Sir John Fisher's Naval Revolution
Nicholas Lambert. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1999. 410 pp. Photos. Notes. Bib. Index. $39.95 ($37.95).
Reviewed by Jon T. Sumida
This extraordinary book examines the radical and multi-faceted solution to the problem of British naval defense in the early 20th century devised by Admiral Sir John Fisher, service chief of the Royal Navy from 1904 to 1910. Nicholas Lambert's central argument is that Fisher's objective was the replacement of a system of naval power based on battleships and armored cruisers by one that depended upon submarines and battlecruisers. This was done in order to provide an effective means of defending essential maritime interests at home and abroad, at a cost that Britain could afford. His study is based upon an intensive investigation of archival sources that surpasses all previous work on the Royal Navy in the steam era, and a firm command of the enormous secondary literature. Earlier scholarship had weakened the foundations of the conventional view of the Fisher era established by Arthur J. Marder. Lambert—by adding major new insights of his own and supporting them with a keen understanding of secondary issues and significant personalities-has demolished the entire edifice and rebuilt a completely new structure.
Sir John Fisher's Naval Revolution is divided into three parts. Part one provides a comprehensive description of Britain's naval situation, the best history of Admiralty submarine policy available, and a perceptive introductory sketch of Fisher. Part two describes the implementation of Fisher's revolutionary scheme of flotilla defense of home waters, Fisher's no less important naval industrial policy objectives, and a discussion of British naval strategy vis a vis Germany. Part three examines the tactical dilemmas that attended the expansion of the battle fleet, the fiscal crisis precipitated by continued battleship construction, and the secret replacement of the battleship standard in 1914 by one that recognized formally the importance of the submarine and fast surface torpedo craft. Lambert's main findings are unchallengeable: Fisher was a profoundly creative strategist; the battlecruiser and submarine—not the Dreadnought battleship—were the focal points of Fisher's thinking about warship design; Admiralty policy always was as much concerned with the defense of outlying imperial possessions as with the security of home waters; and Britain's naval leadership was highly receptive to the development of new weapons and innovative methods of using them.
Lambert's supporting analysis is no less interesting and significant. He demonstrates that financial limitation, the provision of adequate numbers of trained and technically skilled crews, and the placing of enough orders to maintain Britain's private warship-building capacity were serious administrative problems that heavily influenced naval policy. By explaining how Fisher hoped to use submarines and surface flotilla craft to make the narrow seas around Britain too dangerous for battleships or an invasion fleet, Lambert argues convincingly that Britain developed a "sea-denial" approach to naval strategy—a new form of operations in addition to sea command and guerre de course. Lambert explains exactly how Fisher and the admirals concealed their purposes from a hostile Liberal government in order to achieve their goals. And Lambert's story of the development of the "grand fleet of battle"—a technical term that referred to the deployment battleships, cruisers, and destroyers together—is a major contribution to the history of naval tactics that will influence future discussion of the Battle of Jutland.
The implications of Lambert's findings for British political as well as general naval history are enormous. Any attempt at executive summary—the present one included—does violence to the historical sensibility woven into the texture of the narrative. Sir John Fisher's Naval Revolution is not intended to be the last word on early 20th-century British naval history—a broad and complex subject with manifold connections to other important topics that still requires additional major study. This book's achievement is, in fact, greater; by providing a negotiable and indeed obligatory exit out of the dead-end of the conventional synthesis, it has opened broad vistas of new discovery.
Every Man a Tiger
Tom Clancy with General Chuck Horner, USAF (Ret.). New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1999. 564 pp. Photos. Index. $27.95 ($25.15).
Reviewed by Lieutenant General Bernard E. Trainor, U.S. Marine Corps (Retired)
This is Tom Clancy's second collaborative effort with principal military leaders of the Gulf War. Written in tandem with Chuck Homer, the senior air commander of Desert Storm and Desert Shield, the war is described and explained through an airman's eyes. It is a follow on to Clancy's account of the ground war as seen by Army General Fred Franks, commander of the powerful VII Corps of "Hail Mary" fame in Into the Storm: A Study in Command (1997). The two are stark in contrast. Franks is philosophical and almost apologetic in explaining his role in the war. Homer on the other hand is a blunt, candid, and supremely self-confident advocate of air power.
