum' on strategic nuclear forces.
This memo served as the basis for that section of the FY 1963 defense budget
proposal. The objective of American strategic forces remained the same as
McNamara's February Task Force guidance; namely, to retain the capability
to destroy Soviet strategic forces and society after enduring a first strike. The
former would be targeted to limit further destruction of the United States
while Soviet cities would be held 'hostage' by residual American strategic
forces in an effort to deter additional Soviet strikes against American cities.
McNamara explicitly rejected the two major alternatives, Minimum
Deterrence and a 'full first strike capability'.
To carry these new objectives, McNamara recommended 'major improve-
ments in the quality of our strategic posture: in its survivability, its flexibility,
and its ability to be used in a controlled and deliberate way under a wide
range of contingencies.' In addition to continuing the Minuteman and Polaris
acceleration begun in the spring, McNamara proposed spending $347 million
in FY1963 to purchase 92 Skybolt missiles. 79 Schedules called for Skybolt
deployments to begin in 1965 with 322 missiles and rise to 1,150 missiles in
1967 with total costs of $1.6 billion over five years. McNamara justified his
Skybolt recommendation on the grounds that it would be the most effective
way of insuring B-52 strike capabilities against 300 active defense targets in
the Soviet Union. He wrote:
Air defense studies indicate that the most effective means for pene-
trating air defenses are low altitude penetration and defense suppres-
sion, both of which are more effective than attempting to outrun the
defenses at high altitude. The Skybolt is intended to provide a major
improvement in the penetration capability of the programmed B-52
force at a relatively low cost. The 800 Skybolt missiles on alert
bombers ought to be able to overcome almost any Soviet defense and
make it possible for the bombers to go into their targets and attack them
with gravity bombs. 80
McNamara had seemingly accepted the Air Force's argument for Skybolt but
warned that development costs could not continue to climb. 81 With the B-70
program in trouble, McNamara's endorsement of Skybolt may have been an
attempt to gain some temporary political cover. 82 Whether he actually
believed in the weapon or was just trying to protect his bureaucratic flank as
he fought the Air Force over the B-70 is uncertain. At the very least, Skybolt
escaped termination for another year and received the Secretary's endorse-
ment as expanding American strategic power cheaply.
Yet in a fashion typical of the Skybolt history, major problems followed
hard on the heels of McNamara's decision. Days before McNamara com-
pleted his report, the PSAC Strategic Weapons Panel and the DoD Strategic
Weapons Committee traveled to California for a two-day joint meeting on
Skybolt with representatives of the Air Force and Douglas Aircraft. Air Force
Headquarters directed its representatives to focus on Skybolt's guidance
advances since 'It is particularly important that the committee be impressed
with the progress that has been made to date in this area. ' 83 Rather than being
impressed with Skybolt, civilians became discouraged when alerted to 'very
substantial increases' in its costs. McNamara, who had just recommended a
large programme based on now erroneous estimates, and Air Force Secretary
Eugene Zuckert ordered previous cost estimates to be re-examined in a com-
prehensive review of Skybolt by the Commanding General of the AFSC. 84 In
February 1962 Air Force Support Command (AFSC) head General Bernard
Schriever reported that his review affirmed Skybolt's technical
feasibility and management structure although some changes had been made
by the prime contractor. He informed Chief of Staff LeMay: 'I am not satis-
fied with the analysis of the production program either from a cost or
schedule standpoint.' In its fight to secure Sky bolt development, the Air
Force had virtually ignored planning for the production phase which
explained the sudden rise in costs. Schriever ominously warned: 'All pro-
duction cost estimates and schedules need further detailed analysis and
planning before they can be considered valid or realistic.' 85 McNamara's
cheap Skybolt project had disappeared.
While Schriever reviewed Skybolt, the White House debated McNamara's
FY1963 defence budget proposal. Although Kennedy promised to expand
strategic forces in his 1960 campaign, some White House officials, including
NSC staffer Carl Kaysen, Military Adviser General Maxwell D. Taylor, and
Budget Director David Bell thought that McNamara's proposed strategic
force levels were excessive in light of the latest intelligence estimates of
Soviet missile strength. 86 In a series of memos to McGeorge Bundy and
President Kennedy, Kaysen made an articulate case to slow the strategic
buildup of Minutemen and Polaris missiles. In a memo to the President,
Kaysen argued:
In setting the level of our strategic forces, we must always consider
the possibility of interaction between the size of our force and the
size of the Soviet force. It is dangerous for us to seek to achieve a
full first strike capability, because such a goal will almost certainly
provoke a Soviet reaction in the same direction. Both sides will spend
more of their resources on larger forces and neither will gain in
security. The present plan provides for an extremely sharp increase in
our strategic striking power between July 1963 and July 1964. Our
total long-range missile strength, which is now in the neighborhood
of 120, will have more than doubled again to over 1100. Will not
such a sharp increase present the appearance of our seeking a first
strike posture, and thus have a high probability of provoking a
response in kind by the Soviets? They are perfectly capable of such a
response. 87
But McNamara deflected Kaysen's challenge by claiming that any smaller

increase would be politically unacceptable to the Congress. 88
During the review of McNamara's recommendations, both Kaysen and
PSAC head Jerome Wiesner thought the decision to move Skybolt into pro-
duction was premature given technical problems, probable deployment date,
and 'debatable military requirement'. 89 While Skybolt survived through the
FY1963 budget, it was clear that the missile faced a troubled path through
development because of Air Force management problems, McNamara's
frustration with rising costs, and White House pressure to cap rising strategic
forces.
The Air Force pressed for Skybolt production throughout 1962 but
McNamara resisted. Concerns about Skybolt's fate increased after the 1 July
target date for beginning production passed without an affirmative decision
from McNamara. The Air Force soon learned that DDRE Harold Brown was
investigating a plan from the Eisenhower administration to substitute Skybolt
with an advanced Hound Dog missile. SAC told LeMay: 'Any decision to
delay or to not build the GAM-87 [Skybolt] will immediately increase the
deficit between weapons and DGZs [Designated Ground Zeros]. ' 90 At about
this time, Brown and DoD Comptroller Charles Hitch completed their inde-
pendent studies of Skybolt requested by McNamara. The two reports agreed
that 'The ... Skybolt force, as part ... of a ... B-52 force, is inferior to the
force which could be bought for a somewhat smaller amount of money by
filling out the B-52 squadrons with Hound Dog missiles and buying a certain
number of additional Minutemen.' 9 ' In a meeting on 24 August 1962 Hitch
suggested and McNamara approved continuing Skybolt until the end of the
year but cancelling it by simply not including it in the final FY1964 defence
budget proposal. McNamara magnified the savings from Skybolt's cancella-
tion - $2.5 billion over the next five years - by excluding the additional
Minutemen from the budget. Hitch and McNamara believed this would pro-
vide the administration with the most advantageous position to fight the Air
Force and the Congress over Skybolt, both of which were still smarting from
the B-70 cancellation in the spring (see below). 92 McNamara continued
allocating Skybolt funds each month but in November received Kennedy's
authorisation to cancel Skybolt even though the three service chiefs
unanimously recommended its production. 9'
Skybolt's cancellation prompted a minor diplomatic crisis between the
United States and Great Britain which has been the subject of numerous case
studies!' While the administration discussed Skybolt with the British
numerous times throughout 1962, poor co-ordination and planning within the
US government as well as ineffective communication with the British led to
alliance friction in December. 95 That such an event occurred is especially
remarkable given the warnings about diplomatic fallout from cancellation
which had circulated throughout the government since early 1960. More
important for our purposes is the friction between the Air Force and
McNamara over Skybolt at this time for it reveals how far relations had
deteriorated.
On 4 December 1962 Charles Hitch told the Air Force that Skybolt had
been canceled and that all work would cease at the end of the month. With
McNamara travelling to Britain soon to relay the news, Hitch emphasised
that this should not become public. Two days later, the Air Force, DoD, and
Douglas Aircraft scheduled the sixth Skybolt flight test for 19 December.
American newspapers reported Skybolt's tenuous status on 7 December and
when McNamara arrived in London on 11 December, he said Skybolt 'is a
very expensive program and technically extremely complex. It is no secret
that all five flight tests attempted so far have failed and program costs have
climbed sharply.' 96 President Kennedy made similar statements to the press
several days later. Douglas Aircraft responded with a publicity campaign
asserting Skybolt's cancellation would place 14,000 people out of work!'
One week later, Kennedy tried to patch-up relations with the British at a pre-
viously arranged conference at Nassau. The Air Force canceled its Skybolt
test on 19 December, recognising the embarrassment to the President a test
would have in the midst of the Nassau conference. On 22 December, two
days after the conference ended, the Air Force conducted the flight test after
receiving explicit approval from Deputy Secretary of Defense Roswell
Gilpatric. The flight tested various aspects of the Skybolt guidance system
operations and telemetry rather than a complete prototype weapons system.
To avoid any misunderstanding with the DoD, the Air Force submitted
criteria for determining whether the test had been successful as well as
tentative press release before the flight test. When the flight went as planned,
the Air Force informed the press of the success. But some press accounts
asserted that the Air Force was misleading the public about Skybolt's success
in hopes that Congressional and public pressure could overturn the cancella-
tion. The Sky bolt program was officially terminated on 31 December 1962.
On 3 January 1963 Chief of Staff LeMay wrote to McNamara, irate over
the Skybolt test and apparent leaks damaging the Air Force and his reputa-
tion. LeMay began by stating: 'I am sure you believe, as I do, that public trust
of our military departments and their leaders is vital to the security of this
country.' He took issue with news reports about Skybolt that 'implied' his
'disloyalty to the President'. The Air Force chief was especially incensed by
a report that asserted Assistant Defense Secretary Arthur Sylvester said 'that
the Air Force had exaggerated the success of the test and that I had threatened
to punch the man who revealed the fact.' McNamara responded that the Air
Force should not have called Skybolt an 'operational weapon' and that claims
that the test 'impacted in the target area' were misleading since the test
missile possessed no nose cone. He also claimed that Sylvester's statements

contained no inaccuracies. Finally, McNamara wrote:
let me assure you ... in my mind there is no question of the public trust
of our Military Departments and their leaders. I have complete con-
fidence in the Military Departments and their leaders and have never
questioned their loyalty, devotion, or motivation. 98
Rarely in the history of American civil-military relations has the friction been
so great that soldiers and civilians needed to express their trust and con-
fidence on paper for the other to observe. But this was the state of relations
between McNamara and LeMay at the end of 1962. While Skybolt precipi-
tated some of this hostility, the B-70 accounted for more.
THE B-70 CANCELLATION
When John F. Kennedy took office in January 1961, the Air Force believed
that the B-70s problems were now part of the past. Between Kennedy's
campaign promises to build the aircraft and Eisenhower's inclusion of $358
million for FY1962, it seemed that the programme was on its way toward
developing a replacement for the B-52. But McNamara's Task Force reports
and studies from the '96 trombones' project alerted the new administration to
the problems which had concerned the Eisenhower administration. Within
months, the B-70's fortunes fell, never to be revived.
In early March 1961 McNamara recommended reducing the Eisenhower
administration's FY1962 B-70 submission from $358 million to $250
million. Funding the program at this level would allow work on only the
basic elements of the aircraft rather than a complete weapons system. It
would lead to construction of six prototypes which could 'demonstrate' the
value of Mach 3 bombers. If successful, B-70s would be deployed in 1970.
Essentially, McNamara advised Kennedy to continue the B-70 at the same
pace as the Eisenhower administration had prior to the 1960 campaign. 99
White House officials lobbied President Kennedy to cut the B-70 programme
even further. 11K' The Bureau of the Budget recommended cancelling the
project on the basis of costs, vulnerability, and the deployment of ICBMs
which could perform identical tasks. McNamara advised Kennedy to reject
B-70 cancellation: 'Even though there will be primary dependence on
ballistic missiles for the strategic mission in the future, there remains certain
uncertainties with respect to missiles including the question of reliability. '0 '
As the administration put the finishing touches on its FY1962 defence
budget revisions, the Air Force completed studies of the B-70 as part of the
'96 trombones' projects. For the Air Force, which attributed the B-70's lack
of success to an inability to communicate its necessity clearly, this provided
the opportunity to make its case for the B-70. 102 The Air Force submitted a
programme which called for 225 B-70 aircraft, 75 of which would be kept on
alert and dispersed across 45-75 bases. It estimated that all alert B-70s could
become airborne in only four to six minutes which would reduce bomber
vulnerability significantly. Air Force studies showed that bombers, and
especially the B-70, could 'equal or exceed' the damage caused by any other
strategic weapon for the same amount of money. Further, wargames con-
cluded that the most effective future American strategic force postures
included B-70s. The superiority of B-70 in these wargames emanated from its
success in destroying targets hardened to absorb hits of 100 lb per square inch
(most likely to be Soviet ICBMs and command complexes). 103
But the Air Force based its studies on some very questionable assumptions
- ones which discredited the studies in the RAND-trained eyes of
McNamara's staff. First, Air Force cost comparisons of strategic systems
failed to include research and development costs. This was especially
egregious since, of the systems examined, only the B-70 had not completed
the R&D cycle - a process which would be unusually costly for the techni-
cally complex bomber. Second, the Air Force assumed that any bomber shot
down would, on average, still have delivered half of its bombs. Since B-70s
would carry eight thermonuclear bombs, this meant that Air Force studies
projected the delivery of at least four bombs delivered per B-70. This inflated
the B-70s delivery capability and cost-effectiveness, especially when com-
pared to single warhead missiles. Third, the Air Force 'rigged' the targeting
in wargames so that the B-70 would be cost effective. It expected that the
entire Minuteman force remaining after a Soviet first strike would be targeted
against Soviet air defenses. This would weaken air defences so that B-70 and
B-52 bombers could perform their penetrating strikes against other military
and civilian targets three and nine hours later, respectively.uw But this gap
between American missile and bomber strikes would allow the Soviets to fire
any residual strategic forces. Bomber forces would arrive, civilians noted, to
strike empty holes. This would hardly be the 'controlled response'
McNamara wanted.
By the time the Air Force completed these studies, McNamara had already
made his recommendations to the President. These reports contained nothing
which could change his position, especially since he had fought off attempts
to kill the B-70. On 28 March 1961 Kennedy submitted a request to Congress
for $220 million in FY1962 and capped the bomber's costs at $1.3 billion.
McNamara reinforced for the Air Force that he expected the budget to be
kept within these limits and under more efficient management. Zuckert
reported that McNamara warned: 'Unless a satisfactory program embodying
a new philosophy can be prepared and presented to him, he will not hesitate
to completely eliminate the program.' 11"
The Air Force now faced two separate decisions on the B-70. First, it
needed to decide how to use the $1.3 billion in a manner which could result
in an operational B-70. Second, it had to search for a rationale which could
convince McNamara of the B-70's military utility and necessity. While the
first question would be easier for the Air Force to answer, both proved
immensely frustrating.
Several weeks after Kennedy capped the B-70, Zuckert notified McNamara
that the Air Force could construct three prototype aircraft (XB-70) for this
amount and achieve initial flight in December 1962. According to Chief of
Staff LeMay, this 'is the best we can manage' under McNamara's constraints
but he planned 'to strive continually for reinstatement of the B-70 as a
weapon system development leading toward the earliest operational capa-
bility date' . 106 The Congress supported LeMay by appropriating $400 million
for the B-70 in FY 1962 - $180 million more than the Kennedy request and
$42 million more than the original Eisenhower request - which would restore
the bomber to a full weapon system. The Senate even expressed its dismay
over the Kennedy administration's cap by demanding a report from the DoD
about how·to deploy the B-70 as early as possible.' 07 But McNamara refused
to spend the extra money appropriated by Congress just as the Eisenhower
administration had in previous years. He explained to Kennedy in October
1961 that vulnerability, costs of the B-70 airborne alert plan, and the
efficiency of missiles dictated the impoundment. Further, spending the extra
funds would commit the administration to additional expenditures of $3-5
billion over the next five years.' 08
Throughout the autumn of 1961 the Air Force re-examined the B-70 in
hopes that it could reorient the project and gain McNamara's endorsement.
Since maintaining the human element in strategic operations was the top
priority, the Air Force added a requirement for reconnaissance assessment to
the B-70, changing it to a reconnaissance-strike bomber (RS-70 or RSB-70).
The Air Force envisioned that the RS-70 would 'complement the capabilities
of our ballistic missile forces by providing reconnaissance, reconnaissance-
strike, and reconnaissance reporting throughout the trans-attack phase of
conflict'. The Air Force's new plan took the old B-70 plan and called for
even wider dispersal, deployment complemented by additional KC-135
tankers, expanded capability for 'reconnaissance and damage assessment
information on both enemy and our own forces', changes in tactics and
deployment configurations, as well as new reconnaissance sensors and air-to-
surface missiles. While the Air Force had found a mission which missiles
could not perform and that seemed to fit within McNamara's new doctrine of
controlled response, the RS-70 plan only magnified the B-70's technical
problems. Developing a system which could provide reconnaissance and
transmit the information to command authorities while travelling between
one and three times the speed of sound through a nuclear environment consti-
tuted an enormous technical undertaking. 109 In a blatant attempt to improve
the RS-70's cost-effectiveness, the Air Force plan also included changing the
bomb load from eight gravity bombs to 18-20 new gliding ASMs. In a state-
ment tailored for McNamara, the Air Force asserted:
Without the accurate, timely, selective reconnaissance that the RSB-70
can provide, our strategic forces are blind. The addition of this capa-
bility makes our ballistic missiles more valuable, both because it
permits a greater economy of commitment, as well as permitting
intelligent trans-attack force management instead of blind reaction. The
qualities of precision of force application, discriminate destruction,
positive force control and intelligent force management are the
necessary ingredients to a non-escalatory force. 110
The Air Force hoped that presenting McNamara with a more detailed plan
than he directed would restore B-70 funding for FY1962 and result in greater
FY1963 support for the RS-70. 111 But the new program still would be expen-
sive to develop, especially since it required an entirely new ASM.
But McNamara questioned the possibility of a reconnaissance capability
for the B-70 or a modified programme even before he received the Air
Force's plan. In a memorandum to President Kennedy in October 1961,
MeN amara explained:
The B-70 weapon system as presently designed would not really have a
capability to search for targets of unknown or uncertain location, or to
seek out and attack mobile targets. The Air Force is examining the use
of the B-70 in a strike-reconnaissance role. However, even if it can be
modified for this purpose, the changes in subsystems and doctrine
would be so extensive that it does not appear reasonable to commit to
production at this time. 112
Consequently, McNamara proved a hostile audience when, in January 1962,
the Air Force proposed building six prototypes instead of three with a pro-
jected initial deployment by the end of 1966. It requested the release of $80
million of the impounded FY 1962 funds and recommended FY1963 funding
of $491 million - although the project could be continued at the current pace
with $320 million. 113 McNamara rejected the Air Force's recommendation
and decided to limit B-70 funding in FY 1963 to $171 million, most of which
would be taken from remaining FY1962 funds. DDRE Brown informed the
Air Force that a reconnaissance-strike role for bombers would be 'desirable'
but required more study on the technical feasibility before any funds would
be applied. 114
Congressional tolerance with the Eisenhower and Kennedy administra-
tions' impounding of its B-70 appropriations had eroded by the time it con-
sidered the FY 1963 defense budget. On 7 March 1962 the House Armed
Services Committee, led by Chairman Carl Vinson, drafted legislation
'directing' McNamara to spend the $491 million on the RS-70 in FY1963.
Vinson let it be known that he was willing to let the RS-70 become a consti-
tutional challenge of congressional-executive authority.
Relations between McNamara, the Air Force, and Congress became very
tense over the next two weeks. On 8 March McNamara asked Zuckert what
plans the Air Force had developed for redirecting its funds to support RS-70
development as LeMay suggested in previous congressional testimony.
Zuckert replied that this referred to redirecting throughout the entire DoD not
just the Air Force.'" In a closed appearance before the Vinson committee on
14 March McNamara explained that his opposition to the RS-70 rested on
technical evaluation of both reconnaissance sensors and the aircraft as well as
cost-effectiveness comparisons with strategic missile systems.'' 6 He also
announced the formation of a joint Air Force/DDRE study of the RS-70.
With the Air Force already concerned that its position was misunderstood and
misrepresented,'' 7 LeMay drafted a letter to McNamara which took issue with
the Secretary's 14 March testimony on the RS-70: 'As your principal advisor
on air matters, I did not have the opportunity before hand to advise you in
this instance, and I feel it my clear responsibility, therefore, to provide
you with my views at this time.' The letter rejected McNamara's claim of
technical problems and cost-effectiveness evaluations. It stated:
I can find no reasonable basis for the judgment that 'the RS-70
program, as we see it now, would not add significantly to our strategic
retaliatory capability in the period after 1967.' ... On the contrary, the
only authoritative report available, the NESC [Net Evaluation
Subcommittee] Report, strongly supports the need for such a weapon
system in the period subsequent to 1967.
The letter added that funding below the Air Force recommendations would
only delay the deployments further and add costs later. LeMay signed the
letter but decided against sending it after having a conference with
McNamara on the subject.'"
On 20 March 1962 President Kennedy met with Vinson in an effort to
avert a protracted constitutional struggle over RS-70 impoundments. In the
'Rose Garden Compromise', Vinson agreed to weaken the legislation's
language from 'direct' to 'authorise' RS-70 spending. Kennedy, in return,
promised that McNamara would give the joint Air Force/DDRE study a fair
hearing when it was completed.''" The compromise so flushed the Air Force
with success that it held firm to the $491 million figure when House
Appropriations staffers pleaded for a lower amount- $438.5 million. 120 Air
Force obstinacy backfired when the House Appropriations Committee,

already sensitive to Vinson's foray onto its turf, reported only $232 million
for the RS-70 which the whole House subsequently approved. To restore FY
1963 funding to $491 million now meant convincing the Senate- specifically
the Senate Appropriations Committee - and the eventual conference
committee. LeMay counted on the joint study, which would be carried out
primarily by the Air Force Under Secretary Joseph Charyk and AFSC
Commander General Bernard Schriever, to persuade the Senate. 121 The Air
Force study estimated RS-70 development would cost $1.806 billion over the
next five years and lead to deployments in 1968. The Air Force's Scientific
Advisory Board reached a similar conclusion although not unanimously. 122 It
is unclear whether these studies reached Congress, but the Senate restored the
$491 million. In July 1962 a conference committee split the difference
between the House and Senate bills and appropriated $362 million for six
RS-70 prototypes.
As the appropriations bill moved through Congress, LeMay prepared for
another fight with McNamara over impoundment. LeMay admitted to
CINCSAC Power that this would be difficult: 'I have some hope that we can
move the RS-70 into a reasonable program, but we're still a long way from
winning it and we'll have to push our case every inch of the way as forcefully
as we can.' 123 In an effort to strengthen its case, Air Force Headquarters tried
to limit out-of-channel meetings between Air Force scientists and the OSD
lest information damaging to the RS-70 leak out.' 24 It became evident in late
July that McNamara would impound FY1963 funds above the administra-
tion's request despite the congressional appropriation. In late July LeMay
recommended to Zuckert the release of the congressional appropriation for an
expanded development program on the grounds that it would be a technical
advancement which could perform missions missiles could not. 125
Air Force Secretary Zuckert agreed with LeMay and presented a RS-70
plan for using the FY1963 funds to McNamara in August. This latest plan
called for spending $397.6 million (the entire FY 1963 appropriation and plus
remaining FY 1962 funds) for development. The Air Force projected total
development costs of $3 billion with at least another $2.1 billion needed
for production of 45 aircraft beginning in 1968 (more if deployments were
accelerated).' 26 The JCS reviewed the Air Force proposal and broke precedent
by unanimously approving development on 28 September, 1962 - just days
before Maxwell Taylor replaced Lyman Lemnitzer as CJCS. But before the
JCS could inform McNamara of the decision, McNamara notified them that
he had rejected the Air Force plan. McNamara met with the chiefs on 1
October 1962 and, according to Air Force historian Bernard Nalty,
'suggested that they reconsider their earlier endorsement of the RS-70 and, if
their position remained the same, provide more detailed reasons for their
BOMBERS OVER THE MISSILE HORIZON !957-1963 225
views.' 127 After the Cuban Missile Crisis interrupted RS-70 deliberations, the
JCS reaffirmed their support for the Air Force's RS-70 program although
CJCS Taylor limited his endorsement to development only.
At about this time, McNamara circulated to Zuckert a draft memo for
President Kennedy that contained his recommendations. Zuckert 'protested
inaccuracies and questionable conclusions' in the draft. 128 The reasons for
Zuckert's unhappiness are evident in the final memo delivered to Kennedy on
20 November 1962. McNamara took issue with the Air Force's cost
estimates. While the Air Force estimated program costs of $5.2 billion for 45
aircraft and $8.2 billion for 135 aircraft, McNamara argued that $6.7 billion
and $11.2 billion were accurate figures. He further asserted that the Air
Force's plan required a minimum 135-plane deployment. Between remaining
development and deployment costs, McNamara believed the administration
faced additional appropriations of at least $10 billion. Inflation in weapons
programmes prevented any estimate of a ceiling for RS-70 costs. He warned
Kennedy:
It is not possible to set a reliable upper bound on the cost of a weapon
system some of whose components are beyond the current state of
technology ... I believe that it would not be unreasonable to estimate
that eventually the [sanitized] would cost some $13 to $15 billions if
the Air Force were permitted to carry out its attempts to exploit the
growth potential and improve the aircraft. The annual operating costs
are also uncertain, depending as they do on a mode of operation that
has not yet been fully defined.
With the RS-70 threatening to become an enormous drain on money,
McNamara advised Kennedy to phase out the project over the next two years.
Research on reconnaissance sensors would continue by releasing $50 million
from the impounded FY 1963 funds. MeN amara also proposed decreasing
funding to $81 million and $28 million over the next two fiscal years. Under
this plan, the RS/B-70 would conclude in FY1965 with total costs of $1.35
billion.'" President Kennedy approved McNamara's recommendation in a
budget meeting on 23 November 1962.u"
The year 1962 proved to be the denouement of the B-70 saga. The aircraft
limped along for several more years as North American Aviation constructed
at first three and then only two prototypes. McNamara kept close watch and
insured that fiscal controls were observed. He continued the annual impound-
ment tradition in FY 1964 when the Congress appropriated $363 million.
When the program finally ended in 1965, total costs had reached $1.5 billion
- only $200 million more than the administration's March 1961 cap.
President Kennedy and Robert McNamara had reached the same conclusion
that Eisenhower had: the B-70 was simply too technically questionable and
expensive after purchasing hundreds of ICBMs and SLBMs. The Air Force
leadership, particularly Generals White, LeMay, and Power, had gambled on
exotic aircraft to protect strategic bombers in the missile age and lost.
One would have trouble imagining a more disheartened organisation
than the Air Force at the beginning of 1963. 131 Two major weapons systems
which played integral roles in its organisation had been cancelled in the past
two months. Other manned systems like the Dynasoar space plane were
curtailed as well. With B-52 production ending on 26 October 1962, for the
first time in its history the Air Force did not have a strategic bomber under-
going full development or production (often it had several bombers at
different stages of this process). In spring 1963 the Air Force went back to
the technological drawing board by forming Project 'Forecast' to examine
its future weapons needs. Under the direction of AFSC Commander
Schriever, 'Forecast' departed from the Air Force's strategic bombing
mindset by emphasising weapons which depended on smaller technological
advances and could be used in both limited and general wars."' Several future
Air Force weapons, like Short Range Attack Missile 'SRAM' and the B-1
bomber, can be traced to 'Forecast' and its relating studies, although
McNamara and Vietnam limited development efforts.
The Skybolt and RS-70 cancellations combined with Project 'Forecast'
offer a useful benchmark for the end of this five-year transition period. The
three weapons on which the Air Force counted to maintain manned strategic
bombing throughout the 1960s had been terminated. All suffered from
technical problems of varying magnitude. 133 Even if technical problems
could be overcome, as in the case of Skybolt, 134 these weapons would
still be cost-ineffective to develop and deploy compared to ICBMs and some-
times even B-52s. The Air Force leaders, particularly LeMay, failed to
understand that political leaders had less tolerance for problems in bomber
development programs once missiles became available. The advent of
ballistic missiles and subsequent changes in nuclear strategy meant a
decreased importance for manned strategic bombers. It finally dawned on the
Air Force in 1963 that this could not be prevented. While the Air Force con-
tinued its quest for a follow-on to the B-52 for decades, the primacy which
manned strategic bombers enjoyed in the organisation's first decade never
returned.
Conclusion
Air Force plans for a new generation of manned strategic bombers in
the 1960s failed miserably as even the most casual observer knows. The
organisation's familiar strategy of exploiting new technology to produce
incremental innovations in strategic bombers only resulted in a series of dis-
appointments: Skybolt, the B-70, Carnal, as well as other more exotic

systems. The only strategic bomber weapon system which successfully navi-
gated the development process, Hound Dog, required no major technical
advancements and offered an inexpensive way to increase strategic forces.
This article reveals several endemic problems in the Air Force's management
of technology and politics, First, new weapons' designs presumed that
technology could be pushed and engineering advancements achieved within a
reasonable time. 135 But the Air Force overestimated how far, fast, and
economically it could push technological advances. Second, the Air Force
was slow to grasp how missiles changed the political environment. Prior to
the missile era, political leaders tolerated problems in developing new
bombers because there was no alternative available for delivering nuclear
weapons against the Soviet Union. Missile development enabled political
leaders to hold bomber development programs to more stringent timetables,
cost estimates, and cost-effectiveness evaluations. Third, when the Air Force
defended bomber development programs, it produced shoddy advice and
evaluations for civilians. 136 It was as if the Air Force had grown unaccus-
tomed to having to justify new weapons requirements during the 1950s.
Fourth, and more broadly, the Air Force continued to base planning on
the assumption that the United States would maintain strategic nuclear
superiority over the Soviet Union. On the other hand, both the Eisenhower
and Kennedy administrations increasingly questioned the utility of develop-
ing and deploying new generations of strategic weapons once an assured
second-strike capability was attained. As a result of these technological and
political factors, the Air Force's incremental innovation in manned strategic
bombers stopped in the early 1960s. It would take two more decades for the
Air Force to finally deploy a replacement for the B-52.
This article raises several intriguing observations about civilian decision-
making and the behavior of military organisations. There is a remarkable
consistency - albeit with several slight exceptions - in the two administra-
tions' positions on these manned strategic bomber programs. The Kennedy
administration ultimately followed a course identical to the Eisenhower
administration's path in which neither Skybolt, the B-70, nor a nuclear
powered-bomber were developed. One would hardly expect this given the
Kennedy administration's commitment to altering American defense policy
and strategy. The major difference between the Eisenhower and Kennedy
administrations in strategic bombers arose from different decision-making
styles rather than substantive issues. The Eisenhower administration, still
operating under Massive Retaliation's vague strategic force objectives, rarely
made any formal effort to determine the relative cost-effectiveness of
strategic bombers with missiles. Instead, President Eisenhower used his
formal NSC system to control these bomber projects while missile forces
expanded but budgets remained constrained. Reports from groups like PSAC,
WSEG, and APRA were channeled through the NSC ap.d gave Eisenhower
the information necessary to reject Air Force recommendations. But this
decision-making process also accorded the Air Force the opportunity to argue
its position directly to President Eisenhower either before the entire NSC or
in private meetings. Allowing the service a presidential appeal gave decisions
legitimacy and helped deflect criticism of controversial decisions. 137
The Kennedy administration's decision-making on strategic bombers was
as successful in achieving goals as the Eisenhower administration, but it also
led to many other problems and difficulties. Kennedy dismantled Eisen-
hower's formal NSC mechanisms upon taking office, relying instead on a
free-wheeling collegial discussion among a cadre of aides. The weakened
NSC allowed Robert McNamara to dominate defence policy decisions. In this
scheme, the DoD decision-making arena conducted in the language of
systems analysis became the critical decision locus on bomber issues. When
services lost in this arena, appeals to the president were rarely granted. 138
Consequently, the services objected to McNamara's criteria for making a
decision and felt they had been denied a fair hearing from the President.
Other elements of the McNamara decision style - like disdain for organisa-
tional perspectives and control over information - magnified the friction
between the armed forces and the OSD. While this decision style allowed
McNamara to gain control over the Department of Defense, it also
engendered conflict with the Air Force which erupted in decisions about
strategic bombers as well as the Tactical Fighter Experimental (TFX) and
nuclear strategy.
That two successive administrations could impose their policy preferences
over the objections of the Air Force and Congress in such a important issue
may be somewhat surprising. After all, literature on weapons development
which utilises organisational process or bureaucratic politics paradigms dis-
counts the possibility of civilian control. 139 However, this article shows that
administrations can simply reject service arguments for a new weapon system
if they are willing to endure the uproar from the service and its allies. The
administration does not need to depend on the service faithfully to implement
its decision, unlike general policy changes or conducting operations. These
negative weapon system decisions give the services little room to 'fudge'
compliance.' 40
The capability of the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations to say no to
new strategic bombers resulted in a very different force posture in the 1960s
to that which the Air Force had planned. The rejection ended the dominant
position of manned strategic bombing and precipitated changes in the Air
Force's organisational identity. While organisations may have the same
responsiveness to civilian intervention as a feather bed does to punches, this
case indicates that the right type of punches sometimes changes the bed's
shape.
NOTES
This article is based on a chapter in Peter J. Roman, Eisenhower and the Missile Gap (Ithaca,
NY: Cornell UP, forthcoming).
I. The classic statement is Graham Allison, Essence of Decision (Boston: Little Brown,
1971). The concepts in this book have been applied to numerous aspects of military
behaviour. Among the more notable studies are: Graham Allison and Frederic A. Morris,
'Armaments and Arms Control: Exploring the Determinants of Military Weapons,'
Daedalus 104/3 (Summer 1975), pp.99-130; Barry R. Posen, The Sources of Military
Doctrine (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1984); Matthew Evangelista, Innovation and the Arms
Race (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1988); Edmund Beard, Developing the ICBM (NY:
Columbia UP, 1976); Andrew F. Krepinevich, The Army and Vietnam (Baltimore, MD:
Johns Hopkins UP, 1986).
2. Quoted in Allison and Morris, Essence (note I), p.86.
3. In general, see Herman S. Wolk, Planning and Organizing the Postwar Air Force,
1943-1947 (Washington: Off. of AF Hist., 1984); Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts,
and Doctrine (Maxwell AFB: Aerospace Studies Inst., 1971); Harry Borowski, A Hollow
Threat, Containment and Strategic Air Power Before Korea (Westport, CT: Greenwood
Press, 1982); Alfred Hurley and Robert Ehrhart (eds.), Air Power and Waifare
(Washington, DC: Off. of AF Hist., 1979); Borowski, Military Planning in the Twentieth
Century (Washington: Off. of AF History, 1986); Phillip Meilinger, Hoyt S. Vandenberg:
The Life of A General (Bloomington, IN: Indiana UP, 1989).
4. Office of the Historian, SAC, Alert Operations and the Strategic Air Command, 1957-1991
(Offutt AFB: SAC Historian's Office, 1991), pp.67-80.
5. For a discussion of the balance between these goals see James Q. Wilson, Bureaucracy
(NY: Basic Books, 1989), Chs.I0-12.
6. Land forces underwent a similar crisis in the early part of the twentieth century due to the
invention of tanks and other mechanized vehicles. Edward Katzenbach, 'Horse Cavalry in
the Twentieth Century', in Robert Art and Kenneth Waltz (eds.), The Use of Force, 4th ed.
(Lanham, MD: UP of America, 1993), pp.l61-80.
7. Service debates over nuclear strategy are detailed in David Alan Rosenberg, 'The Origins
of Overkill: Nuclear Weapons and American Strategy, 1945-1960,' International SecuriTy
7/4 (Spring 1983), pp.3-71.
8. This article does not examine decision relating to military space vehicles like DYNA-
SOAR. For more on these programs see Paul Stares, The Militarization of Space: US
Policy, 1945-1984 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1985) and Lee Bowen, The Threshhold of
Space: The Air Force in the National Space Program I945-I959, (Maxwell AFB: Air
Force Hist. Res. Center [AFHRC] Sept. 1960.
9. See Peter J. Roman, Eisenhower and the Missile Gap (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, forth-
coming).
10. The possibility that missiles might eventually replace bombers had worried Air Force
leadership for years. Even before Sputnik, it tried to protect manned bombers by restrain-
ing ICBM development. See Beard, Developing (note 1).
II. These are discussed in Roman, Eisenhower and the Missile Gap (note 9).
12. Kenneth P. Werrell, The Evolution of the Cruise Missile (Maxwell AFB: Air UP, 1985),
p.l21. Also see correspondence between LeMay and Lt. Gen. Frank Everest, 27 February,
1957 and 12 April, 1957, both located in Gen. Correspondence- Everest folder, LeMay
Papers, Library of Congress (LoC).
13. Memo. of Conversation with the President (MCP) on 20 March, 1958-3:00 pm, Andrew
Goodpaster, 21 March, 1958, Missiles and Satellites 2(3) folder, Subject series, DoD sub-
series, White House Office-Office of Staff Secretary (WHO-OSS), Dwight D. Eisenhower

Library (DDEL).
14. Memo, 'Discussion at the 425th Meeting of the NSC, 25 Nov. 1959,' 25 Nov. 1959,
Declassified Documents Catalog (DDC), 1992/366.
15. Werrell, Evolution (note 12), p.l21.
16. Memo, Holaday to Twining, 9 Jan. 1959, 'Subject: Advanced Air-to-Surface Missile',
enclosure to note, Secretaries to JCS, 15 January, 1959, JCS 2012/139, CCS 4711, JCS
Records, Record Group (RG) 218, Modem Military Branch (MMB), National Archives
(NA).
17. 'Views of the Chief of Staff, US Army and the Chief of Naval Operations on the Advanced
Air-to-Surface Missile (AASM},' appendix 'A' to memorandum, Twining to McElroy, 17
April 1959, 'Subject: Advanced Air-to-Surface Missile (AASM},' JCSM-145-59, CCS
4711, JCS Records, RG 218, MMB, NA. A WSEG study had reported negatively on the
technical difficulties involved in AASM development. See memorandum, CSUSA, 25
March 1959, 'Subject: Advanced Air-to-Surface Missile (AASM),' same location as the
above document.
18. 'Views of the Chief of Staff, US Air Force on the Advanced Air-to-Surface Missile
(AASM)', appendix 'B' to 'AASM' (note 17).
19. Ibid.
20. Memo, White to DCS/Plans & Programs, 3 Sept. 1959 and memo., Maj. Gen. Donnelly to
LeMay, 9 Sept. 1959, 'Additional Hound Dogs Versus Less B-52s', both located in CS-
Signed Memos folder, White Papers, LoC.
21. Report, Missiles Panel to PSAC, 12 July 1960, 'Subject: The Skybolt Air-Launched
Ballistic Missile Program', Defense Program - FY 1961 Adjustments (I) folder, Subject
series, DoD subseries, WHO-OSS, DDEL, pp.l-2.
22. See Letter, Power to White, 2 Sept. 1959, Command-SAC folder, White Papers, LoC.
23. Memo, White to JCS, 24 November, 1959, 'Advanced Air-to-Surface Missiles', JCS
2012/162, CCS 4711, JCS Records, RG 218, MMB, NA.
24. Memo, LeMay to White, 9 Feb. 1960, 'Evaluation of the GAM-87A 'Sky Bolt' (sic), AF
Council 1-6/1960 folder, White papers, LoC.
25. Memo, Rathjens to the Missiles Panel, 23 March, 1960, 'Subject: May Meeting of the
Missiles Panel', March 1960 folder, Nuclear History series, NSA.
26. Memo, Missiles Panel to Kistiakowsky, 16 May 1960, 'Subject: The Minuteman Program'.
27. 'Review of the FY '62 Military Budget,' DDC, 1987/2997.
28. MCP on 5 Dec. 1960, Goodpaster, 8 Dec., 1960. Also see memo, J. Holzapple to White, 9
Dec., 1960, and memo, Roscoe Wilson to AFDDC, 19 Dec. 1960, 'Dyna Soar and Skybolt
Programs', both located in Missile/Space/Nuclear folder, White Papers, LoC.
29. Memo, Kistiakowsky to Beckler, 4 Aug. 1960, 'Meeting with Secretary Douglas', Missiles
(6) folder, WHO-OSST, DDEL.
30. Kenneth Ciboski, 'The Bureaucratic Connection: Explaining the Skybolt Decision', in
Endicott and Stafford, American Defense Policy, 4th ed., (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins
UP, 1977) p.375.
31. Ibid., pp.375-6 and report, Richard Neustadt to President Kennedy, 15 Nov. 1962, 'Skybolt
and Nassau: American Policy-Making and Anglo-American Relations', Meetings and
Memoranda series, staff memoranda subseries, National Security File (NSF}, John F.
Kennedy Library (JFKL).
32. Report, Missiles Panel to PSAC, 12 July 1960, 'Subject: The Skybolt Air-Launched
Ballistic Missile Program,' Defense Program - FY 1961 Adjustments (I) folder, Subject
series, DoD subseries, WHO-OSS, DDEL, pp.l-2.
33. Michael Brown, Flying Blind (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1992) pp.210-ll.
34. Brown provides an excellent overview of B-70 development during the 1950s. See ibid.,
pp.201-13.
35. Memo, 'Chronology of Events Related to the Advanced Manned Strategic Aircraft
Program, 1954-1965', AFHRC, MAFB, p.5.
36. Ibid; Brown, Flying Blind (note 33) p.2 I 7.
37. 'Chronology' (note 35).
38. Memorandum, LeMay to White, 2 Sept. 1959, 'Subject: Alternate Roles and Missions for
the B-70 and F-108,' Air Force Council-1959 folder, White papers, LoC. Bernard Nally,
The Quest For an Advanced Manned Strategic Bomber: USAF Plans and Policies,
1961-1966 (USAF Hist. Div. Liaison Off. Aug. 1966), p.2.
39. Letter, Power to White, II Aug. 1959, Aug. 1959 folder, Nuclear History series, NSA.
CSUSAF White even contemplated using the B-70 in the continuing conflict between the
Navy and Air Force. White recorded that 'the combination of B-52 or B-70 plus an air
launched missile, preferably air launched ballistic missile, plus a reconnaissance satellite
which picks up surface vessels, spells the end of surface Navy or Merchant Marine vessels
in time of war.' Memo, White to AFODC/AFDDC, 9 Nov. 1959, Subject: 'Future Naval or
Merchant Vessel Survivability,' Nov. 1959 folder, Nuclear History series, NSA.
40. MCP on 16 Nov. 1959, Goodpaster, 2 Dec. 1959, DDQC, 1980/107D. Several weeks
earlier, Goodpaster recorded: 'The President said he is convinced that if we get into an all-
out war both sides would attack the population centers of the other.' MCP on 3 Nov. 1959.
41. MCP on 18 Nov. 1959, Goodpaster, 20 Jan. 1960, DDQC, 1981/608. Also see memo for
record, Robert Merriam, 21 Nov. 1959, Staff Notes -Nov. 1959(2) folder, DDE Diary
series, ACW file, DDEL.
42. MCP on 21 Nov. 1959-Augusta, Goodpaster, 2 Jan. 1960, DDQC, 1980/108A.
43. 'Chronology of Events Related to the Advanced Manned Strategic Aircraft Program,
1954-1965.' (note 35)
44. Memo, Col. Allison to DCS/P&P, 3 Dec. 1959, Dec. 1959 folder, Nuclear History series,
NSA.
45. Memo, Power to White, II Jan., 1960, 'Subject: B-70 Flexibility, Jan. 1960 folder, Nuclear
History series, NSA.
46. MCP on 25 Jan. 1960, Goodpaster, 26 Jan. 1960, Jan. 1960 folder, Nuclear History series,
NSA.
47. 'The contractor estimates that the cost of the first hundred aircraft will be $4.1 billion, and
experience with such estimates suggests that the actual cost may be nearly double, i.e.
some $70 million per aircraft.' Memorandum, Kistiakowsky to Eisenhower, 12 Feb. 1960,
'Subject: Problems of the B-70 Project,' Kistiakowsky (2) folder, Administration series,
ACW file, DDEL.
48. 'Chronology (note 35).
49. Quoted in Nalty, Quest (note 38) p.4.
50. Brown, Flying Blind (note 33), p.219.
51. 'Review of the FY '62 Military Budget,' DDC, 1987/2997.
52. MCP on 5 Dec. 1960, Goodpaster, 8 Dec., 1960, DDQC, 1982/2881.
53. Nally (note 33), p.4
54. The WSEG completed its massive report on strategic forces shortly after this budget
decision. The report, WSEG-50, blandly stated that the B-70 'appears competitive' with
Minuteman although it downplayed the importance of post-strike reconnaissance missions
which the Air Force emphasised. WSEG report No.SO, 'Evaluation of Strategic Offensive
Weapons Systems,' Dec. 1960 folder, Nuclear History series, NSA, pp.ll-12, 16.
55. 'NSC Actions Relating to the Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion Program', DDC, 1991/2734;
Robert F. Little, Nuclear Propulsion For Manned Aircraft: The End of the Program,
1959-1961 (USAF Hist. Div. Liaison Office, April 1963), pp.l-10; Brown, Flying Blind
(note 33), pp.l94-6, 205.
56. Little, Nuclear Propulsion (note 55), p.ll.
57. MCP on 25 Feb. 1958, Goodpaster, 25 Feb. 1958, Feb. 1958 folder, Nuclear History series,
NSA.
58. Letter, McCone and Quarles to Eisenhower, 2 Jan. 1959, DDQC, 1980/33A. Little, Nuclear
Propulsion (note 55), p.l3.
59. MCP on 8 Jan. 1959, 8.30a.m., Goodpaster, 9 Jan. 1959, DDQC, 1976/218B.
60. Little, Nuclear Propulsion (note 55), p.l7.
61. Ibid., p.IS.
62. By way of comparison, the take-off weights of a B-52G and a B-IB are 488,000Ib and
477,000Ib respectively.
63. MCP on 23 June, 1959-11.40a.m., Goodpaster, 24 June 1959, DDQC 1976/218E.

64. For more detail, see Brown, Flying Blind (note 33), Ch.6.
65. See Roman, Eisenhower and the Missile Gap (note 9), Ch.4.
66. There are numerous studies of McNamara's tenure as Secretary of Defense. Among the
major ones are: William Kaufmann, The McNamara Strategy (NY: Harper & Row, 1964);
Alain Enthoven and K. Wayne Smith, How Much Is Enough? Shaping the Defense
Program, 1961-1969 (NY: Harper & Row, 1971); Desmond Ball, Politics and Force
Levels: The Strategic Missile Program of the Kennedy Administration (Berkeley, CA:
Univ. of California Press, 1980); Robert Art, The TFX Decision: McNamara and the
Military (Boston: Little, Brown, 1968). The only biography of McNamara makes some
useful general observations about McNamara's personality and decision-making style:
Deborah Shapely, Promise and Power: The Life and Times of Robert McNamara (Boston,
MA: Little, Brown, 1993).
67. Memo, McNamara to JCS, 10 Feb. 1961, 'Subject: Task Force Reports,' attachment to
Joint Secretariat to JCS, 13 Feb. 1961, JCS 2101/408, CCS 3001 folder, JCS records, RG
218, MMB, NA.
68. Memo, McNamara to Service Secretaries, et at., 1 March 1961, Defense 1/1961-3/1961
folder, Departments and Agencies series, POF, JFKL. The projects on nuclear strategy are
discussed in Fred Kaplan, Wizards of Armageddon (NY: Simon & Schuster, 1983),
pp.273-4.
69. It was now that McNamara finally terminated the nuclear-powered bomber program. Little,
Nuclear Propulsion (note 55), pp.55-9.
70. Memo to the President (n.d. or author), 'Subject: Defense Message and Task Force
Reports,' Defense 1/1961-5/16/61 folder, Sorenson papers, JFKL.
71. Statement of Robert McNamara before the Senate Armed Services Committee, 4 April
1961, DDC 1989/89.
72. 'Report on Project #41,' II May, 1961, attachment to memo, Brown to McNamara,
'Project No.41-SKYBOLT', May 1961 folder, Nuclear History series, NSA.
73. 'Report on Project #40,' 1 May, 1961, CCS 4711 folder, JCS records, RG 218, MMB, NA.
74. Memo, Acting Secretary of the Navy Fay to McNamara, 15 May 1961, 'Subject: Project
41,' and 'Views of the Chief of Staff, United States Army and the Chief of Naval
Operations on Project 41 ', appendix A to memo, LeMay to McNamara, 25 May 1961,
'Subject: Project #41-SKYBOLT,' both documents located in CCS 4711, JCS records, RG
218, MMB, NA.
75. Memo to JCS, 10 May 1961, 'Subject: JCS 1620/346', and memo, CNO Burke to JCS, 13
May 1961, 'Subject: JCS 1620/346,' both located in CCS 4711, JCS records, RG 218,
MMB,NA.
76. 'View of the Chief of Staff, US Air Force on Report on Project No.41-Skybolt,' appendix
B to memo, LeMay to McNamara, 25 May 1961.
77. Ball, Politics (note 66), pp.33-4 and Kaplan, Wizards (note 68).
78. There is an important conflict between the studies. WSEG-50 rejected the utility of pursu-
ing a damage limitation goal through counterforce. While refusing to endorse a minimum
deterrence strategy, some WSEG members argued for a much smaller strategic force than
the Eisenhower administration programmed, much less the one planned by the Kennedy
administration. Roman, Eisenhower and the Missile Gap, Ch.3.
79. The Army and Navy recommended cancelling the programmes while CJCS Lemnitzer
sided with the Air Force position which McNamara endorsed.
80. Memo, McNamara to Pres. Kennedy, 23 Sept. 1961, 'Subject: Recommended Long Range
Nuclear Delivery Forces 1963-1967', DDC, 1987/3193. McNamara relied on the Net
Evaluation Subcommittee Report for his estimate of 300 defence suppression targets in the
Soviet Union. But he also informed Kennedy that SAC estimated only 160 such targets as
late as 1968. Thus, McNamara had deliberately relied on inflated target estimates which, in
tum, inflated the necessity of ASMs.
81. Enthoven and Smith, Enough? (note 66), p.255
82. This argument is made by Arthur Schlesinger and Herbert York. Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., A
Thousand Days (Boston: Fawcett Books, 1965), p.731 and Herbert York, Race To Oblivion
(NY: Simon & Schuster, 1970), p.l55.

83. Cable, Air Force Headquarters to Air Force Systems Command, 14 Sept. 1961 Sept. 1961
folder, Messages series, LeMay papers, LoC.
84. Memorandum, Joseph Charyk to AFSC Commander, 31 Oct. 1961, AFSC 1962 folder,
LeMay papers, LoC.
85. Memo, Schriever to LeMay, 14 Feb.1962, 'Subject: Review of the Gam-87A Program,'
AFSC 1962 folder, LeMay papers, LoC.
86. Taylor wrote to McNamara that: 'My over-all impression is that the force levels remain
high if one considers the tremendous megatonnage represented by the delivery capability.
It occurs to me that the size of the forces should be reviewed in the light of our latest
intelligence on the Soviet missile forces.' Memorandum, Taylor to McNamara, 14 October,
1961, 'Subject: Preliminary Comments on the Department of Defense FY '63 Budget and
the 1963-67 Program,' Defense Budget FY 1963: 1/61-10/61 folder, Department &
Agencies series, NSF, JFKL. Bell informed Kennedy: 'it seems to most of us that the pro-
posed force levels exceed requirements that can be justified on purely military grounds.
The analysis used by the Secretary to demonstrate that higher force levels are not necessary
also suggests that lower force levels would suffice, particularly when the more recent intel-
ligence estimates are taken into account.' Memo, Bell to President Kennedy, 13 November,
1961, 'Subject: FY 1963 Defense Budget Issues,' Defense Budget FY 1963: 11/61-12/61
folder, Depts. & Agencies series, NSF, JFKL.
87. Memo, Kaysen to Pres. Kennedy, 22 November, 1961, 'Subject: Force Structure and
Defense Budget,' Defense Budget FY 1963: 11/61-12/61 folder, Departments & Agencies
series, NSF, JFKL.
88. David Halberstam, The Best and the Brightest (NY: Random House, 1969), p.91.
89. Memo, Bell to President Kennedy, 13 Nov. 1961 and memo, Kaysen to President Kennedy,
9 Dec. 1961, Defense Budget FY 1963: 11/61-12/61 folder, Depts. & Agencies series,
NSF, JFKL.
90. Memo Lt. Gen. McConnell to LeMay, 31 Aug. 1962, 'Subject: GAM-87A Skybolt
Production Program,' SAC-1962 folder, LeMay papers, LoC.
91. Quoted in Neustadt 'Skybolt and Nassau' (note 31), p.4.
92. Neustadt and others claim the Air Force believed that the B-70 cancellation and British role
made Skybolt cancellation politically impossible in fall 1962. Neustadt 'Skybolt and
Nassau' (note 31), p.7.
93. Neustadt, 'Skybolt and Nassau' (note 31 ), p.22.
94. The first and best case study of Skybolt diplomacy is Richard Neustadt's 1963 report com-
pleted at President Kennedy's request. He had the extraordinary opportunity to interview
participants while still in office and examine key documents. His report, on file in the
Kennedy Library, was originally classified 'Top Secret'. Other useful accounts are Ciboski
'Bureaucratic connection' (note 30) and Ball, Politics (note 66).
95. Neustadt's 1963 report to Kennedy details the administration's consistent failure to co-
ordinate policy planning on Skybolt throughout late 1962. Some of these errors are under-
standable given the concentration on Cuba during these months. However, Neustadt's
report illustrates several problems in McNamara's style which contributed to the Skybolt
crisis. He explains that McNamara had little prepared for his crucial Dec. 'consultation'
with the British about cancellation even though the bureaucracy had discussed alternatives
to Skybolt for the British for months. More generally, Neustadt wrote: 'The Secretary of
Defense appears somewhat less open even with his personal associates, to say nothing of
others. This story shows him as a selective de-briefer, who selectively turns off (or on) his
confidences, witness Nitze, Rowen, Yarmolinsky in November and December.' Neustadt
'Skybolt and Nassau' (note 31 ), p.l24, emphasis in original.
96. Neustadt, 'Skybolt and Nassau' (note 31 ), p.62.
97. Ciboski, 'Bureaucratic connection' (note 30), p.381 and Neustadt, 'Skybolt and Nassau'
(note 31) p.78.
98. See letters between LeMay and McNamara, 3 and 5 Jan. 1963, attachment to memo for
record, Col. Max Boyd, 8 Jan. 1963, AFHRC. MAFB.
99. Nally, Quest (note 38), p.5.
100. One White House official copied a line from PSAC reports and wrote: 'A vulnerably
manned bomber for the missile age that will cost $10 bill. more eventually, (sic) though it
is questionable whether it can do anything cheaper, less vulnerable missile or even B-52
with Sky bolt couldn't do better. May have prestige, commercial and scientific value, as
well as political and Air Force backing - but $10 million [sic - should be billion] for
manned bombers in 1970? Why not cut all the way (or at least back to $120 million)?'
Memo to the President, 'Subject: Defense Message and Task Force Reports'.
101. Memo, McNamara and Bell to Pres. Kennedy, 10 March, 1961, 'Subject: Revision to
Defense FYI962 Budget', DDQC, 1978/348C. Also see McNamara's Statement to the
Senate Armed Services Committee, 4 Apri11961, 1989/89.
102. See letter, White to Power, 23 Feb. 1961, SAC folder, White Papers, LoC.
103. Memorandum, Zuckert to McNamara, 21 March 1961, 'Subject: Project No.l3
(Comparison of Proposed B-70 Force With Alternatives),' March 1961 folder, Nuclear
History series, NSA.
104. Ibid., 'A Cost Effectiveness Comparison of Pure Strategic Forces,' March 1961 folder,
Nuclear History series, NSA, and 'An Evaluation of Some Feasible 1969 US Strategic
Force Compositions', AFHRC, MAFB. Enthoven and Smith, (note 66), p.247-8.
105. Memo, Zuckert to Gen. Bradley, 31 March 1961, Zuckert Papers, AFHRC, MAFB.
106. Cable, LeMay to Power, 5 July 1961, Message/Cables July 1961 folder, LeMay Papers,
LoC.
107. Chronology (note 35).
108. Memo, McNamara to Pres. Kennedy, 7 Oct. 1961, DoD 9/1961-10/1961 folder, Depts. &
Agencies series, NSF, JFKL.
109. Enthoven and Smith, (note 66), p.244-7.
110. Memo, Gen. Frederic Smith to Air Force Commanders, 15 Dec. 1961, 'Subject: B-70,'
AFHRC, MAFB.
Ill. See cable, Power to LeMay, 25 Oct. 1961, Messages/Cables Oct. 1961 folder, LeMay
papers, LoC.
112. Memo, McNamara to Kennedy, 6 Oct. 1961.
113. 'Chronology' (note 35), Natty, p.7, and memo, Robert Ginsburgh, 31 Oct. 1961, 'Subject:
Chief of Staff's Meeting Minutes, 31 Oct. 1961 ', CS Meeting 1961-62 folder, LeMay
Papers. LoC.
114. 'Chronology' (note 35), and Nalty, Quest (note 38), p.7.
115. Nally, Quest (note 38).
116. According to Charles Murphy, McNamara intended to 'straighten Vinson out.' Charles
Murphy, 'The Education of a Defense Secretary', Fortune, May 1962, p.I02. Also see
Ball, Politics (note 66), pp.219-20
117. A memo to LeMay from one of his staff officers listed the Air Force's communications
problems on the B-70 and took the unusual step of listing four courses of action to affect
the Congressional debate:
a. Do nothing.
b. Public support for Sec Def and President.
c. Exercise legal right as Chief of Staff to bring up subject with Senate Armed Services
- after informing Sec Def and President.
d. Respond to request (if made) by Senate Armed Services to state USAF position.
(Such a request could probably be stimulated.)
Mem, Robert Ginsburgh to LeMay, 16 March 1962, 'Subject: RS-70,' CS Memos 1962
folder, LeMay Papers, LoC.
118. Memo, LeMay to McNamara, 19 March 1962, 'Subject: Testimony Before the Vinson
Committee,' CS Memos-Signed-1962 folder, LeMay papers, LoC.
119. Ball, Politics (note 66), pp.219-20.
120. Memo, Col. Richard Ellis to LeMay, 29 March 1962, CS Memos 1962 fi.>lder, LeMay
Papers, LoC.
121. Memo, Ellis to Zuckert, 13 April 1962, CS Memos-Signed 1962 folder and cable, HQ
USAF to HQ TAC, 26 March, 1962, Messages/Cables March 1962 folder, both docs. in
LeMay Paper's, LoC. Conducting most of the joint study gave the Air Force some advan-
tages. Noting a press release describing the study, Ellis informed LeMay: 'The Air Force is
publicly designated as the agency responsible for conducting the study. Since there is no
mention of Dr Brown and company [DDRE], it would appear that we would have a clear
shot at Congress if Sec Def overrules the study results. While nothing prevents Sec Def
from using Dr Brown's judgment in making his decision, Air Force people are identified as
the experts by Sec Def and it would appear to place us in a good position on the Hill.'
Memo, Ellis to LeMay, 29 March 1962, CS Memos 1962 folder, LeMay Papers, LoC.
122. 'Chronology' (note 35) and Nalty, Quest (note 38), p.9.
123. Letter, LeMay to Power, 9 June 1962, SAC 1962 folder, LeMay Papers, LoC.
124. Col. David Jones, a LeMay staffer working on the RS-70 and a future CJCS himself,
reported: 'DDRE is completely overwhelmed with the magnitude, completeness, and sheer
volume of the studies that we have passed down to them on the RS-70. Since in forwarding
the studies down, Dr Charyk did not recommend a position they don't know what to zero
in on ... they are approaching the panic stage.' Memorandum, Ellis to LeMay, 6 July 1962,
CS Memos 1962 folder, LeMay Papers, LoC.
125. 'The capabilities represented by the RS-70 weapon system are essential to our strategic
forces if these forces are to support a military strategy of controlled, informed, discriminate
and deliberate response. I therefore consider the RS-70 essential to our national objective
of continuing to deter general war by virtue of US military superiority in the ability to per-
form the foreseen strategic mission and tasks.' Letter, LeMay to Zuckert, 26 July 1962, CS
Memos-Signed 1962 folder, LeMay Papers, LoC.
126. Memo, McNamara to Pres. Kennedy, 20 Nov. 1962, 'Subject: The [sanitized] Program,'
Defense 20 November, 1962-Part I folder, Sorensen papers, JFKL. In one of the strangest
declassifications, the aircraft designation - either B-70 or RS-70 - has been sanitized
throughout this document. Unsanitized portions of the text affirm beyond any doubt that
the RS-70 is being discussed.
127. Nalty, Quest (note 38), p.IO.
128. 'Chronology' (note 35).
129. Memo, McNamara to President Kennedy, 20 Nov. 1962.
130. Memo for record, Roswell Gilpatric, 23 Nov. 1962, 'Subject: Second Meeting with the
President on FY 64 DoD Budget Issues', Defense Budget FY 1964 Vol.I-Misc folder,
Departments & Agencies series, NSF, JFKL.
131. The Air Force also clashed with Kennedy and McNamara on other issues during this
period, among them the TFX, nuclear strategy, and public relations.
132. Proj. 'Forecast's' shift away from traditional approaches to strategic bombing can be traced
to Schriever, whose background was in missile development and not manned bombers. In
an oral history interview in 1973, Schriever said: 'I think what's happened to the bomber
concept is that they continued too long to stay completely inflexible with respect to the role
that the bomber should play. Instead of being simply a retaliatory weapon system, the Air
Force should have moved into a much more flexible weapon system in its bomber system
... So I think the Air Force has been its own worst enemy in not recognizing that the
world has changed and that we're living in a different political and military environment
... ' Oral History interview with Gen. Bernard Schriever, 20 June 1973, AFHRC, MAFB,
pp.51-2 and 55-62. For more on Project FORECAST. see oral histories of Gen. David
Burchinal and Lt. Gen. John O'Neill, both at AFHRC, MAFB and the docs. Proj.
'Forecast' 1964 folder, LeMay Papers. LoC.
133. Even Air Force officials admitted the RS-70's technical difficulties after McNamara
canceled it. See Nalty, Quest (note 38), pp.l7-18.
134. Years later, AF Undersec. Joseph Charyk stated: 'So basically the problem was that it
[Skybolt] was a far too sophisticated weapons system, in order to answer all conceivable
objections that people could raise as to its capabilities ... So I think a more modest capa-
bility would probably have survived and would have been in the inventory. But the sophis-
tications introduced and the attendant costs ended up with the cancellation of the program.'
See oral history interview with Joseph Charyk, 15 Jan. and 24 April 1974, AFHRC,
MAFB, p.46.
135. Brown, Flying Blind (note 33), Ch.6.

136. In an oral history interview conducted in 1964, Eugene Zucker! remarked: 'I was surprised,
quite frankly, at the speed and sureness with which [McNamara] stepped into making his
own decisions. But I think the explanation for it ... [is] that the advocacy of military posi-
tions was not very good and, therefore, could not stand up in the mind of a logical person
such as McNamara. The reasoning wasn't sound, and too many times when they ran out of
reasons, they used the phrase "pure military requirements." This really didn't satisfy
McNamara intellectually. There were too many of these occasions, and this is why I think
he felt the necessity of applying the test of logic to the kinds of arguments that were made.'
Oral history interview with Eugene Zucker!, 18 April1964, JFKL.
137. This could be considered part of what Fred Greenstein calls the 'hidden' leadership style.
Fred Greenstein, The Hidden-Hand Presidency (NY: Basic Books, 1982).
138. In an oral history interview conducted in 1964, AF Sec. Eugene Zucker! was asked:
Q: Did you and the Chiefs get a real chance to take your argument to the President?
Zuckert: No, I never made an argument to the President except once, and I don't
remember whether we decided that or not.
Oral history interview with Eugene Zucker!, 18 April 1964, JFKL.
139. Graham Allison, 'Conceptual Models and the Cuban Missile Crisis', American Political
Science Review 63/3 (Sept. 1969), pp.689-718. Graham Allison and Frederic A. Morris,
'Armaments and Arms Control: Exploring the Determinants of Military Weapons,'
Daedalus 104/3 (Summer 1975), pp.99-129.
140. See Robert Art's discussion of 'slippage' in Art, 'Bureaucratic Politics and American
Foreign Policy: A Critique', Policy Sciences (Dec. 1973), pp.467-90.
Airpower vs. Electricity: Electric Power as a
Target For Strategic Air Operations
DANIEL T. KUEHL
From the earliest strategic air attacks of World War I to the heavy emphasis
USAF planners placed in 1990-91 on the Iraqi electric power system as a key
strategic centre of gravity in Operation 'Desert Storm', air forces have
frequently considered enemy electric power systems as vital strategic targets.'
Some have seen the primary value of such attacks in the degradation they
cause in the enemy's industrial and military capability, while others have
emphasised their potential influence on the enemy's morale and political
resiliency. 2 Targeting electricity has not been without controversy, however,
and the destruction of the Iraqi electric power system during the Second Gulf
War raised questions about the results, both intended and unintended. The
intent of this essay is threefold. First it will trace the historical development
of targeting electricity; next it will attempt to assess the effectiveness of
attacks on the Iraqi electric power grid during the Gulf War; and finally it
will project the potential utility of such attacks in the future.
The Historical Record, 1915-1990

Both the Germans and the British attempted to target enemy electricity during
their early strategic bombing efforts during World War I. The earliest
Zeppelin raids on England included British electric power generation plants
as possible targets. These effects proved unattainable, however, because
of the limitations of 1914-18 technology: Zeppelins were simply not
sufficiently accurate bombing platforms, even when they actually located a
British power station. The same limitations generally also held true for
heavier-than-air bombing efforts by both the German and British air arms.
The bombing campaigns of the German Gotha and Reisen bombers, and the
Royal Air Force's Independent Force, sometimes attacked enemy electric
power, but the combined effects of too few bombers, inaccurate bombing,
and little if any targeting intelligence made these early attacks almost totally
ineffective. 3 Although the potential seemed to be there for important results if
these problems could be solved, the primary effect of these raids on the over-
all industrial output of both Germany and Great Britain was short term
disruption of orderly production rather than the long term impact that would
have resulted from outright destruction of the facilities!
What effects did these early attacks, as well as all the later ones to be dis-
cussed, attempt to achieve? Some air forces (particularly those with the
longest history of 'strategic airpower': the USAF and the RAF) seem to have
a doctrinal fixation that electricity is a valuable and vulnerable target system
whose destruction will yield significant results in three areas: the enemy's
military effectiveness, industrial productivity, and political cohesiveness.'
These are very close to what might be termed the basic objectives of strategic
attack, to degrade the enemy's national-level ability and diminish his will to
fight, to which can be added a third, new objective, to impair or eliminate the
enemy leadership's ability to control events within the state. As we shall see,
during World War II electrical targeting focused on the enemy's industrial
productivity, but as we move into the 1990s objectives have expanded to
include increasingly political effects, such as the 1986 raid on Libya. 6
One of the first systematic efforts to study how an enemy's national
electric power system could be attacked and what impact those attacks would
have on the enemy's industrial productivity and war-making capability was
done in the 1930s at the US Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS) in
Montgomery, Alabama.' Students and instructors at the ACTS began,
logically enough, by studying the electric power system to which they were
closest- the United States. In February 1935 they produced a study of the
'Electric Power Industry in the Northeast United States,' and postulated that
75 per cent of the region's generating capacity could be destroyed with 100
properly-placed bombs. Because of the complex intemeting of power systems
and built-in safeguards against overloads, such attacks had the potential
quickly to cause a catastrophic collapse of the entire grid, effectively
paralysing the social and economic fabric of the region. Note the synergistic
twin effects: the intent was to impair both the social/political and
industrial/economic resiliency of the state. Although the ACTS study focused
on New York City, it took no great leap of logic to extend the impact of such
attacks to other regions such as Detroit (tank and automotive production) or
Seattle (Boeing and aircraft production).'
This body of work at ACTS became part of a larger concept which came to
be known as the Industrial Web theory: the complex organisation of an indus-
trial nation's various plants, industries, systems, etc., formed a web whose
functioning could be disrupted and broken by destroying key capabilities or
nodes. 9 This theory was the intellectual linchpin for the first real concept of
how to employ strategic airpower, the production and deployment plan
known as Air War Plans Document (A WPD) 1. 10 It is not necessary here to
delve into the detailed background of AWPD 1 to highlight the importance
electric power played in the plan, although it had the highest targeting
AIRPOWER VS. ELECTRICITY 239
priority because of the role electricity played in making the German industrial
system function.
A wartime British economic survey of Germany estimated that in 1933
nearly 75 per cent of all German industrial motive power came from electric
motors, and this percentage increased steadily throughout the 1930s. 1' Over
half of the electricity generated came from only 113 individual plants, and
planners believed that hitting slightly less than half of them would destroy
over 40 per cent of the German generating capacity. The backbone of the
German grid ('Verbundsnetz') was a 220-kilovolt (Kv) transmission line that
ran northward from the Swiss border through the Ruhr, swung east towards
Leipzig, then turned south to Austria. (See Map 1). Many of the 110Kv
lines radiated outward, both to collect power from outlying generating
stations, and to distribute the power to industrial facilities and urban areas. 12
Electricity was essential for a wide range of industrial activities, such as
electric furnaces used to produce high-quality metallic products, and it was
'absolutely indispensable for the synthetic production of oil, rubber, and
nitrogen'."
As von Moltke the Elder's famous dictum of 1880 goes, however, 'no plan
survives first contact with the enemy' and AWPD 1 was no exception. A year
later AWPD 42 was published, and its priorities reflected the impact of
wartime exigencies such as the crisis of the Battle of the Atlantic (sub-
marines) and the need to suppress the Luftwaffe (German aircraft industry).
Electricity fell to fourth place in AWPD 42, and when the actual targeting
priorities for the Combined Bomber Offensive (CBO) were issued in early
1943 electricity had fallen to 13th, because the CBO planners felt the German
electric grid had too much resiliency built into it to make it vulnerable to air
attack. This effectively eliminated it as a significant targeting category. In the
later opinion of the United States Strategic Bombing Survey (USSBS), this
was a serious mistake, for 'The German electric supply system . . . was
extremely vulnerable to bombing attack, and, had it been attacked systemati-
cally, it would have severely crippled Germany's industrial war machine.' '4
Three decades after the publication of AWPD 42, Haywood S. Hansell
published his study The Air Plan That Defeated Hitler, in which he further
developed the argument that the failure systematically to attack the German
electric power system was 'a major error in judgement' .15 As the war pro-
gressed and the German industrial demand for electricity rose, the reserve
capacity was exhausted, then rationing imposed, until by 1944 even critical
industries were rationed at 30 per cent below their needs. The system was
stretched tightly and vulnerable to disruption. The USSBS concluded that if
the German utility plants and generating facilities been attacked in a system-
atic manner, all evidence indicated that 'a catastrophic effect on Germany's
war production' would have followed, with as great an impact as the
MAP!
GERMANPOWERSYSTEM'VERBUNDSNETZ' ~
0
MAP OF CERMANY SHOWINC BREAKDOWN

OF ElECTRICAL UTILITY CENERATINC
CAPAOJY BY SOURCE OF POWER IN
EACH OF THE FOURTEEN POWER DISTRICTS
!CONDITIONS SHOWN BELIEVED TO BE FOR 1943)
AND TRANSMISSION CRID
>
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FR0"-1 U.S STRATEGIC BOMBING SURVEY

campaign against the German synthetic oil industry caused. Hansell esti-
mated that this could have been accomplished in the spring and early summer
of 1944, before the Normandy invasion, while still continuing the attacks
against oil and the Luftwaffe. Less than 20 per cent of the heavy bomber
sorties absorbed by attacks in direct support of the ground campaign, pri-
marily operations against the French rail system, would have sufficed to
weaken the German power grid fatally, according to Hansell.' 6
The Japanese electric industry did not offer as lucrative a target as did the
German system, in part because it was not as interneted or as complex as was
the German grid, and it was never a primary target of air attack. The urban
incendiary campaign initiated in March 1945 served to destroy both the urban
generating capacity and the industrial customers it served. The USSBS con-
cluded that 99 per cent of the generating station damage done to the Japanese
grid resulted from the 26 urban steam-generating plants that were damaged
during these attacks, which was less than 15 per cent of the overall Japanese
generating capacity .17 If the German electric target set served as a model for
future air campaign planning scenarios, the Japanese target served as an
anomaly to the model, and added a cautionary note that each nation's depen-
dence on electricity is unique and needs to be evaluated on its own merits.
It might at first glance appear as if only the US Army Air Forces planned
to attack enemy electric power, but both the RAF and the Luftwaffe also con-
sidered it to be a key strategic target set. The RAF considered such operations
as early as 1937, when the Air Ministry sent Bomber Command a series of 13
conceptual plans, of which Western Air Plans 1, 4 and 5 were in response to
hostilities with Germany. Plan 5 focused on the German power industry, and
according to Bomber Command calculations the German war machine could
be brought 'almost to a standstill in a fortnight' with 3,000 bomber sorties
attacking 19 power stations and 26 coking plants in the Ruhr, at a cost of 176
bombers. The issue is not whether this was wildly optimistic (it was), but
rather that the RAF considered electricity as a vital component of the German
industrial system. The Air Ministry worried, however, that attacks on power
stations or dams could be construed as attacks on the civil population.
Although Air Marshal Arthur 'Bomber' Harris would make such concerns
superfluous in a few years, this issue would repeatedly surface during later
conflicts.'"
The Luftwaffe also subscribed to the belief that electric power was a key
strategic target. As early as 1936 one Luftwaffe leader stated 'The impor-
tance of electricity for war industries hardly needs to be highlighted ... The
simultaneous destruction of most central electrical works will cause the
instantaneous crippling of entire industries.''" Surprisingly, the Luftwaffe
never attacked British electric power during the Battle of Britain, even
though some of its experts strongly recommended such a strategy. This was
probably a result of the Luftwaffe's rather short-term objectives, which con-

centrated on achieving air superiority to enable the planned invasion of
England (Operation 'Sea Lion') to move forward.
Electric power targeting moved to the fore during the Luftwaffe's develop-
ment in 1943 of a concept for strategic air warfare against the Soviet Union. In
the aftermath of the debacle at Stalingrad, German planners realised that the
Soviet Union was producing war material such as tanks or combat aircraft
faster than the German forces could destroy them in battle. Both Luftwaffe and
Army commanders agreed that destruction of this material in the factory rather
than on the battlefield would be far more efficient and less costly to German
forces. 20 By midsummer 1943 Luftwaffe planners had developed a strategic
concept for attacking Soviet electric power as the key to destroying the Soviet
arms industry. The Soviets had made enormous advances during the 1930s in
electrification of the USSR, yet the very centralisation of facilities which made
this advance possible also contained the seeds of its vulnerability. German
electrical experts noted that critical portions of the Soviets' electricity-depen-
dent war industries were located within a triangle with its approximate points
Tula-Rybinsk-Gorki (see Map 2). Luftwaffe intelligence narrowed the target
base down to 11 power generation stations: five in the Moscow area, and three
each around Gorki and Yaroslavl. A more-or-less simultaneous (within a few
days) attack on this target system would cause it to collapse, and a 50 per cent
loss in electric power would cripple key elements of the Soviet tank industry.
A committee from Albert Speer's powerful Armaments Ministry threw its
support behind this concept, perhaps in realisation of its own vulnerability to
Allied air attacks, although they never materialised. Soviet sources indicate
that the German plan might have succeeded, for the power generation and dis-
tribution system was strained to the utmost, and internal disruptions to the
power supply were already causing production interruptions and losses. 2 '
In November 1943 the Luftwaffe finally published its plan for 'Aktion
Russland', the strategic bomber offensive against Soviet electric power. The
Luftwaffe's ability to carry out this plan depended on three critical variables:
sufficient bomber force structure, adequate weapons technology, and proper
basing within range of the targets. Throughout the winter of 1943-44 the
Luftwaffe husbanded its bomber resources and trained its crews, until by
March 1944 it had concentrated approximately 400 operational bombers for
Aktion Russland. 22 Planners also attempted to compensate for reduced
numbers with improved weaponry, and the Luftwaffe planned to use a variety
of early guided weapons, particularly the 'Fritz-X' radio-controlled glide
bomb, against the Soviet power plants. Although the planners may have been
optimistic about the results they expected to achieve (25 per cent of the
weapons hitting the engine room of a powerplant), they realised that
precision weaponry could go far towards compensating for smaller forces.
MAP 2
GERMAN BOMBER BASES AND RANGES TO SOVIET ELECTRIC
POWER STATIONS IN THE GORKI-YAROSLAVL-MOSCOW REGION,
PLAN 'AKTION RUSSLAND', 1943
Top: HelllH-6 w/lOOOKq, 9601<lw !S9~ m1h:~l ;.~

!IOttotll: ,Ju88 w/I~OOKq, 850Km t!tlO mile:~!
The third variable, however, the need for bases within range of the targets,
proved fatal to 'Aktion Russland'. By the time the Luftwaffe was ready to
begin operations in spring 1944, the Red Army had pushed the German
forces westward from the Leningrad region and overran the Luftwaffe's
bases around Pskov. This placed the Gorki region, which was at the
very edge of the Luftwaffe bombers' operational radius to begin with,
out of range. The Luftwaffe then turned to railroad interdiction until
the Russian summer offensive destroyed Army Group Centre and captured
the rest of the airfields within range of the Soviet industrial heartland."
The World War II record for targeting electricity was thus decidedly
mixed. Although two air forces had made such targeting the key element of
plans for strategic air warfare (A WPD I and 'Aktion Russland '), the opera-
tional results were lacking because the attacks were never carried out. In one
case (the American bomber offensive, from AWPD 1 through AWPD 42 to
the eventual Combined Bomber Offensive) the targeting philosophy changed,

while in the other ('Aktion Russland') the operational conditions changed.
The result was that by the end of the war electric targeting remained what it
had been at the outset: an attractive but untried theory.
From a doctrinal standpoint the war that broke out in Korea in June 1950
was all wrong: no nuclear weapons, very little strategic bombing, and lots of
interdiction and close air support. When the war began there were only
18 targets in Korea designated 'strategic', and none of them involved
electricity. 24 There were, however, several significant electrical power genera-
tion facilities in North Korea, tied into two distinct but connected grids (see
Map 3). In the east, hydroelectric facilities at Fusen, Choshin, and Kyosen
utilised the region's mountainous terrain and numerous rivers to form a series
of dams and reservoirs that used the same water over and over to provide a
hydroelectric system designed to generate approximately 900,000 kilowatts
(Kw) of power. In the west, a tremendous dam (350ft high by 3000 ft long)
across the Yalu River at Suiho, 30 miles northeast of the big Chinese base at
Antung, formed a reservoir nearly 130 miles long. The generating house on
the Korean side of the river was nearly two football fields long and was
designed to produce approximately 700,000 Kw of power. This was the
fourth largest hydroelectric facility in the entire world. Due to the combined
results of inefficient North Korean management, the ravages of World War
II, and Russian equipment removal after the war, however, the actual output
of the system had been reduced to between 750,000 and 1,000,000 Kw by
1950. Even so, this was sufficient to meet all of North Korea's prewar needs
and allow for a significant export of power to Chinese Manchuria, which
obtained about ten per cent of its total supply of electricity from the North
Korean system. 25
For the war's first two years this power system was left virtually
untouched, primarily for political and economic reasons. 26 The Fusen plant
was attacked in late September 1950, shortly after Far East Air Forces
(FEAF) noted that knocking out the North Korean electric power system
would 'lower North Korean morale by putting out their lights, bring some
electrically-powered industry to a halt, and eliminate most of the surplus
power being exported [to China]', but this was the only such attack until mid-
1952.'2 At first, planners kept the system intact to aid (hopefully) in the post-
war reconstruction of a unified and free Korea; it had taken the Japanese
nearly two decades, after all, to construct this grid. Additionally, after the
B-29s of FEAF Bomber Command wrecked the North Korean industrial
system in the summer and fall of 1950 there was little reason, from an indus-
trial perspective, to attack the hydroelectric system, especially when weighed
against the possible costs of increased Russian and/or Chinese involvement.
By 1952, however, this concern was becoming increasingly less important
MAP 3
NORTH KOREAN ELECTRIC POWER SYSTEM
NORTII KOREAN HYDROELECTRIC PLANTS

AND POWER TRANSMISSION CRID
..... .,.. I.. UOliiCI"&IUIT ----···- 11.111 till lllf
• Ce.,ltltl IIDI,fUCfliC PL.III - - I I I . I N r t l f UU
I) ll':tlttfll II ..IIUCIAIC fUll _,t,tDfllllllll
A a ...ur Slll:~t:n 1!11!'1 --tft,IMYOU UU
Q flllllf SIUIIIIOI
"' ~UtrfUI IJUUUtl
., It"':'! 1..1SIIIIlhll5"1 . .
OF J-.4 P.A A'
--~--- .··-
-----=-=--
Source: The USAF in Korea, 1950-1953 (Office of Air Force History)

when compared to the growing need to find an end to the war, and in April
1952 FEAF planners developed an aggressive plan for using airpower to
place more pressure on North Korea and its allies. This strategy would begin
with the destruction of the North Korean hydroelectric system. 28
In an effort to break the stalemate in Korea, the Truman administration
decided to increase the pressure on Russia and China. One of the vehicles
used to do this was an 'air pressure' strategy that called for increased attacks
on those target systems that would have a direct impact on the Russian and
Chinese will and ability to continue the war. The North Korean hydroelectric
system was just such a target. The Chinese industrial heartland in Manchuria
drew a significant amount of its electric power from the North Korean grid
(the Suiho plant alone supplied more than a tenth of Manchuria's electric
power), supporting everything from basic production of raw steel to the
repair of battle-damaged tanks and military equipment. This plan also had a
morale/political aspect to it as well, however, for the FEAF history also noted
that these attacks would have an 'adverse psychological effect on [the]
civilian and military population.' When General Mark W. Clark, the new
commander of all United Nations forces in Korea, received permission to
attack the hydroelectric system he was able to implement this directive in
short order. 29
There is no need here to examine in detail the attacks conducted against the
hydroelectric installations at Suiho, Choshin, Fusen, and Kyosen, although a
summary is in order. The attacks were concentrated on 23 and 24 June 1952,
by a joint Air Force, Navy, and Marine strike force. FEAF commander
General Otto Weyland was in overall control of the operation, which featured
particularly close co-ordination and co-operation between strike elements
from 5th Air Force and 7th Fleet. While USAF F-86 Sabre jets provided top
cover, a variety of USAF, Navy, and Marine attack aircraft carried out a
series of strikes that can justifiably carry the adjective devastating. As the
strike force approached Suiho, for example, more than 150 of the Red fight-
ers based at Antung fled into the interior, evidently fearing that the strike was
meant for their hitherto sacrosanct bases in Manchuria. The attacks actually
lasted four days, totalling 1,500 sorties, and cost four aircraft, an attrition rate
of less than 0.3 per cent. 30
In a tactical sense the attacks were a complete success. The Suiho plant
was put out of action, for example, without harming the adjacent dam across
the Yalu. Strategically they were a success as well, at least in the sense that
they measurably degraded the enemy's industrial capability. North Korea was
'blacked out' for over two weeks, and over 90 per cent of its electric power
supply was eliminated, thus cutting off the many thousands of small, virtually
home-operated, industrial facilities spread throughout North Korea. More
importantly, the overall power supply within Manchuria was cut by 23 per
cent for the rest of 1952, and 60 per cent of its key industries failed to meet
their annual production targets."
In a larger sense, however, it is questionable whether these attacks attained
their underlying political objectives of pressuring the Russians and Chinese.
It is worth remembering that as far back as February 1951 the Joint
Intelligence Group of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had noted that destroying the
hydroelectric facility at Suiho would cause 'serious attrition of electric power
... to the USSR and China (emphasis added), which hinted at where the
hoped-for effect was to be felt. When one considers that the attacks were
mounted in June 1952, and that four months later the talks at Panmunjom
were indefinitely recessed because no progress had been made, it would be
difficult to argue that these attacks (as well as the others that formed the 'air
pressure' strategy) politically influenced the Russians or Chinese to be more
willing to compromise.
What is certain is that the United States paid a political price for these
attacks, in terms of strained relations with its allies. Before the attacks were
made some allies, especially the British, had reservations about attacks that
directly influenced Manchurian industry, fearing that such actions would
make the Chinese even more intractable at the peace table. Although there is
no proof that this did in fact happen, it is certainly a plausible outcome, and
there is no question that many friendly nations reacted negatively to the
attacks at Suiho and elsewhere." Worse, the Truman administration's failure
to consult with the British government beforehand, despite prior assurances
that no such attacks would be mounted without consultations, left that
government out of the planning and decision-making process, and put a
significant roadblock in the way of further efforts to develop a more aggres-
sive military strategy against the North Koreans. The public disagreement
between the United States and its allies may well have served to strengthen
Chinese resolve. It was additional evidence that when political objectives
form a major part of a bombing operation a broad range of factors beyond the
purely military ones must be taken into account."
It was more than a decade before the USAF was again actively engaged in
combat operations, and again electric power was a key targeting category in an
effort to achieve military and political objectives via strategic bombing. While
the 'Rolling Thunder' bombing campaign against North Vietnam in 1965-67
was intended to degrade North Vietnam's military capability, its deeper strate-
gic purpose was to coerce Ho Chi Minh and the North Vietnamese leadership
into a political solution to the war in South Vietnam. Starting in March 1965,
American airpower was employed against a variety of targets in North
Vietnam that supported the movement of forces and supplies into the south. Its
centrepiece was an operational-level interdiction campaign that the American
leadership hoped would yield strategic political results.
'Rolling Thunder' failed to accomplish these objectives, however, and in

November 1966 the JCS suggested that North Vietnam's primary electric
power stations be targeted, to eliminate electric power in the Red River
valley, North Vietnam's industrial heartland, and to disrupt the lives and
political will of the North Vietnamese populace. In January 1967 the Joint
Chiefs of Staff (JCS) received a proposal from the American commander in
the Pacific, Admiral U. S. Grant Sharp, advocating the destruction of seven
North Vietnamese power plants (except one in central Hanoi and two in
Haiphong.) As was typical of the entire 'Rolling Thunder' effort, targets were
approved and struck individually and in a piecemeal manner. President
Johnson authorised these strikes on 21 February 1967 (except the installa-
tions in Hanoi and Haiphong). Not until 22 March was authority granted to
strike the thermal power plants in Haiphong, and it took nearly a month for
this to be carried out (20 April). The Hanoi installations were added to the
approved target list on 8 April, but not struck until 19 May. In early May
General Earle Wheeler, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, sent the
President a memo discussing the rationale for attacking the North Vietnamese
electric power system. The objective, Wheeler stated, 'was not ... to tum the
lights off in major population centers, but ... to deprive the enemy of a basic
power source needed to operate certain war supporting facilities and
industries'. 34 The memo went on to explain the specific North Vietnamese
industries and capabilities that would be affected by the negation of the
Hanoi and Haiphong power plants, which contributed fully 25 per cent of the
entire North Vietnamese generating capacity. Although it thus took three full
months to carry out the attacks against the North Vietnamese electric power
system, by the end of May the North Vietnamese electric power system was
in shambles. Fourteen of the twenty targeted electric power installations had
been attacked and 87 per cent of the generating capacity eliminated."
On one level the attacks were quite successful: no nation can lose nearly all
of its electric power supply and come away unaffected, and North Vietnam
was no exception to this rule, although the impact may not have been as
pervasive as some had hoped. The North Vietnamese government was able to
impose conservation of large amounts of public power usage, and factories
were forced to switch from automatic, electric machinery to slower and less
dependable manual equipment, which degraded industrial productivity. Many
manufacturing facilities, such as textiles, machine shops, and drug and
medicine production, were disassembled and dispersed to the countryside or
the mountains. 36
In other areas, however, the loss of power seemed to have little if any
impact. There was little evidence, for example, that the flow of cargo and war
material through Haiphong was impacted, and Hanoi's ability to continue
supporting the war in South Vietnam was not significantly impaired. The
North Vietnamese compensated for the loss of centralised power in several

ways, including the use of 2,000 portable generators to provide power to
specific users. 37 Since North Vietnam did not produce the military supplies
needed for the war, importing them from Russia and China instead, there was
no reason to expect this loss of electricity to have a war-winning impact on
North Vietnam's ability to produce military goods and equipment. Although
the loss of electric power that resulted from the 'Rolling Thunder' attacks did
impair North Vietnam's overall economic productivity and efficiency, it did
not coerce Ho Chi Minh and his government to accept US terms for ending
the war. The attacks failed to have any noticeable effect of North Vietnam's
will or ability to continue the war. One American observer in Hanoi
commented 'To a Western, so-called developed society, cutting our
electricity means something . . . It doesn't mean very much in Vietnam. ' 38
Attacks on North Vietnamese electricity would not resume for four years.
In spring. 1972 North Vietnam unleashed a full-scale conventional
offensive designed to crush South Vietnam on the heels of the American
withdrawal. The Americans responded with a large-scale air interdiction
campaign, coupled with massive close air support for the beleaguered South·
Vietnamese ground forces. This air campaign, called 'Linebacker I', lasted
from April through October 1972 and succeeded in preventing the collapse of
South Vietnam. Employing tanks and other mechanised forces, the North
Vietnamese were no longer fighting a jungle-shrouded guerrilla war and were
thus vulnerable to the weight of American airpower; the Spring Offensive
was an outright military failure for the North Vietnamese. The North
Vietnamese electric grid, repaired after the cessation of the Rolling Thunder
attacks, was again attacked during 'Linebacker I', and approximately 70 per
cent of the available power supply was eliminated. By December, however,
negotiations with the North Vietnamese had stalled, and President Richard
Nixon decided to execute a new series of air attacks, called 'Linebacker II',
designed to break the impasse. The issue of its motives has been adequately,
even exhaustively, covered elsewhere, and there is no need to explore them
further here, except to mention that the will of the North Vietnamese regime
to continue the war was a primary objective. North Vietnam's electric power
system again was an important piece of the 'Linebacker II' target base.'•
It is easier to measure what 'Linebacker II' accomplished against the
North Vietnamese electric power system in a physical sense than in a
political sense. The weight of effort was relatively moderate, with 166 sorties
delivering approximately 4,000 bombs against six targets. Only two of the six
were struck hy B-52s; the Haiphong thermal power plant (TPP) was hit by 14
B-52s that actually caused far more damage than originally predicted (50 per
cent vs only 9 per cent); and the Thai Nguyen TPP was struck by 42 B-52s
that dropped over 2,000 tons of bombs but achieved lower than expected
results (15 per cent actual damage vs 50 per cent predicted). The only other
strike that achieved better than 50 per cent damage was an attack on the
Hanoi TPP by four F-4s using eight laser guided bombs. This was the only
use of guided weapons against electric power facilities, and it presaged the
dramatic increase in attack efficiency achieved during the Persian Gulf War
nearly two decades later. An Air Force postwar bombing survey noted that
precision guided munitions were very effective against such small, point
targets as power facilities. 40
At the start of 'Linebacker II' approximately half of the North Vietnamese
power capability of 230,000K w had been returned to operation; in less than
two weeks the grid had been reduced to about 29,000Kw, and this with a
relatively limited effort of 166 sorties that, except for the one use of laser
guided bombs previously mentioned, delivered unguided ordnance (99.8 per
cent of the bombs were unguided) and attained damage levels ranging from
60 per cent to zero against the six targets attacked. There is no available
direct evidence that these results had any significant effect in reducing either
the overall North Vietnamese fighting or supply capability, or their morale
and will to continue the struggle. As will be seen later, however, measuring
and assessing the indirect or second order results of strategic air attack has
historically been extremely difficult. Without being able to examine in detail
North Vietnamese archives or interview the key political and military leaders
it is very difficult to formulate any conclusive or verifiable assessments of the
impact of these attacks. Perhaps the only one that can at present be made is
tied up in the question of 'Linebacker Il's' overall impact. Although this
is probably short of the institutional Air Force's view that it proved that air-
power could have won the war anytime between 1964 and 1972 by executing
a 'Linebacker II' -style bombing campaign, there can be little if any doubt that
these campaigns convinced the North Vietnamese leadership that winning the
war would have to wait until the Americans had removed themselves from
the scene.'' By 1975, they had done so.
The Campaign Against the Iraqi Electric System

Throughout most of the 1970s and 1980s the Air Force remained mired in a
conceptual paradigm that made 'strategic' synonymous with 'nuclear'; in
many ways, the Strategic Air Command was thought of as the 'nuclear' air
command, and the language of strategic airpower was frequently laced with
terms such as throw weight, fractionation, MIRY-counters etc.'' During the
late 1980s, however, this began to change, as airmen increasingly considered
how conventional, 'tactical' airpower could be used to accomplish strategic
objectives. Although this happened at several places in the Air Force,
nowhere was it more concentrated than in the Directorate of Plans at the Air
Staff, especially within the divisions under Colonel John A. Warden. While a
student at National War College, Warden wrote The Air Campaign: Planning
for Combat, probably the most cogent book on airpower since the 1940s, and
his enthusiastic advocacy of conventional strategic airpower found adherents
in the Pentagon and elsewhere. Later writings and staff discussions led to the
concept of the so-called 'Five Strategic Rings', which have sometimes been
incorrectly described as an airpower strategy. Instead, the rings (a state's
leadership; key industries or economic systems; supporting infrastructure;
population [more accurately, popular support for the regime]; and last the
state's fielded military forces), were really a planning tool to be used in think-
ing how to employ airpower in any given scenario. They became the basis for
the concept of attacking a state from the 'inside out', using airpower to skip
over military forces such as armies in the field to strike directly at the state's
leadership, infrastructure, etc. When combined with then-Secretary of the Air
Force Dr Donald Rice's white paper 'Global Reach - Global Power', and a
revision of Air Force basic doctrine that contained a renewed commitment to
the use of airpower for strategic purposes, the Air Force was conceptually
ready to carry out a strategic air campaign with 'tactical' forces delivering
conventional weaponry. 43
The opportunity to conduct such a campaign quickly presented itself
following the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August 1990. It is not necessary to
detail extensively here how Warden's conceptual 'Instant Thunder' strategic
air campaign plan was transformed into the 'Desert Storm' air campaign,
except to focus on the elements that concern the Iraqi electric power system. 44
Warden and his planners were familiar with the findings of the USSBS and
Hansell's view on the missed opportunity to destroy German electricity
during World War II, and they included the Iraqi electric grid as one of the
key targeting objectives for Instant Thunder. Neutralisation of this grid would
serve two strategic purposes, one immediate and military, the other longer-
term and more political. These objectives were carried over, and even
expanded upon, in the final 'Desert Storm' air campaign plan developed by
the CENTAF (the USAF component of US Central Command) planners in
the so-called 'Black Hole' in Riyadh}5 Planners sought to degrade key
elements of the electric system during the war's opening strikes because of
the impact this would have on several time-critical targets such as the com-
puters that supported the Iraqi national-level air defence system, suspected
biological weapons research and development facilities, and the key tele-
communications systems that supported the national-level strategic C3
network. Planners knew that many if not most of these militarily-significant
facilities would have individual back-up power generators (as do most
hospitals, for example), but also knew that some would fail to start or not run
correctly. Additionally, the interruptions and power fluctuations would cause
problems for devices such as computers that were extremely sensitive to such
effects. This would help in the destruction of the Iraqi strategic air defence
system and thus in attaining air supremacy, which would in tum leave all of
Iraq vulnerable to the weight of Coalition airpower. A longer-term but
important objective (at least in some planners' minds) was to degrade the
overall morale and resiliency of Saddam Hussein's regime and the Iraqi
populace. Planners hoped that demonstrating Saddam Hussein's inability to
prevent Coalition aircraft from 'turning out the lights' in Baghdad and deny-
ing electricity, the sinews of modem society, to the populace would cause
civil unrest and weaken the regime's stability. 46 In this sense, at least, the
objectives of these attacks against enemy electric power would mirror those
of such attacks in Korea and Vietnam.
Ironically, the attacks conducted by the Coalition would also resemble
much more recent history, for during the Iran-Iraq War of 1980-88 both
sides consistently attacked each others' electric power plants. Within the first
weeks of the war the Iranian Air Force mounted a series of attacks against
targets deep inside Iraq, including electric power generating stations. The
New York Times even reported that one of the plants near Baghdad had been
destroyed and nearly a hundred people injured, although the small scale of
the Iranian attacks meant that long-term strategic results were unlikely. 47 The
Iraqi Air Force soon responded in kind, although this effort did not reach its
peak until late in 1986, when popular morale in both countries began to
slump because of the prolonged war and the constant drain in lives and
resources. In late 1986 and early 1987 the Iraqi Air Force mounted a series of
attacks on Iranian electric power stations, both hydroelectric and oil fired.
The intent of these attacks was probably twofold, to weaken the Iranian
economy and to harm the popular will, especially with the war's seventh
winter approaching. 48 Since the Iraqi attacks were conducted during a period
of heavy missile attacks against Iranian cities, the so-called 'War of the
Cities', it appears probable that their primary objective was to weaken Iranian
morale. After eight years of carnage the war eventually ground to a halt out
of mutual exhaustion. The attacks on electric power were no more than a
small part of this, because of the sporadic nature and limited scope of the
atacks. It is enlightening, however, that both sides felt that attacking the
other's electric power would lead to a drop in civilian morale.
It was not surprising that the Iranian attacks on Iraqi power plants had little
impact: aside from the miniscule number and size of the attacks, the Iraqi
power system was quite advanced for what many thought of as a Third World
nation. Indeed, Iraq in general and Baghdad specifically were seldom plagued
with the frequent interruptions and brownouts common in many other
countries, in part because of the significant amount of surplus generating
capacity (i.e., capability minus demand) the system contained. The Iraqi grid
consisted of about two dozen major generating stations (some hydroelectric,

most thermal/steam turbine driven) and over 140 transformer stations that
shunted power to specific regions or facilities. Six plants and eleven trans-
former stations producing power on a 400 kilovolt (Kv) line were linked in
what was called a 'super grid' serving Baghdad and central Iraq. 'Instant
Thunder' planners were acutely aware of the political ramifications of target-
ing electricity, and sought to minimise damage whenever possible. This was
to be accomplished by attacking the elements that transferred power and key
segments of the generating systems, instead of merely leveling the generating
stations. Indeed, Warden opened one of the first 'Instant Thunder' planning
sessions with the admonition that 'every bomb is a political bomb', in recog-
nition that the military aspects of strategic air warfare could not be separated
from the political aspects. Planners, both in 'Checkmate' and CENTAF,
emphasised that the Saddam Hussein regime was the enemy, not the Iraqi
nation or people. This philosophy led Brigadier General Buster C. Glosson,
the chief planner at CENTAF and the architect of the actual 'Desert Storm'
air campaign, to issue targeting guidance specifying that those elements of
the electric system whose destruction would require long-term reconstruction,
especially generator halls, boilers and turbines, should be avoided.<9
During the first two days of the war 11 power plants (more than half of the
17 attacked during the war), and 7 transformer stations (of the 9 overall) were
attacked (see Table 1). While it is not necessary here to go into a detailed
sortie-by-sortie tactical discussion of each attack, some idea of their scope
and scale is necessary to understand what happened. Most early attacks
focused, not surprisingly, on facilities near and around Baghdad; after this the
attacks moved outward to include some of the smaller and more dispersed
stations. Although some analysts have suggested that the eventual collapse of
the grid could have been caused by attacking as few as three plants, it would
not have been prudent to rely on the cascading effects of cumulative failures
in the overall system to cause the amount of system disruption planners
sought. Once they determined that the grid had in fact ceased functioning
they backed off from electric targets, shifting their resources elsewhere (see
Table 2). The weight of effort devoted to attacking the electric grid was
actually quite minimal; of the 89 strikes conducted with precision guided
munitions (PGMs) 63 of them (77 per cent) employed the Navy's Tomahawk
Land-Attack Missile (TLAM), and a smaller number used the USAF's
Conventional Air-Launched Cruise Missile (CALCM), virtually all within the
first two days of the war.'" Only three strikes against electric targets were
conducted by the stealthy F-117. A handful of the strikes launched by Navy
A-6Es involved the Navy's new Stand-off Land Attack Missile (SLAM), in
which the first missile blew a hole in a generator hall and the second missile
flew through the hole to wreck the hall's interior." All in all, only 345 of the
more than 41,000 strikes carried out during the war (less than one per cent)
were directed against electric power facilities. 52
Despite the few strikes carried out against the Iraqi electric grid, however,
the damage these attacks inflicted was substantial, and in some case beyond
what planners had intended. Postwar visits to Iraq by several international
health teams, including representatives from Harvard University and the
Greenpeace organisation, compiled detailed information on the damage done
to Iraqi electric facilities, and assessed the impact of that damage on the
system's generating capability. 53 (See Table 3) Nine plants were hit on the
first night, most of them suffering sufficient damage to take them off the grid
almost immediately. The first week's attacks cut Iraq's generating capacity
by approximately 75 per cent, and follow-on attacks extended that even
further so that by war's end the system had been reduced to only about 15 per
cent of its prewar capability. Some plants shut down from damage, others
were evidently shut down voluntarily by the Iraqis to prevent their being
bombed. The anecdotal evidence provided by Americans held prisoner by the
Iraqis suggests that although some facilities had power, many (perhaps most)
others did not. 54 The lack of real-time intelligence on the state of the Iraqi
electric grid early in the war probably caused some facilities to be restruck
needlessly, but a more fundamental reason for the severe damage done to
many facilities was that General Glosson's targeting guidance never reached
most of the unit-level targeting officers and strike planners. 55 They under-
standably used prewar weaponeering concepts, and targeted the largest and
most easily-identified structures at the generating stations: the large halls con-
taining the turbines and boilers. A postwar survey of 14 power plants
revealed that every one suffered damage to its boilers, generator hall, or
turbine assembly. 56
Not only was unintended damage done to most of the power generating
facilities attacked, unintended consequences also resulted from these attacks.
Possibly paramount among these unintended effects was the disruption of the
water supply throughout most of central Iraq due to the loss of the electric
pumps. 57 Unfortunately, it is simply not possible to segregate the electricity
that powers a hospital from 'other' electricity in the same lines that powers a
biological weapons facility. 58
The disruption of the water purification and sewage treatment systems led
to outbreaks of disease that several visiting groups estimated ultimately
would cause tens of thousands of deaths. 59 It is difficult, however, to separate
the immediate effects of the bombing from the long-term prolongation of
those effects due to the United Nations-mandated embargo. In actuality, the
Iraqis were able to repair much of the system without outside assistance, and
faster than anyone had predicted, so that the eventual toll was probably less
severe than originally feared. The main power plant in Baghdad was
TABLE 1
COALITION ATTACKS AGAINST IRAQI ELECTRIC POWER
Total Strikes 6%
against Electric
Powe~ (43 days)
Strlkea
50
45
mJ Other Aircraft
40 OAs, Ava, F1s, FH1E, F/A18, cn1, FtsE
35 BS-52
30
.TLAM,Ffl7
25
20
15
10
5
o~.·~~~~~~~~~~~,;~~~,~~Mn~~
January
ATO Day
Source: Gulf War Air Power Survey
TABLE 2
COLLAPSE OF THE IRAQI ELECTRIC POWER SYSTEM
Iraqi Power
Availability to
National Grid
Megawatts (MW)
1c,ooo~
ATO Days 1-2: II power plants hit, most of which
9,000 .k:"' •hut down; also 7tronslonnerlswllchlna lacllllles
9,000
7,000
6,000
5,000
4,000
3,000
2,000
1,000
Residual capacity In small plants never attacked
O~++~+++T++rr~HHHHHH1;++~++~Ti-+T++++++1-1
17 21 24 30
Jahu4ry
12Fabruary 71991 21 28

back in nearly full operation only a year after the war, even though the UN-
sponsored embargo was preventing parts and supplies from reaching Iraq. 60
This does not change the fact, however, that the element of the strategic air
campaign that came under the greatest post war criticism was the targeting of
the Iraqi electric grid, which highlights (in a negative sort of manner)
Warden's prewar caution that 'every bomb is a political bomb': in the case of
electricity this was certainly true, and the strikes against the Iraqi electric grid
had a postwar impact, both physical and political, that far outweighed their
small numbers."'
TABLE 3
DAMAGE SUMMARY AGAINST SELECTED IRAQI ELECTRIC POWER PLANTS
Attnclilng
l'o1Hr I'Jnnl l'lotronns
Ajnjl11>erm•l !'ower Nanl (TI'I') nayjl n.AM X X X X X

(1320MW)
AI Mu...yylb TI'P (!280 MW) BS2. FJ6, A6 X X X X X X
AI Naslriyah 1l'P (840 MW) GRI X X
AI Dasra TI'P llarth.l (800 MW) FJ5!!, A6, F/AIB X X X X
Doghdod TI'P/G1PP (Gu Twl>lne l'owO" n.AM X X X X X
l'l>nl) D>wrah (6-10/JOO MW)
AI Mawsllllydroeledrlc: l'owe< DS2, FIJI. FJ6 NA X X X X
·-
I'Jonl (II PI') (750 MW)
Allladhhah III'P (660 MWJ A6 NA X X X X
b aghdod TI'P/GTI'P Soulh (382 MW) n..AM X X X
Dibbs TI'I'/G1PP (G0/210 MW) D52, I'll I NA X X X X
Khkuk 011'1' Mulla Abdullah (240 MW) Fill X X X X
·-
X
AI Mowsll (Mos<l) Gll'P (240 MW) D52, Fl6, FIJI NA X X X
~
An NojofGTI'P (189 MW) F/AII,GRI,A6,A7 NA X X X X
n..AM
"·j~
Doghdod GTPP Ta)l (1-40 MW) NA X
~'"""'' llrr {84 MW) As NA X X X X
But the ultimate measure of the effectiveness of attacking Iraqi electricity

is not how much damage was done, but the degree to which these attacks
weakened the Iraqi military and political capability. Unlike the World War 11-
era USSBS, but similar to the situation with North Korea and North Vietnam,
Western researchers and analysts have not had access to senior Iraqi leaders,
both political and military, nor to Iraqi documents that might provide hard,
detailed evidence on this issue. What evidence exists must be drawn from
second or even third order circumstantial effects. The Iraqi strategic air
defence system was certainly fragmented as intended by Coalition air
campaign planners, but there is no way to determine analytically how much

the loss of the electric grid contributed to this. The same holds true for
damage to facilities involved in nuclear-chemical-biological weapons
research.
The evidence of political instability is equally murky. Although Saddam
Hussein remains in power, within days after the end of the war literally two-
thirds of Iraq rose in open revolt. In the north, the Kurds were able to gamer
sufficient international support that they remain under UN protection, but the
Shias who revolted in the south had no such good fortune, and their revolt
was brutally and ruthlessly put down by Saddam Hussein's surviving military
forces, which probably wreaked more damage and caused greater casualties
than resulted from the air campaign, indeed from all of 'Desert Storm'. These
outcomes were in some ways less important than the fact the revolts occurred
at all, for they were evidence of weakened control by Saddam Hussein. The
willingness of many Iraqis, even in Baghdad, to speak critically of the
conditions in Iraq and of the Hussein regime and Baath Party to Western
journalists and news media immediately after the war was additional
evidence of the regime's loosened power and control. There is no way, how-
ever, to attribute these effects directly to the attacks on Iraqi electricity, and
there is no clear-cut or conclusive answer to the question of how much these
attacks contributed to the political instability that unquestionably existed in
Iraq during and immediately after the war. Lacking detailed evidence, one's
answer to this question may depend as much on one's faith in the efficacy of
strategic airpower as on the limited empirical data currently available.
The Future
One point beyond question is that modem airpower possesses the capability
quickly and precisely to damage almost any nation's electric grid. It is
instructive to look back at the early World War II plans for attacking German
electricity outlined in Hansell's book The Air Plan That Defeated Hitler,
which contains a detailed appendix on 'The German Electric Power System
as a Target System'. While there is no need here to explore it in depth, two
points are worth making on the relationship between Hansell's plan and
current (1990s) weaponry and technological capabilities; both stem from the
performance of advanced precision guided munitions as used in the Second
Gulf War. First, the German electric target set was not large: several con-
temporary studies cited 9 transformer stations and between 41 and 56 gener-
ating stations as the key sites in the system. Hansell's study estimated that
just three hits in the plant area would knock a plant out for 6-18 months,
which adds up to a mere !50 to 195 weapon impacts: the entire F-117/F-111 F
force in the Second Gulf War could have done this, with sorties left over, in
just one wave. 62 The weight of effort required would have been orders of
magnitude smaller than the 69,000 tons of bombs Hansell estimated it would
have taken in 1944. Second, the very degree of precision attainable now
enables a different type of targeting: not only is there no need to level a plant
to eliminate its generating capacity, the 'Desert Storm' air campaign planners
actually expected to limit the overall damage, in part for strategic-political
reasons. 63 Third, there is the ability to use precision stand-off weaponry such
as long-range cruise missiles to strike targets as small as an individual
building without putting friendly forces at risk. Thus the dramatic increases
in precision, survivability, and stand-off range, as well as evolving technical
capabilities that do not rely on outright physical destruction, mean that a
smaller force can actually attack (with greater effectiveness) a larger target
set while also seeking to attain damage levels and achieve political effects
that would have been unthinkable in the .past.
The question remains, however: what strategic effect does this actually
cause? The task of assessing the effectiveness or results of attacking an
enemy nation's electric grid can be examined as a three-part problem, with
each part progressively more difficult. The first task is necessarily to assess
the physical damage done to the system: were the targets struck and damaged
as planned? What amount of generating capacity was destroyed? What is the
status of the grid? And so on. Fortunately, modem intelligence gathering
systems and analytical procedures make this a relatively straightforward task.
During the Persian Gulf War, for example, planners at CENTAF knew within
a few days that the Iraqi electric grid was collapsing. 64
More difficult is accurately assessing the cumulative or second order
effects of this physical damage on the state's overall military capability and
political cohesiveness. As cited earlier, for example, the destruction of
approximately 70 per cent of North Vietnam's electric generating capacity
during the 'Linebacker' I bombing campaign may have significantly affected
North Vietnam's ability to support its forces invading South Vietnam, but the
degree to which this occurred is still uncertain. The same is true for the
destruction of the Iraqi electric grid during the Persian Gulf War: while it
almost certainly had a significant impact on several key Iraqi subsystems, the
specifics are still unknown. Until we get much greater access to Iraqi officials
and documents we will not know how badly the loss of the electric grid hurt
the Iraqi C3 network, its NBC research and development complex, or air
defence system .
.The third problem, however, is by far the most intractable: assessing the
impact of electric targeting on the enemy's national morale and willingness to
fight. This was clearly an objective in the destruction of the North Korean,
North Vietnamese, and Iraqi electric systems, yet any assessment of these
operations' strategic impact would be highly speculative, simply because the
data on which to base definitive conclusions is not yet available. How much
electricity does the enemy need to run its industrial and military systems?
How much value does the enemy society place on having electricity? What
will be the impact if the electric supply is suddenly sundered? The answers to
these and similar questions are highly variable depending on the specifics of
the enemy nation. What is certain is that in all three cases outlined here
(Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq) in which attacks on the enemy electric system
actually were mounted the enemy leadership has been resolute, determined,
even ruthless, while the civil population has been tightly controlled, inured to
hardships, and in no simple position to make its unrest and displeasure with
the regime (if any) safely known. The potential effectiveness of such attacks
against a nation whose overall morale is low to begin with, political leader-
ship less ruthless, or populace less tightly controlled, is obviously uncertain
and speculative. It could well be that such attacks would have the desired
political effect.
An additional factor is the duration of the conflict. The longer the conflict
lasts and the longer the state and its key industrial and infrastructure
systems must operate without electricity, the greater the impact of the loss of
electricity is likely to be. This is just the opposite, however, of the direction
in which conflict involving the United States seems to be moving. The
American political leadership and the popular opinion to which it is both
responsive and responsible may well expect future American military opera-
tions to feature the paradigm of 'Desert Storm': decisive, low in casualties
(on both sides), and above all brief, and the brevity of such conflict may well
mitigate the impact or severity caused by the loss of electricity. The impact
on the enemy state's civilian populace may also influence the viability
of targeting its electric system. Although a state's power systems are
unquestionably a legitimate military target, the limited wars in which the
United States is likely to be involved in the future may make electric target-
ing too expensive a target category, expressed in terms of the political or
public support price that must be paid."'
The historical record seems relatively clear: in a nation that is highly
industrialised, attacks on the national electric grid can have a severe long-
term industrial and infrastructure impact. The immediate impact on military
systems, however, is less certain, and the political and morale influence even
less so. Virtually every nation in the world that possesses any developed
military or economic capability is vulnerable to American strategic airpower,
and forces operating at long range directly from the US homeland can signifi-
cantly degrade an adversary's electric system relatively quickly with only a
few weapons. There is nothing to suggest that such attacks will by themselves
weaken the enemy's national will or fighting spirit sufficiently quickly to
bring the conflict to a rapid close."" Electricity is not a panacea target, the
destruction of which will unilaterally yield strategic results. It is also reason-

able to assume, however, that such attacks can adversely impact the enemy's
national industrial capability and social functioning, thus contributing to an
overall weakening of the enemy's strategic capability, and they must be
looked at in this light. Using an overly-narrow soda straw view of how the
loss of electricity affects a specific military capability or industrial system, or
seeking detailed, quantifiable measures of merit will of necessity miss what is
in the final outcome a subjective assessment. 67
Strategic air warfare is just what its name implies: operations to degrade
the overall strategic position and capability of the enemy state. It is somewhat
analogous to the time-honoured naval blockade of a state. Although it has
proven difficult, for example, to assess in a detailed, quantifiable manner how
the Union blockade of the Confederacy affected the South's fighting capa-
bility and national morale, no American Civil War scholar would argue that
it did not significantly degrade both. The same holds true for the British
blockade of Germany during World War I. As long as planners do not expect
targeting enemy electricity single-handedly to achieve national collapse and a
quick, easy victory, targeting enemy electricity will remain a viable and use-
ful category for strategic air attack in the future.
NOTES
The opinions expressed in this study reflect solely those of the author and should not in any way
be construed to represent those of the Department of Defense.
I. Dept. of Defense, Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War (Washington,
DC: Office of the Secretary of Defense and GPO, April 1992), better known as the 'Title V
Report'
2. See, e.g., Maj. Thomas E. Griffith, Jr., 'Attacking Electrical Power', a thesis done at the Air
University's School of Advanced Airpower Studies, Maxwell AFB, Alabama. Griffith
emphasises the political and morale objectives, and argues that attacking electrical power
has been unsuccessful in achieving those objectives.
3. Douglas H. Robinson, The Zeppelin in Combat: a History of the German Naval Airship
Division, 1912-1918 (Seattle, WA: Univ. of Washington Press, 1980), pp.66, 95, 100,
114-14; H.A. Jones, The War in the Air: Being the Story af the Part Played in the Great
War by the Royal Air Force, Vol.VI (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1937), p.l24, and App. XIII,
'Industrial Targets Bombed by Squadrons of the 41st Wing and the Independent Force,
October 1917- November 1918', pp.50-l; George K. Williams, 'Statistics and Strategic
Bombing: the Operations of the British Independent Force Against German Industry,
1917-1918', (unpub. doctoral dissertation, Oxford Univ., 1987). Some attacks on electric
power facilities may have been made to suppress enemy searchlight defences, and in one
case a British plant manager shut down his power plant in order to turn off a nearby search-
light that he felt was attracting the Zeppelins' attention! See Robinson, Zeppelin in Combat,
p.101.
4. Neville Jones, The Origins of Strategic Bombing: a Study of' the Development o( British Air
Strategic Thought and Practice up to 19/R (London: Kimber, 1973), p.l63. Jones noted that
even when bombs missed their intended industrial targets but damaged or destroyed key
utilities such as water, gas, and electricity, worker morale anrl productivity was disrupted.
Even such a staunch advocate of strategic bombing as Air Marshal Hugh Trenchard noted in
1919 that at that point the moral effect outweighed the material impact of bombing 'in a pro-
portion of twenty to one.' Cited in Jones, War in the Air (note 3), Vol. VI, p.l36.
5. The official doctrine manual of the British RAF, for example, includes power generation
industries as one of those key industries that are indispensable to the enemy's overall war
effort; see Air Power Doctrine, AP 3000, p.63, published by the RAF in 1991. The Royal
Australian Air Force, perhaps not surprisingly, holds to the same view; its official doctrinal
position, in its Royal Australian Air Force Air Power Manual: AAP 1000, pub. in 1991 by
the RAAF Air Power Studies Centre (p.l6), includes energy as one of the key infrastructure
systems that supports a nation's economic war-making capability. A later publication by
RAAF W/Cdr Gary Waters, Gulf Lesson One - The Value of Air Power (RAAF Base
Fairbairn, Canberra: Air Power Studies Centre, 1991), holds that any strategic air campaign
should include electricity as a key target system (p.290.) Interestingly, the March 1992
edition of AFM 1-1, Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the USAF', does not specifically mention
attacking electricity, discussing instead the importance of a nation's energy supplies, a more
inclusive categorisation.
6. During the earliest planning sessions undertaken by the Air Staff's 'Checkmate' planning
team in Aug. 1990, John Warden, the force behind the creation of the Instant Thunder con-
cept plan, emphasised to the gathered planners that 'every bomb is a political bomb'. This
alerted the planners to the fact that political results would accrue not only from the stand-
point of the effects that the proposed bombing operations were intended to have move, but
also that stray bombs or missed objectives could also have a political impact, probably
unfavourable.
7. Although the Italian airpower theorist Giulio Doubet had discussed attacking an enemy's
national industrial system in his seminal work The Command of the Air (see note 8), his
book did not contain a systematic analysis of any specific nation's power grid.
8. For information on the ACTS in general see Robert T. Finney, History of the Air Corps
Tactical School, 1920-1940 (Maxwell AFB, Alabama: Air Univ., USAF, Historical Study
#100, 1955); see also Giulio Doubet, The Command of the Air, (eds.) Richard H. Kohn and
Joseph P. Harahan (Washington, DC: Off. of AF Hist., 1983), pp.l26, 139-40; the volumi-
nous and essentially unexplored records of the ACTS are held by the Air Force Historical
Res. Agency (AFHRA), at Maxwell AFB, and are filed under the 248 decimal. The Feb.
1935 study, for example, can be found under decimal 248.211-29.
9. This was the reasoning, for example, behind the attacks on the German ball-bearing plants at
Schweinfurt in Aug. and Oct. 1943. Often overlooked in the denouement of the theory of
unescorted strategic bombardment which these attacks provided is the fact that the results, if
the statements of German industrial organisers such as Alfred Speer are accurate, supported
the targeting theory: these attacks brought the ball bearing industry close to collapse, but the
loss of 120 heavy bombers in just two attacks prevented the timely follow-up attacks that
would have pushed the industry over the edge and into collapse. See Alfred Speer, Inside the
Third Reich (NY: Macmillan, 1970), pp.372-3, where Speer says that the American raids
' ... could paralyze the production of thousands of armaments plants ... But what really
saved us was ... [the enemy] once again ceased his attacks on the ball-bearing industry.' It
is fair to note, however, that other research has indicated that this may be overstated; see
Alan J. Levine, The Strategic Bombing of Germany, 1940-1945 (NY: Praeger, 1992),
pp.99-107 for another perspective on the effectiveness of the attacks against the ball-bearing
industry. It is intriguing that strategic bombing is often evaluated as if the Schweinfurt raids
were the end-of-the-war norm, both in terms of force structure (less than 300 bombers) and
operational doctrine (unescorted missions). What if armoured warfare. was evaluated in
terms of Kasserine Pass, carrier warfare in terms of the Battles of the Eastern Solomons and
Santa Cruz Islands, and amphibious warfare in terms of Tarawa?
10. For a short treatment of the AWPD 1 story see James C. Gaston, Planning the American Air
War: Four Men and Nine Days in 1941 (Washington, DC: Nat. Def. UP, 1982); for a longer
examination by one of the authors and a pioneer of strategic airpower see Haywood S.
Hansell The Air Plan That Defeated Hitler (Atlanta, GA: Higgins-McArthur/Longino and
Porter, 1972); for the plan itself see AWPD/1, 'Munitions Requirements of the Army Air
Forces', 26 Aug. 1941, in AFHRA 145.82-1.

11. Basic Handbook, German Economic Survey, Section D, 'Fuel, Power and Public Utility
Services', (Foreign Office [UK] and Ministry of Economic Warfare, Dec. 1944), cited in
USSBS, The Effects of Strategic Bombing on the German War Economy (Overall Economic
Effects Div., 31 Oct. 1945), p.114.
12. USSBS, German Electric Utilities Industry Report (Utilities Division, 13 Oct. 1945),
pp.1-3.
13. USSBS, Effects of Strategic Bombing (note II) p.114. The significance of these three items
cannot be overstated: in modern mobile warfare the machines of war (tanks, airplanes,
trucks, etc.) do not move without oil and rubber, and ordnance does not explode without the
nitrogen needed in the high explosives.
14. Hansell, Air Plan (note 10), p.l63; USSBS, German Electric Utilities (note 12), pp.l-3.
15. Hansell, Air Plan (note 10), p.259.
16. Ibid., pp.261-2, 296-7; USSBS, German Electric Utilities (note 12), p.3
17. USSBS Summary Report, AU Reprint, p.87, a much shortened version of the entire report;
for more details see USSBS (Pacific): The Electric Power Industry of Japan, produced by the
12-man Electric Power Div., which surveyed Japan between 9 Oct. and 3 Dec. 1945; the
official history of the air war against Japan, Wesley Frank Craven and James Lea Cate, The
Army Air Forces in World War ll, Volume V: The Pacific: Matterhorn to Nagasaki, June
1944 to August 1945 (Chicago, IL: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1953, repr. by the Off. of AF
History, 1983), does not even include 'electricity' in the index!
18. Basil Collier, A History of Air Power (NY: Macmillan, 1947), pp.II0-13; RAP Bomber
Command never attacked the German power system, probably because Air Marshal Harris
would have considered it a 'panacea' target that could only divert attention from Bomber
Command's current operations.
19. Oberst Freiherr von Biilow, quoted in Richard Muller, The German Air War in Russia
(Baltimore, MD: Nautical & Aviation Pub., 1992), p.165.
20. Ibid., pp.154-65.
21. Ibid., pp.165-72; Williamson Murray, Luftwaffe (Baltimore, MD: Nautical & Aviation Pub.,
1985), pp.232-4.
22. Nothing better illustrates the disparity in Luftwaffe and Allied capabilities than these
strength figures, for while the Luftwaffe had by March 1944 amassed 400 medium bombers,
the combined American (8th and 15th Air Forces) and British (Bomber Command) air forces
were each putting over a thousand heavy four-engine bombers into the air daily.
23. Murray, Luftwaffe (note 21) I., p.236; Muller, Air War (note 19), pp.l80-185, 193-199.
24. All of them were neutralised by mid-Sept. 1950, according to Far East Air Forces' postwar
report (K720.04D at the AFHRA).
25. 'The Attack on Electric Power in North Korea: A Target System is Studied, Analyzed, and
Destroyed', Air University Quarterly Review No.6/2 (1953), pp.l3-22.
26. Ibid., p.l3.
27. Cited in USAF Historical Study No.7!, USAF Operations in the Korean Conflict, 25 June-
1 November 1950 (Washington, DC: Dept. of the Air Force, 1952), in K101-72, AFHRA.
Although FEAF air employment doctrine established in July 1950 directed Bomber
Command to destroy 'industrial targets contributing to the combat effort of North Korea', no
mention was made of the electric power system until 5 November, when Gen. MacArthur
specifically exempted 'the Suiho dam and other electric power plants in North Korea' from
the targeting policy that made virtually every installation in North Korea a legitimate target.
28. Richard Hallion, The Naval Air War in Korea (Baltimore, MD: Nautical and Aviation Pub.
1986), pp.l32-3; Robert Frank Futrell, The United States Air Force in Korea, (rev. ed.
Washington, DC: Off. of AF Hist., 1983), pp.478-80; D. Clayton James, with Anne Sharp
Wells, Refighting the Last War: Command and Crisis in Korea, 1950-1953 (NY: Free Press,
1993), pp.69, 239-40.
29. Futrell, Air Force (note 28), pp.482-7; Callum A. MacDonald, Korea, The War Before
Vietnam (NY: Free Press, 1986), pp.236-40; Rosemary Foot, The Wrong War: American
Policy and the Dimensions of the Korean Conflict, 1950-1953 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell, 1985),
pp.176-8); Mark W. Clark, From the Danube to the Yalu (NY: Harper & Row, 1954, repr.
by TAB Books, Blue Ridge Summit, PA, 1988), pp.72-4; James, Refighting (note 28),
p.240. It is interesting that Clark's predecessor, Gen. Matthew Ridgeway, saw no need to
attack the hydroelectric facilities, even though Gen. Weyland had been urging such an
operation for some time. Clark almost immediately authorised the strikes, which begs the
question: why the rapid change in policy? One plausible explanation is that Clark wanted to
achieve results quickly and saw these attacks as a way of doing so. See James F. Schnabel
and Robert J. Watson, The History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and
National Policy, Vo/1/l: The Korean War, Part 2 (Washington, DC: Joint Secretariat, Hist.
Div. 1979), pp.843-5. See also the FEAF History, I Jan. - 30 June 1952, Vol.I, p.41,
K720.01 in AFHRA.
30. Futrell, Air Force (note 28), pp.485-8; 'The Attack on Electric Power in North Korea' (note
25), pp.23-8.
31. Ibid., p.26; Foot, Wrong War (note 29), p.l78; MacDonald, Korea (note 29), pp.240--2.
32. Some authors, however, have concluded that the attacks on the hydroelectric system derailed
an impending solution to the stalled negotiations at Panmunjom. Robert Simmons, for
example, in his book The Strained Alliance: Peking, Pyongyang, Moscow, and the Politics
of the Korean Civil War (NY: Free Press, 1975, p.216) holds to this view and states that the
Chinese backed away from a compromise because they did not want to appear to be bowing
to US pressure. His source for this interpretation was a New York Times reporter in New
Dehli, India, who cited Chinese sources. This is not an impossible interpretation, and it high-
lights the criticality of weighing the political dimension when planning and conducting
strategic air operations. British Foreign Secretary Sir Anthony Eden made this same point
during the aftermath of the attack, when he noted that military operations that possess a
'political intent' must be closely coordinated among all concerned parties. See Schnabel and
Watson, History (note 29), p.846.
33. Ibid., p.241; Foot, Wrong War (note 29), p.l79;
34. The Senator Gravel Edition, The Pentagon Papers: The Defense Department History of
United States Decisionmaking on Vietnam, Vol IV. (Boston: Beacon Press), pp.152-3.
35. Mark Clodfelter, The Limits of Air Power: The American Bombing of North Vietnam (New
York: Free Press, 1989), pp.59--61, 102-7; Wallace J. Thies, When Governments Collide:
Coercion and Diplomacy in the Vietnam Conflict, 1964-1968, (Berkeley, CA: Univ. of
California Press, 1980), pp.74--5; Pentagon Papers, IV (note 34), pp.152-3.
36. In some areas the production loss exceeded 50 per cent of the year's scheduled output; see
William S. Turley, The Second Indochina War: a Short Political and Military History,
1954-1975 (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1986), pp.92-3.
37. Clodfelter, Limits (note 35), p.136.
38. E.g., in 1968, e.g. North Vietnam received more than $1.5 billion in economic and military
aid from Russia and China; see The Pentagon Papers, IV (note 34), pp.225-7. Quote is from
Clodfelter, Limits (note 35), p.l 06.
39. The seven target categories and the overall ratio of sorties ( 1364 in total for the entire LINE-
BACKER II campaign)) flown against them were railroad yards (36 per cent), military
storage (25 per cent), radio communication (14 per cent), electric power (12 per cent), air-
fields (10 per cent), surface to air missile sites (2 per cent), and bridges (I per cent). Data
from Pacific Air Forces, 'Linebacker II USAF Bombing Survey', April 1972, p.3.
40. Ibid., pp.l2-l4, 41. For details on the attacks themselves see James R. McCarthy (Brig.
Gen., USAF) and George B. Allison (Lt. Col., USAF), LINEBACKER II: A View From the
Rock (Maxwell AFB, AL: Airpower Res. lnst., 1979), p.87.
41. A supportable response to the oft-heard accusation that 'airpower failed to win the war in
Southeast Asia' is that not until American airpower was gone was the war lost.
42. 'Throw-weight' refers to the payload delivery capability of an Intercontinental ballistic
missile (ICBM), in terms of weight; 'Fractionation' refers to the ability of an ICBM to
deliver multiple warheads; 'MIRY-counters' often referred to whether a bomber would count,
in arms control discussions, the same as an ICBM capable of delivering multiple, indepen-
dently-targetable re-entry vehicles (MIRVs). The speed with which these terms have vanished
from the every-day lexicon of the 1990s defence-related discussions reflects how quickly the
world has changed since the fall of the Iron Curtain and the breakup of the USSR.
43. Col. John A. Warden, III The Air Campaign: Planning for Combat (Washington, DC: Nat.
Def, UP (1988); Off of the Secretary of the AF, 'Global Reach- Global Power', 1990; Air
Force Manual 1-1, 'Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the United States Air Force', 1991. It was
enlightening that the cover of the first edition of Warden's book depicted a formation of
World War II B-17s, rather than photographs of modem fighters. For an excellent summary
of Warden's thinking see Richard P. Hallion, Storm Over Iraq, (Washington, DC:
Smithsonian Press, 1992), pp.ll5-19, and Michael A. Palmer, 'The Storm in the Air: One
Plan, Two Air Wars?', Air Power History 49/3, (Winter 1992), pp.26-7. It is also important
to note that 'conventional' weaponry refers to non-nuclear, not non-high technology,
weaponry.
44. For information on 'Instant Thunder' see the Dept. of Defense's Title V; Hallion, Storm,
pp.l42-3: the Gulf War Air Power Survey (GWAPS), Summary Report (Washington, DC:
GPO, 1993), pp.36-9.
45. Although the composition of the 'Black Hole', more accurately the Special Planning Group
under USAF Brig. Gen. Buster C. Glosson, did include some non-USAF officers, no one
would argue that the conceptual force driving the the strategic air campaign was anyone
other than the USAF officers there.
46. GWAPS Summary Report (note 44), pp.55, 76; GWAPS, Vol.II, Part I, Operations, p.93;
Title V (note 1), pp.74, 95.
47. Ronald E. Bergquist (Maj. USAF), The Role of Airpower in the Iran-Iraq War (Maxwell
AFB, AL: Air UP, 1988), p.46; Henry Tanner, 'Khomeini Dismisses Truce Offer, Vowing a
Fight 'To the End', 'New York Times, 1 Oct. 1980, p.Al; John Kifner, 'Iraqi Jets Said to
Damage Several Iraqi Oil Plants', New York Times, 3 Oct. 1980, p.AlO, The earlier article
even featured a front page photo of Iraqi soldiers fleeing from the plant, probably the
Dawrah electric power station at Baghdad.
48. Edgar O'Ballance, The Gulf War (NY: Brassey's, 1988), pp.70-l, 200; Anthony H.
Cordesman, and Abraham R. Wagner, The Lessons of Modern War: Volume II: The Iran-
Iraq War (Boulder, CO: Westview Press), pp.242, 333, 363.
49. GWAPS Summary Reports (note 44), p.71; Title V (note 1), p.98.
50. Several published reports have described the apparent use of TLAMs to deliver special war-
heads using thin wires to cause massive shorts and overloads in the electric power grids.
Richard Atkinson's book Crusade: the Untold Story of the Persian Gulf War (NY:
Houghton Mifflin, 1993), pp.30-l, 37-8 describes these attacks and attributes their genesis
to Navy experiences with rope chaff (long strands of chaff) in the early 1980s; in actuality,
the disruptions that rope chaff could have on power systems was clearly recognised by the
Air Force in the early 1950s, and SAC regulations then prohibited its use over the USA
unless the aircraft was over water!
51. This story was cited in several publications, including 'SLAMs Hit Iraqi Target in First
Combat Firing', Aviation Week & Space Technology, 28 Jan. 1991, pp.31-2, and D.S.
Stiegman, 'SLAM: Navy Missile Aces Real-World Test', Air Force Times, 11 Feb. 1991,
p.25; I am also indebted to Prof. Michael Rip for permission to use material cited in Navstar
'The Precision Revolution- the Navstar Global Positioning System in the Second Gulf War'
(with David P. Lusch) Intelligence and National Security 9/2 (April 1994), pp.l67-241.
52. GWAPS, Vol.V, Part I, A Statistical Compendium, Table 177, 'Strikes By AIF Categories',
and Table 183, 'PGM Strikes by AIF Categories'; note that three-quarters of the strikes
against electric targets employed unguided munitions.
53. See Walid Doleh, Warren Piper, Abdel Qamhieh, and Kamel al Tallaq, 'Electrical Facilities
Survey', in the report by the International Study Team, Health and Welfare in Iraq After the
Gulf Crisis: An In-Depth Assessment (Oct. 1991); also see the Harvard Study Team Report:
Public Health in Iraq After the Gulf War (May 1991). Also of interest is the Middle East
Watch's report Needless Deaths in the Gulf War (Washington, DC: Middle East Watch,
1991) Middle East Watch is an arm of the Human Rights Watch organisation. It is possible
that some electric plants that were struck several times, particularly near Basra, may have
been hit by aircraft operating against targets in immediate area of the Kuwait Theater of
Operations that were unable for some reason to bomb their primary targets.
54. E.g., Capt. Tom Griffith who was shot down and captured during the first week of the war,
says the two buildings in which he was held as a POW (the Directorate of Military
Intelligence and the Iraqi Intelligence Service Regional HQ) always had some power (see his
SAAS thesis on Attacking Electrical Power (note 1), p.23); others, however, such as US
Army Maj. Rhonda Comum (shot down and captured 27 Feb.) or CBS correspondent Bob
Simon, who spent 40 days in captivity, mentioned the lack of electric power in hotels,
prisons, hospitals, and throughout Baghdad; for Simon's story see Bob Simon, Forty Days
(NY: Putnam's, 1992), pp.228-30; for Maj. Comum's story see Rhonda Comum, She Went
to War: the Rhonda Cornum Story (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1992), pp.50, 117, 139 and
155.
55. For those who doubt that the Clausewitzian concepts of fog of war and friction were not
applicable in this war, the fact that Gen. Glosson's guidance never made it to many of the
units is a fine example that friction is still an important element of war.
56. A postwar discussion between this author and some Proven Force planners revealed their
surprise at the desire to avoid striking generator halls: they had never heard of this. This
reaction was common from the unit-level strike planners GW APS met with. See also New
York Times, 23 Feb. 1992., p.l.
57. This came to the attention of the air planners via Bernard Shaw and the CNN team, when
they reported from the AI Rashid hotel (Baghdad) that the lights and water had ceased to
function. Ironically, it seems like this had been overlooked by the air campaign planners.
This author vividly recalls polling the 'Checkmate' staff the first night of war and discover-
ing that no one had reaiised that with the loss of electricity the water supply would also fail.
Later discussions with personnel who were in the 'Black Hole' in Riyadh at that moment
indicated they were also caught by surprise.
58. This author queried experts from Virginia Power about how one could cut the Pentagon off
from its power supply; the answer was that it could not be done without shutting down the
entire metropolitan Washington DC grid.
59. E.g., the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a story on 9 Jan. 1992 that headlined '70,000 deaths in
postwar Iraq'. A contributory factor usually ignored in most discussions of this issue is the
role and impact of the UN-mandated embargo. Focusing on the damage caused by the bomb-
ing without also citing the embargo that has prevented Iraq from importing the parts,
supplies, machinery, etc. that could be used to repair the damage and restore power leaves
out an important (and ongoing) part of the story.
60. Marcia Kunstel, 'Exhibit in Iraq Struts Progress Made Since War', Atlanta Journal, 20 Jan.
1992, p.l; Iraqi officials interviewed for this story stated that 75 per cent of the Iraqi power
grid had been restored. In an article by Doug Struck for the Baltimore Sun, 'Iraq's New
Fight is for Survival', 30 May 1993, p.l, notable by its absence among the long litany of
economic woes is any mention of problems with electricity.
61. See, e.g., 'Defeat of Iraq Sparks Debate On Which Air Role Was Crucial', Al'iation Week &
Space Technology, 27 Jan. 1992, pp.60-5, in which William M. Arkin of Greenpeace argues
that the strategic air campaign was essentially irrelevant to the course of the war, yet caused
most of the long-term civilian casualties in Iraq through destruction Iraq's infrastructure,
especially the electric grid. Also see 'Pentagon Study Cites Problems With Gulf Effort', New
York Times, 23 Feb. 1992, p.l.
62. Based on the calculation 42 F-117s x two weapons = 84 weapons, and 64 F-IIIFs x 4
weapons = 256 weapons. This is approx. twice the weapon requirement cited by Hansell. Of
course, this analogy can be taken too far, but it does illustrate how the technological
advances offered by Precision Guided Munitions also are changing how air warfare is being
conceptualised.
63. Title V (note I), pp.96, 150-1.
64. GWAPS Summary Report (note 44), p.74.
65. See, e.g., Middle East Watch (note 53), which includes the Int. Committee of the Red Cross
data clearly listing electrical power systems as legitimate and legal targets for aerial
bombardment.
66. The Doolittle Raid on Tokyo ( 18 April 1942) is a good example of a relatively insignificant
attack, measured in terms of weight of effort and physical damage inflicted, that nonetheless
had enormous strategic results. It was the 'trigger' that pushed the Japanese high command
into the ill-fated Midway offensive.

67. Warden's views on this subject are enlightening. In an unpub. paper titled 'Centers of
Gravity: The Key to Success in War' he wrote 'It is also important to note that centers of
gravity may in some cases be only indirectly related to the enemy's ability to conduct actual
military operations. As an example, a strategic center in most states is the power generation
system. Without electric power, production of civil and military goods, distribution of food
and other essentials, civil and military communication, and life in general become difficult
to impossible. Unless the stakes in the war are very high, most states will make the desired
concessions when their power generation system is put under sufficient pressure or actually
destroyed. Note that destruction of the power system may have little short term effect at the
front.' The problem with this view, obviously, is that none of the three states cited here
(North Korea, North Vietnam, and Iraq) reacted as predicted.
Notes on Contributors
John Gooch has been Professor of International History at .the University of

Leeds since 1992. In 1993 he also became Director of its Institute for
International Studies. Founding co-editor of The Journal of Strategic
Studies, he is the author or editor of ten books on British and European
modern military history.
Colonel Phillip S. Meilinger is the Dean of the US School of Advanced

Airpower Studies at Maxwell AFB, Alabama. He is a command pilot who
has flown in both Europe and the Pacific while also serving in the Doctrine
Division at Headquarters USAF in the Pentagon. He received a PhD from
the University of Michigan and is the author of Hoyt S. Vandenberg: The
Life of a General (University of Indiana, 1989), as well as over three
dozen articles and reviews for professional journals such as Armed Forces
and Society, Comparative Strategy, RUSI/Brassey' s Defence Yearbook
and Airpower Journal.
Pascal Vennesson is Postdoctoral Fellow at the Mershon Center, Ohio State

University. He received his MA degree from Paris I Pantbeon-Sorbonne,
and his PhD degree from the Institut d' Etudes Politiques of Paris. In
1993-94 he was Visiting Fellow at Stanford University's Center for
International Security and Arms Control. His first book is Les chevaliers
de l' air. L' institutionnalisation de l' armee de l' air, I 890-1934 (Paris:
Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques - forthcoming
1995). He is currently working on a comparative study of the creation of
air forces, and on democracies and military interventions.
James S. Corum is Professor of Comparative Military Studies at the US Air

Force School of Advanced Airpower Studies, Maxwell AFB, Alabama.
Corum holds a PhD in History from Queen's University, Canada, and
graduate degrees from Oxford and Brown universities. He served six years
active duty as a US Army officer. Corum is author of The Roots of
Blitzkrieg (University Press of Kansa, 1992) and The Luftwaffe's Way of
War (to be published in 1996 by Presidio Press).
Tami Davis Biddle teachers military and diplomatic history at Duke

University. She has recently published, 'Air Power and the Law of War',
in The Laws of War, (eds.) Michael Howard, George Andreopoulos, and
Mark Shulman (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1994).
W. Hays Parks is an attorney with the US Department of Defense specialis-

ing in politico-legal issues regarding weapons, targeting, and rules of
engagement; he was a legal adviser for the 1986 US airstrike against
Libya, and performed similar duties during the 1991 Coalition effort to
liberate Kuwait. Previous articles on air power history have appeared in
Air University Review and US Naval Institute Proceedings. He also was a
contributor to The Conduct of Air War in the Second World War (Horst
Boog, ed. [1992]).
John Buckley is Lecturer in History and War Studies at the University of

Wolverhampton, UK. He is the author of Constant Endeavour: The RAP
and Trade Defence which has recently been published. He is currently
working on a survey of the revolutionary impact of air power on the con-
duct of war in the early twentieth century.
Peter J. Roman is Assistant Professor of Political Science at Duquesne

University. Publications include Eisenhower and the Missile Gap (Cornell
University Press, forthcoming) upon which this article is based.
Daniel T. Kuehl teaches military strategy and information at the US National

Defense University. Before retiring as a lieutenant colonel in the USAF he
served as Chief, Gulf War Air Power Survey support division, 1989-93.
Professor Kuehl holds MA and PhD degrees in American and Military
History from Duke University, North Carolina. Among many past and
current air war publications including official studies, he is the author of
'Thunder and Storm - The Planning, Execution, and Outcome of the
Desert Storm Strategic Air Campaign', a chapter in a planned Greenwood
Press anthology on the 1991 Gulf War.
Index
Note: Page numbers in italics refer to maps and tables; n refers to a page with a chapter endnote
of value.
AA/SSB (Allied Anti-Submarine Survey Ardennes counter-offensive, 161

Board), 184, 185-6 area bombing: British policy of, 3, 4, 91, 108,
accuracy: definition of, 146, see also bombing, 116, 130n; by US on Japan, 125; of
accuracy of industrial areas, 153-4; of marshalling
Admiralty: and Atlantic command, 176, 187, yards by US, 153-4, 155; in Spanish Civil
188, see also Royal Navy War, 71
air defence: German, 84, 97-8, 107-8, 150; area offensive policy, principle of, 145, 147
RAFpolicy, 99, 115 Armengaud, General, 55, 67n
Air Defence of Great Britain (ADGB), 99 Arnold, General Henry H. (USAAF), 114,
air forces, need for autonomy, 18-19,25-6, 151, 153; and Seversky, 5, 11-12, 13, 16,
109, 110 20, 32nn, 33nn; and US-RAP co-operation,
air refuelling, Seversky pioneers, 9, 10 179-80, 185, 186, 187, 190
air superiority: Eaker's plans for, 121; Arnold-Portal agreement, 179-80
importance of, 17-18,24, 82, 83, 122, 126; Atlantic, Battle of: central air command
Trenchard's view of, 99, 103 proposals, 181, 183-4, 186-8; priority for
aircraft quality: French BCR, 2, 49-51; parity ASW, 185-6, 195; shipping losses (1941),
in Spanish Civil War, 82; US fighters, 16, 175; supreme Allied commander proposed,
114, 118 182-3, see also trade defence
aircraft types see amphibian aircraft; BCR; Atlantic Convoy Conference (1943), 182-3,
bombers; fighters 190
airpower: defensive, 104, 105, 109, 127; Atomic Energy Acts (US) (1946, 1954), 199
French view of, 39,44-7, 53; importance in Atomic Energy Commission (US), 208-9
Spanish Civil War, 82-3; and inter-service
co-operation, 126; post-war reappraisal of, Baker, Newton, US Secretary of War, 109,
168; role of, 27; tactical, 250, see also Ill
strategic airpower Baldwin, Stanley (Prime Minister), 104
Allied co-operation (Second World War), 4-5, Barcelona (1938), Italian bombing of, 72-3,
118, 120-4, see also Atlantic; King, 85
Admiral Barjot, Lieutenant de Vaisseau, 51
Altham, Major-General E.A. (British Army), Battle of the Atlantic see Atlantic
on moral effect, 95 Battle of Britain, 15
altitude, effect on bombing accuracy, 148, BCR multi-role plane (French), 2, 49-51
150, 156, 161 Beck, Colonel General Ludwig, 70
American Expeditionary Forces (AEF), 107 Belgium, bomb damage survey, 97
amphibian aircraft: Catalina flying boat Bell, David, US Budget Director, 216
(ASW), 179, 180; Seversky's designs Berlin, area raids on, 122, !56
(SEV-3), 10 Bernhardt, Johannes, 73
Andrews, General Frank M. (USAAF), 33n Bilbao (1937), close air support at, 84
anti-submarine warfare (ASW), 176-95; Biscay, Bay of, Bay Offensive, 181, 189-90,
Allied co-operation on, 179, 180-1, 185, 191-3
186, 187; Atlantic priority, 185-6, 195; US blind bombing, by USAAF, 153, 154, !56,
command structure, 176, 178 158, 162, 17ln, 173n
Blomberg, Field Marshal Werner von, 70 Chamberlain, Neville, 104

Bomber Command: 6I7 Squadron, I 58; Charlton, Air Commodore L.E.O., 100
accuracy figures, I49, 159; accuracy Chennault, General Claire L. (USAAF), 11,
improved, 4, I2I, I23, I47, I 58, I6I; 33n, 113-14
accuracy of(poor), 3, 116,117, I20; early Cherwell, Lord, 117
weakness of, I05, II4-15; and German Childers, Major E. (RAF), 97
night fighters, 122; losses, IS, 116; use of China, 244,246-7
navigational aids, 4, 151-8, see also Churchill, Winston, 21, 117, 119-20, 142n,
Combined Bomber Offensive 152; and Allied ASW co-operation, 180,
bombers: B-17 Flying Fortresses (for ASW), 185
179, 180; B-19, IS; B-24 Liberators (for Ciano, Count Galeazzo, Italian Foreign
ASW), I79, 180, 181, I84, I85; 188; B-52 Minister, 70, 76, 80
(ASMs for), I99, 204, 213-14; B-70, 5--6, cities, bombing of, 103, 116, 117, 139nn
199,204-8, 219-26; 'Dromedary', 2I3-14; civil defence, 84, 97-8; ties up resources, 98,
Halifax, I23; Handley Page Vl500 long- 107, 128, 138nn
range, 93, 96; Lancaster, 123, I24, 172n; civil population: German, 116-17, 133n;
Martin M-10, Ill; Mosquito, I23; nuclear resilience to bombing, 19, 26, 71,72-3,84,
powered (Carnal), I99-200, 208-10, 213; 126, 128, 133nn, see also moral effect;
Pathfinder, I 58, I7I-2n; public faith in, working classes
I04, II3; reconnaissance-strike (RS-70), civilians: role in military policy, 58, 200, 202,
221--6; Seversky's long-range designs, 18, 223-4, 227-9, see also McNamara, Robert
29; VLR (very-long-range) for ASW, 183, Clark, General Mark W. (USA), 246, 263n
184, 185--6, see also amphibian; fighter Clausewitz, Carl von, 94-5, 132n, 265n
escorts; fighters; missiles Clemenceau, Georges, 43
bombing: accuracy of, 3, 4, I49-5I, 150, close air support, 53; RAF/USAAF accuracy
I53-4, I56-8, I60, I62-8; damage caused, in, 160; in Spanish Civil War, 71, 78,83-4
96-7,98,148,249-50,254,256,256, coalition warfare, 4-5, 118, 120-4; Atlantic,
265n; damage surveys, 107, 120, I26, 177-80, 181, 183-4, 186-8; Spanish Civil
133nn, 256-7, 258; daylight, II3, IIS-20, War,69, 77-8,79,86
I23, I42n; formation (US), I48, I69n, Coastal Command (RAF): and Atlantic trade
I70n; individual navigation (RAF), 149; defence, 175--6; relations with USAAF,
night, II6, I22, I23, I25, I60; stand-off I89; relations with USN, 177-8, 189;
ranges, 258; US blind (cloud cover), 153, request for US aircraft, 179-80
154, 156, I58, I62, I7ln, I73n, see also Cochran, Jackie, aviatrix, 31n
area bombing; precision bombing; strategic Combined Bomber Offensive, 121, 160-2,
bombing; targeting 168; targeting policy, 122-3, 124-5
bombsights: gyroscopic, 9; Norden, Ill, Commonwealth forces, and US, 176
157 Condor Legion (Luftwaffe), 69; command
Bottomley, Air Vice-Marshal Norman, 1I7 structure in Spain, 74-5; Guernica, 71-2;
Boyle, Major A.R. (RAF), report on bombing, talent for coalition warfare, 76, 78-9, 80, 86
97 Corum, James, 40
Brocard, Antonin, 52-3 Cot, Pierre, French Air Minister, 50, 53
Brodie, Bernard, US military theorist, 27 Cotin, Charles, on French policy, 56
Bromet, Air Vice-Marshal Geoffrey, 178, I79 Courtney, Air Vice-Marshal (later ACM)
Brooke-Popham, Air Chief Marshal Sir Christopher, 104
Robert, 98 Creasy, Captain (later Adm. of the Fleet)
Brown, Harold (US DDRE), 212,217,222 George (RN), 178
Bundy, McGeorge, 2I6 Crete campaign (1941), 15
Burke, Admiral Arleigh A. (USN), 5, 206 Cunningham, Admiral of the Fleet Andrew
Buttreport(1941),3, 116,117,152 (RN), 177
Canada: and Atlantic ASW, I78; Royal daylight bombing: accuracy of, 147-8, 163,
Canadian Air Force, I78, I85; Royal I64, 165,165, I68; by Bomber Command,
Canadian Navy, 183 160; effect of bad weather, 123; US faith in,
Canaris, Admiral Wilhelm, 69 113,118-20, I42nn
Casablanca conference (1943), 120, ISI-2 de Gaulle, Charles de, 44; interwar view of
INDEX 271
airpower, 45-7 policy, 42, 43-5; electricity targeting,

Debeney, General Marie, 41 237-8
Defense Reorganization Act (1958) (US), 211 flak artillery, 84, 150, 161
Denain, General, French Air Corps, 50 Flandin, Pierre-Etienne, 43
Dill, Field Marshal Sir John, 179 Fletcher, Dr James, Sky bolt report, 202, 212
Disney, Walt, film of Seversky's Victory, flying boats, Martin (Seversky design), 18, 29
20-2,33--4nn Foster, Air Vice-Marshal William, 185, 186--7
Douglas, Air Commodore (later MRAF) Foulois, Brigadier-General Benjamin, US
Sholto, 104 CAS, 107
Douhet, General Giulio, I, 12, 54; airpower France: centralism and consensus in, 41, 43;
doctrine of, 2, 3, 5, 17-18, 85; bombing of fall of (1940), 15; interwar defensive
population, 26; French view of, 54, 57 policy, 36, 38, 54, 56-7; 'little Entente'
Dresden, raid on, 125 (1920s), 49; perception of bombing
Dunkirk, evacuation from, 16 accuracy, 148-9; role of government in
Durand-Vie!, Admiral Georges, French Navy, military policy, 43, 56--7; and Spanish Civil
41 War, 69, 70; War College, 42, 45, see also
Durston, Air Commodore Albert, 190 French Air Force; French Army
Franco, General Francisco, 70; relations with
Eaker, Lieutenant General (later General) Ira Luftwaffe, 74, 75, 76, 80
C. (USAAF), 120, 121, 147-8, 151 Frankland, Noble, 118
Ebro offensive ( 1938), joint operations in, 82, Freeman, Air Chief Marshal Sir Wilfrid, 141n
84 French Air Force, 2, 36, 42, 45; airmen's
EighthAirForce(USAAF), 146,151,153--4, limited view of role of, 43, 48, 55, 62n,
156, 162; accuracy in oil offensive, 163, 67n; and BCR programme, 49-51; career
167, 173--4n; and navigational aids, 156-8, structure, 42-3, 48; catch-all role of, 52, 53;
157, 172-3n creation of, 51-3; popular image of air
Eisenhower, General Dwight D., 6, 26, 122, knights, 47-8; share of budget, 53, 65--6n;
150; on Admiral King, 177; US aircraft for subordination to Army, 47, 51-3
Coastal Command, 181, 189; as President, French Army: effect of First World War on,
strategic policies, 198, 200-10, 227-8 44-5; unity of command, 41-3, 57; use of
electricity supplies: Germany, 239,240, 241; airpower, 39,44-7, 53
Iraq, 251--4, 255; North Korea, 244-7, 245; French Navy, 41,51-2
Soviet Union, 242--4; targeting of, 118, 129, Fritsch, Colonel General Werner von, 70
237-8,266n Fuller, J .F. C., 100
Emden, bombing of, !53
Etienne, P., on French Air Force, 56 Gamelin, General Maurice, 41, 47,55
Evill, Air Vice-Marshal (later Air Marshal) Gates, Thomas, US Defense Secretary, 203,
Douglas, RAF delegation in US, 179 205,207
external threat, effect on military policy, 37, Geneva, disarmament talks (1932-34), 101,
38,57 104
Georges, General Alphonse, 44
Fabry, Jean, on French policy, 56 Germany: Allied assessment of industry in,
Faupel, Wilhelm, German ambassador to 93, 108, 128-9,239,240,241, 257; Foreign
Spain, 70, 75--6 Ministry and Spain, 75, 76, 80, 86; limited
Faure, Emile, 56 intervention in Spanish Civil War, 69, 70,
Fifteenth Air Force (USAAF), 146, 151, 164; 79, 80, 86; perception of RAF accuracy,
and navigational aids, 156--8 165, 173n; relations with Spain, 69-70,79,
fighter escorts, 10-11,99, 104-5, 113-14, 81-2, 89n, see also Luftwaffe; Wehrmacht
118; US acceptance of, 122, 123 Ghormley, Vice Admiral Robert L. (USN),
fighters: American designs for, 16, 114, 118; 181
long-range, 10; P-35 (Seversky design), 10, Giles, Lieutenant General Barney (USAF),
31n; P-47 Thunderbolt, 12; to intercept 32n
enemy bombers, 114, 140n Gilpatric, Roswell, US Deputy Defense
First World War: and American air policy, Secretary, 218
91-2, 106--9, 126--7; effect on British air Glosson, Brigadier-General Buster C.
policy, 91-2, 97-101; effect on French air (USAF), 253, 254
Goering, General (later Reichsmarschall) Italy: relations with Spain, 76, 80-1, 89nn;
Hermann, and intervention in Spain, 73 and Spanish Civil War, 69, 76,79-81
Gorrell, Lieutenant Colonel Edgar S. (US Air (
Corps), air policy, 3, 106-7, Ill, 126-7 Japan: Seversky's view of, 22-3; US air
Great Britain: bombing strategy, 3; Inskip campaign against, 125, 241, 265---Qn
report (1936), 105; interwar air policy, Johnson, Lyndon B., US President, 248
101-5; lessons of First World War, 97-101; joint operations: ground-air co-ordination,
rearmament, 115; and US co-operation, 83-4, see also coalition warfare
177; and US in Korea, 247; and US Skybolt Joubert de Ia Ferte, Air Marshal Philip, 102,
programme, 203,212, 217-18, see also 103, 179, 181, 182
Atlantic, Battle of; Bomber Command;
Coastal Command; Royal Air Force Kahn, Herman, US nuclear theorist, 27
ground support, flak artillery (Luftwaffe), 84 Kauffman, Admiral James L. (USN), 182
Groves, Major-General P.R.C. (RFC and Kauffman, William, counterforce targeting,
RAP), 96, 131n 214
Guadalajara (1937), Italians routed at, 77, 82, Kauffman-Mansfield Committee, 182, 184
88n Kaysen, Carl, US official, 216-17
Guemica (1937), bombing of, 71-2 Keegan, John, 95
Gulf War (1991), 6, 251-2,253-7 Keitel, General (later PM) Wilhelm, 72
Kennedy, John F. (US President): and B-70
Haig, Field Marshal Sir Douglas, 95, 132n cancellation, 219-26; and Skybolt, 212,
Halifax, Lord, 187 218; strategic policy, 211-12,216,227-8
Hamburg, fire raids on, 121, !52 Kenney, Lieutenant General George C.
Hansell, Haywood S., Air Plan, 239,241, 257 (USAAF), 187
Harris, Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur, 121, 'key node' approach to targeting, 110-13,
122, 158, 241; committed to area bombing, 117-18, 129,238
117, 123-4, 160, 161 King, Admiral Ernest J. (USN), 5, 120, 176-7,
Hergault, General, 41 193-4; anglophobia of, 177, 189; and
Hess, Rudolf, 73 Atlantic command structure, 182-3;
Hitch, Charles, US DoD, 217,218 jealousy of US operational control, 180,
Hitler, Adolf, and intervention in Spain, 73 183-4; opposes independent US air force,
Holaday, William, US DoD, 201 177, 178; reluctant to loan US aircraft,
Hopkins, Harry L., special assistant to 185---Q, 190-3; and US ASW operations,
Roosevelt, 119, 181, 187 188-9
Kistiakowsky, George, US science advisor,
Independent Force 92, 94, 237, see also Royal 202-3,205
Air Force Kitcheeff, Georges, on French Air Force, 56
industry: German, 93, 108, 128-9,239,240, Korean War, 244-7; Seversky's view on, 24,
241; targeted bombing of, 19, 29, 92, 25
112-13 Kuter, Lawrence, of ACTS, 112, 113
Inskip, Sir Thomas, defence policy review,
105 Langenheim, Adolf, 73
inter-service co-ordination, 102-3, 105, 126; Larios, Captain Jose (Duke of Lerma), 79
ground-air, 83 LeMay, General Curtis E. (USAF), 125, 199,
inter-service relations: in France, 41; in US, 226; and B-70, 221,223, 224; and Skybolt,
4-5,111, 120, 142n, 176,178-9, 186-7, 216,217, 218-19; support for ASMs, 201
200,201-2, see also US Navy; USAAF Lemnitzer, General Lyman L. (US Army),
Iran, war with Iraq, 252 206,224
Iraq, 6; electric power system, 251-4,255, Levi-Strauss, Claude, 39
264-5nn; political instability in, 256-7; war Libya: US raid (1986), 238; War (1911-12), 1
with Iran, 252 Liddell Hart, Sir Basil, 100
Italian Air Force: bombing of Barcelona, limited war: Seversky opposed to, 25, 30;
72-3; Douhetian air doctrine in, 85, 86; Spanish Civil War as modem, 68-9;
relations with Spanish Nationalists and strategic bombing in, 6, 259
Luftwaffe, 77-8 Lindbergh, Charles, 15-16
Italian Army, in Spain, 77-8 'Linebacker' operations, Vietnam, 6, 249-50,
INDEX 273
258 'moral effect' of bombing: and electricity

Loucheur, Louis, 43 supply, 244,252, 258-9; evidence of,
Lovett, Robert A., US Asst Secretary for Air, 133nn, 139nn; Trenchard's policy, 92-7,
186, 187-8 99-101, 102-3; in US policy, 107-8, 109,
Low, Admiral Francis S. (USN), 191 118, 124-5
Ludlow-Hewitt, Air Commodore (later ACM) Morocco, US air district, 184, 189-90
Sir Edgar, 102, 105, 137n Mussolini, Benito, and Spanish Civil War, 72,
Ludwigshafen-Mannheim, oil target, 164,165, 76,78,80-1
173-4n
Luftwaffe, 2-3, 124, 262n; and air-ground Nassau conference (1962), 218
liaison, 83-4; Allied defeat of, 15, 116, 122; naval power, Seversky's disdain of, 13-14,
and Battle of Britain, 15, 116; command 15,21,25-6
structure in Spain, 73-4; electric power navigational aids, 121, 151-8; H 2S ground
targeting in Russia, 241-4, 243; good mapping radar, 152-3, 156-7; H 2X
strategic leadership, 80, 85-6; night fighter (American), 152, 153, 154, 155-8, 173n,
forces, 122; relations with Spanish see also radar
Nationalists, 78, 79; superiority of war Neurath, Baron Konstantin von, 76
doctrine in Spain, 80, 83-5, 90n, see also Neustadt, Richard, Skybolt report (1963),
Condor Legion 233nn
Newall, Brigadier-General (RFC and RAF,
Maginot Line, 54, 56 later ACM and CAS) Cyril, 94
Mallorca, German seaplanes on, 78 night bombing, 116, 122, 123, 151; accuracy
Mansfield, Rear-Admiral J.M. (RN), 182 of Bomber Command, 160; by US on
Marshall, General George C. (US Army), 180, Japan, 125
186, 187, 189, 190 North Korea, electricity industry, 244-7,245,
marshalling yards, as targets, 153-4, 160, 161 262n,263nn
McCone, John, of US AEC, 209 North Vietnam: 'Linebacker' campaigns, 6,
McElroy, Neil, US Defense Secretary, 202, 249-50, 258, 263n; 'Rolling Thunder'
205,209 offensive, 6, 247-9
McNamara, RobertS., US Defense Secretary, Norway campaign (1940), 15
6,211-12,228,233nn,236n;andB-70 nuclear power, for bombers, 5, 199-200,
cancellation, 219-26; nuclear strategy, 208-10
214-15, 221-2; and Skybolt development, nuclear strategy, US policy, 214-15, 227-8,
215-19 250-1
military doctrine: concept of, 36, 40; of nuclear weapons: atomic bombs (Seversky's
defensive airpower, 104, 105, 109, 127; view of), 22-3; effect on strategic policy, 5,
French lack of, 55-6, 57; Luftwaffe's 199-200; hydrogen bombs, 23;
superior doctrine in Spain, 80, 83-5, 86; of psychological effect of, 29
offensive, 95, 127
military institutions: as filters, 40, 43, 53, 55, oil, as priority target, 116, 118, 123, 126, 129,
56-8; nature of, 59n, 61 n; role of, 57 161, 162-8
Missile Age, and US strategic policy, 199 Operations: 'Bolero', 182; 'Clarion', 125,
Missile Gap, 200, 207, 211 144n; 'Desert Storm' see Gulf War;
missiles: ASMs (air-to-surface missiles), 199, 'Torch', 189
201; Hound Dog ASM, 201-2,203,210, Overy, R.J., 39, 104
217; ICBMs, 199,207, 263n; Minuteman,
203,215,216, 219; Polaris, 214,215, 216; Pathfinder: and bombing accuracy, 4, 158,
precision guided, 250, 253, 257-8; Skybolt 171-2n, see also navigational aids
(AASM), 5-6,201-3, 212-19; SLBMs, 199 Patrick, Major-General Mason M., US Air
mission failures, and bombing accuracy Service, 9
figures, 149 Pershing, General John J., 107
Mitchell, Brigadier-General William, I, 12, Petain, Marshal Philippe, 41
54, 109, 110; and Seversky, 9, 13 pilots, quality of (in Spain), 82, 86
Mola, General Emilio, Spanish Nationalist C- Poland, German defeat of (1939), 15
in-C, 72,77 Portal, Air Chief Marshal (MRAF, 1944) Sir
monoplanes, pioneered by Seversky, 10 Charles, 103, 116, 119, 121, 124, 158, 160;
and Allied ASW co-operation, 179, 180, bombing

185, 187; and Bay of Biscay Offensive, Seversky Aircraft Corporation, 9-10, 11-12
189-90 Seversky, Evelyn (nee Olliphant), II, 28
Pound, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Dudley, First Seversky, Major Alexander P., 1-2,7-9,
Sea Lord, 181, 182, 187, 188 28-30, 54; accuracy of analysis, 14-16; Air
Power, General Thomas (USAF), 199,205, Power: Key to Survival, 24-5; airpower as
226 strategic, 17, 19, 26, 29; airpower to be pre-
precision bombing, 146--7; American policy eminent, 23--6, 30; and Arnold, 11-12, 13,
of, 3, 4, 111-13, 125--6; precision guided 16, 20, 32nn, 33nn; criticism of USAAF,
munitions, 242, 250, 257-8, 265n, see also 16--17; designs and innovations, 9-10, II;
bombing, accuracy disdain of navy, 13-14, IS, 21, 25--6;
importanceofairsuperiority,l7-18, 24;
radar: ASV, 177, 180, 185; RAFuse of, 121, relations with US Air Corps, 9, 10-11, 12,
151-2; USAAF use of, 4, 123, 146, see also 13, 20, 32n; Victory Through Air Power,
navigational aids 1-2, 16--21; film, 20-2; as writer and
Rathjens, George, US technical advisor, 202 broadcaster, 12-13, 14, 16, 20, 22-3, 27-8
Rawlinson, General (later FM) Sir Henry, 95 Sharp, Admiral U.S. Grant (USN), 248
reconnaissance: French fixation on long-range, Sherman, William C., of ACTS, Ill, 138n
39, 45--6, 53; US bomber, 205, 221 Sinclair, Sir Alexander, Secretary of State for
Rice, Dr Donald, US Air Force Secretary, 251 Air, 119-20
Riche, Senator, 55--6 Sino-Japanese War, 2
Richthofen, Lieutenant Colonel (later FM) Slessor, Marshal of the RAF Sir John, 21,
Wolfram von, Condor Legion, 72, 73-4, 80; IOI-2,117,119,142n; Bay of Biscay
relations with Italian forces, 77-8; and Offensive, 190, 191-3; proposal for
Spanish High Command, 74, 76 Atlantic supreme air commander, 182, 186,
Roatta, General Mario, Italian commander in 187; relations with Admiral King, 177,
Spain, 77, 80 191-2; and US aircraft for ASW, 179-80
Roosevelt, President Franklin D., 21, 117, Soviet Union: defence measures, 205;
119; and Allied ASW co-operation, 180-1, Luftwaffe offensive against electricity in,
185, 186, 187 242-4, 243; Seversky's view of, 23-4; and
Rothermere, Lord, 131n Spanish Civil War, 69, 82; Sputnik and
Rouen-Sotteville, US mission (1942), 148 effect on US policy, 200, 208-9
Royal Air Force: Air Staff policy, 93, 104-5, Spaatz, General Carl A. (USAAF), 33n, 109,
112, 140n; changes in policy, liS, 123-4, 122-3, 126, ISO, 162
127; electric power targeting, 241; Spain, continuing support for Germany, 79,
independence of, 94, 131nn; interwar 81-2,89n
doldrums, 101-4, 128, 13Sn; relations with Spanish Civil War (1936--9), 2-3; as first
USN, 191; Staff College, 101, 102, 13Sn; modem limited war, 68-9; Nationalist area
Staff Delegation in US, 179, 186, see also bombing, 71; Nationalists' relations with
Bomber Command; Coastal Command Luftwaffe, 73, 74, 80; use of fighter escorts,
Royal Navy: air arm, 94; Second World War, 104-5
IS; and unified Allied Atlantic command, Speer, Albert, on RAF bombing accuracy,
182 165,261n
Sperrle, Major General (later FM) Hugo, 73,
Sahlins, Marshall, anthropologist, 38 74,80,85,88n
Schriever, General Bernard (USAF), 216,224, Stark, Admiral Harold R. (USN), 181, 191
23Sn Stimson, Henry L., US secretary for war, 186,
Schweinfurt, USAAF raids on, 121-2, 153, 187-8
26ln strategic airpower: in Allied policy, 3;
science fiction, and fear of bombing, I 00, Seversky's analysis of, 17; use of tactical
136n forces, 250-1, see also nuclear strategy,
security policy: American defensive, 109, Ill; strategic bombing policy
French, 36, 38, 41, 56--7; influences on, strategic bombing policy: effect of nuclear
38-9 weapons on, 5, 198-229; French, 43, 47,
selective attack policy, 145, 161; in Bomber 54-5, 67n; general area offensive, 145;
Command, 158--60, see also precision Gorrell plan, 106--7, 126--7; Industrial Web
INDEX 275
theory, 238; for material effect, 103, 106, demand for defence, 98; support for area
110, 115, 238,248-9, 251-2; for political attacks, 116
effect, 238, 244-8, 249-50, 252-3, 256-7; Twining, General Nathan F. (USAF), 202, 205
political limitations on, 6, 71, 73, 144n,
153, 241,259, 261n; selective, 145; to Ultra intelligence, 123
demoralise population, 3, 19, 26, 71, 85, United States, 175; Air Corps Act (1926), 109,
92-7,99-101, 126,244,252,258-9,see 110; armed forces command structure, 4-5,
also area bombing; electricity supplies; Ill, 176, 178, 187; ASW strategic policy,
precision bombing; targeting; 194; Congress and defense budgets, 207,
submarines, Polaris, 214 222-3; isolationism, 15, 109; Seversky's
Sykes, Major-General Sir Frederick (RAF influence on public opinion, 16-17,28,30
CAS), 54, 94, 131n United States Air Corps, 109-10, 113;
Sylvester, Arthur, US Assistant Defense relations with Seversky, 10-11, 12; Tactical
Secretary, 218-19 School (ACTS), 110-14, 238, see also
Symington, Stuart, US Senator, 211 USAAF;USAF
United States Air Service, development of
targeting: of cities, 103, 116; Combined policy, 3, 106-9
Bomber Offensive policy on, 122-3, 124, United States Army 5, 109, 142n, see also
160-2; communications ('internal USAAF
blockade'), 26, 71, 84, 118; definition of US Navy (USN), 5, 14, 142n; aircraft for
military, 103, 115, 124; electrical Coastal Command, 180; and ASW, 176,
installations, 118, 129, 237-60; industrial 178, 181; relations with RAF, 190-1;
installations, 19, 29, 92, 118; in nuclear rivalry with USAAF, 176, 178-9, 180,
strategy, 214-15, 220; oil as priority, 116, 184-5, 186, 188-9, 213-14; takes over
118, 123, 126, 161, 162--8; Seversky's ASW, 184, 188-9, 190; Tenth Fleet, 5, 188
views on, 19, 26, 29, 34n; shipping and USAAF (United States Army Air Forces): and
ports (in Spain), 71, 78; US 'key node' ASW, 176, 179-80; AWPD-1 plans,
approach, 110-13, 117-18, 129, 238; war 117-18,147-8, 150,238-9,243-4;
industries, 121, see also precision bombing; AWPD-42 plan, 239; bombing accuracy, 4,
strategic bombing 123, 147-51,150, 153-4, 156; reaction to
targets of opportunity, 149 Seversky's Victory, 20; rivalry with US
Taylor, General Maxwell D., US Military Navy, 176, 178-9, 180, 184-5, 186, 188-9;
Adviser, 216, 224 use ofH 2X, 152, 153, 154, 155-8, see also
technology, 38; B-70 fuel, 204-5; effect on Combined Bomber Offensive; Eighth Air
warfare, 95-6; and French BCR Force; Fifteenth Air Force; USAF
compromise, 49-51; in Missile Age, USAF (United States Air Force): air policing
199-200, 226-7; and nuclear powered (Project Control), 26-7; autonomy of,
bombers, 208-10 198-9; and B-70 cancellation, 219-26,
Tedder, Air Chief Marshal (later MRAF) Sir 234-Snn; and B-70 development, 204-8;
Arthur, 122-3, 187 budgetary limitations on, 5-6, 204--8;
Teruel, Spain, 76, 77 political weakness of, 226-9; and Skybolt,
Thebaud, Captain H.T. (USN), 182 201-3, 212-19; Strategic Air Command
Tiverton, Major Lord (RFC and RAF): (SAC), 198-9, 250; and tactical planning,
influence on Gorrell, I 06, 107; strategic 251, see also USAAF
bombing plan, 93, 96
Tizard, Sir Henry, 117 Valle, General, Italian Air Force, 85
Towers, Rear Admiral (later Adm.) John H. Vietnam see North Vietnam
(USN), 180 Vig6n, General Juan Suero diaz, 74,81
trade defence war in Atlantic, 175-6, 182, Vinson, Carl, Congressman, 223-4
194-5; command structure, 181 Volandt, Lieutenant Colonel (US Air Corps),
training: Luftwaffe in Spain, 70, 75, 83, 86; in 32n
use of H,S/X, 157 Vuillemin, General Paul, French Air Force,
Trenchard, -Marshal of the RAF Lord, 3, 54, 47,62n
127, 128, 130-lnn; influence on GmTell,
I 06; policy of bombing for moral effect, Warden, Colonel John A. (USAF), 251,256,
92-7,99-101, 102-3, 261n; on public 261n.266n
Warlimont, Lieutenant Colonel (later General) Wilberg, General of Fliers Helmuth,

Walther, 70 Luftwaffe, 69, 73, 80, 83, 87-8n
water supply, effect of electricity targeting on, Wilson, Donald, of ACTS, 112-13
254 working classes: expected effect of bombing
weather, effect of, 123, 125, 146, 150-1, 162 on, 96--7, 100, 117, 260n; as threat, 132n,
Weber, Max, on organisation, 40, 59n l34n
Wehrmacht High Command (OKW), and WSEG (Weapons System Evaluation Group
Spanish Civil War, 69-70,72,80,85-6 (US)), 202, 209, 231n
Welsh, Air Vice-Marshal Sir William, 191
Wever, General Walther, Luftwaffe, 83 York, Herbert, US DoD, 209-10
Weygand, General Maxime, 41,54
Wheeler, General Earle, US chairman of JCS, Zeppelins, inaccuracy of, 237
248 Zuckerman, Sir Solly, 117
White, General Thomas (USAF), 199,202, Zuckert, Eugene, USAF Secretary, 216,
204,206,226,231n 220-1,223
Wiesner, Jerome, US PSAC, 217

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FRANK CASS • LONDON

and in the United States of America by

Copyright © 1995 Frank Cass & Co. Ltd.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Airpower: Theory and Practice. -

ISBN 0-7146-4657-1 (cloth)

Airpower: theory and practice I edited by John Gooch.

This group of studies first appeared in a Special Issue on 'Airpower:

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Introduction John Gooch

Proselytiser and Prophet: Alexander P. de Seversky

Institution and Airpower: The Making of the

The Luftwaffe and the Coalition Air War

British and American Approaches to Strategic

'Precision' and 'Area' Bombing:

Atlantic Airpower Co-operation, 1941-1945 John Buckley 175

Strategic Bombers over the Missile Horizon,

Airpower vs. Electricity: Electric Power as

Notes on Contributors 267

Dr Roman's study highlights the sensitivity shown both by President

posted Lieutenant Commander Seversky to Washington as part of the

such as Claire L. Chennault eschewed the concept of fighter escort. Although

the models Seversky produced, but as war approached in Europe he needed

Seversky's voluminous writings shared certain characteristics. First, they

qualitative superiority. 15 Few were as sanguine about Britain's chances, but

of patriotism, of lowering the morale of American airmen, and of disclosing

accuracy and effectiveness of bombing attacks are grossly exaggerated.

antisubmarine warfare activities and naval logistics functions remained. As

and promote airpower. Even in his seventies he could deliver a spell-binding

58. BBC Radio broadcast transcript, 17 Sept. 1943, Nassau archives.

Airpower revolutionised warfare in the twentieth century.' Strategies became

I. Genesis of Military Capabilities: Competing Frameworks

It is commonly argued that three broad determinants shape the making of

2. INSTITUTIONS, MILITARY INNOVATION AND THE ORGANISATION OF

The approach presented here to explain military innovations emphasises the

their lead. 23 The widespread belief in the importance of military doctrine is

II. Institutional Filters and Policy-feedback: Centralism and Consensus

In France, security policy is shaped by a holistic, centralised, and consensual

effort, the result of insufficient cohesion, and an absence of global vision.

advocates of airpower, many of them shared the army officers' conception of

2. BEYOND LEARNING: VICTORY, MEMORY, AND THE POLICY

Military Aviation as Follow-Up: War College Curricula and Charles de

aircraft during specific battles (like Verdun) remained temporary." In

From their expeditions over Paris or Cologne, aeroplanes or dirigibles

De Gaulle did admit the major effects of strategic bombing. But he

The Air Knights: Institutional Impact of an Heroic Myth

of an air force had to use a consensual, compromising rationale to achieve

III. The Making of a Dependent Air Force

2. THE ARMEE DE L'AIR: A CATCH-ALL MILITARY ORGANISATION

3. NO MILITARY DOCTRINE FOR THE INSTITUTIONAL COMPROMISE

some of them were not convinced by the necessity of a military doctrine at

The Domestic Uses of the Air Menace

Conclusion: Institutional Filters and Military Innovations

67. De Gaulle, The Army of the Future (note 54), p.49.

du reannement aerien fran~ais. Le plan I, 1933-1937 (premiere partie)', Aviation

107. Harvey (note 3), pp.457-8.

Basis of German Strategy

Limits on the Air War