Clancy's technique is unique and quite effective. He tells the tale, but allows Homer to speak for himself at appropriate places. In every instance what Homer has to say is worthwhile. The first third of Every Man a Tiger is devoted to Homer's early career. It gives the reader a feel for the man; more important, it shows how the his concepts of air power evolved. This is true particularly of his experiences in the Vietnam War, where he learned how an air campaign should not be conducted.
The meat of the book concerns the war with Iraq, and it is illuminating. The authors do not seek to reconstruct or retell the story of the war, but rather focus on events that were viewed as key to the air war. Here, Clancy is at his Hunt for the Red October best as he simplifies the arcane world of weaponry and air combat. Homer's tasks were formidable. Not only did he have to plan and execute the air campaign, but he also had do it within the context of a coalition war dominated by big egos. Horner, of no small ego himself (as he readily admits), also shows that he is a man of considerable humor, a characteristic that saw him through many a tough day.
Not surprisingly, the book is a testament in praise of American air power—some readers will take issue with Homer's views, but he sets them forth uncompromisingly and with conviction. It is refreshing to have a senior officer make a lucid case for his beliefs. Clearly, he believes that technology has catapulted air power to a plateau of capability never before seen in warfare. Ever concerned with the safety of his airmen prior to the ground war, Horner put the safety provided by technology over risk in the air campaign. But when the ground troops attacked he reversed the order, "You [now] have the sacred duty to help the men on the ground . . Now is the time for you to risk your jet, to risk your life, because they are down there engaged in combat and are for sure risking their lives." Food for thought for those who criticized the airmen who recently flew out of harm's way over Serbia.
Over There: The United States in the Great War, 1917-1918
Byron Farwell. New York: W.W. Norton, 1999. 314 pp. Photos. Notes. Bib. Index. $27.95 ($25.15).
Reviewed by Major General Neal Creighton, U.S. Army (Retired)
For those who think World War I is ancient history, I suggest a trip to the battlefields of that war. In May 1999, accompanied members of the U.S. Army's First Infantry Division on a terrain walk through the battlefield of Cantigny, exactly 81 years to the day from that fight. The little village of Cantigny showed no signs of damage from that far-off event, but it was a different story when we entered the wooded areas surrounding the town. There, we saw clearly the trenches used so long ago. Around these fortifications were the remnants of the fight: unexploded artillery rounds, hand grenades, pieces of web gear, and the many craters made by incoming artillery. And the historians with us explained the fight in detail, as we envisioned the horrors of battle experienced by those who so long ago fought in the "Great War."
It is the American involvement in that war that the late Byron Farwell describes in his book Over There. Farwell, who wrote extensively on 19th-century land warfare and served with the British forces in World War II, presents a broad picture of America at war. He describes how the U.S. armed forces were equipped and trained, the relations with allies, and the major battles that involved U.S. forces. He also includes chapters on such topics as Army welfare, venereal disease, and minorities in the military. An early chapter deals with the war at sea, and a later one on the war in the air.
The true heroes of the narrative are the common soldiers, sailors, and Marines who, despite all the inefficiencies of their leaders, willingly risked their lives and in the end developed into a capable fighting force. When the armistice came on 11 November 1918, many, including General John Pershing, thought it a mistake—as the Allies were on the verge of defeating the German Army in detail.
Farwell's book is well researched and includes many (almost too many) figures. He combines a historian's search for accuracy with an accountant's passion for numbers. Another shortfall is the lack of proper maps, which makes it difficult for the reader to follow the battle narratives. It is, however, a very readable and well-written work. And, like the experience of the First Infantry Division soldiers who toured the Cantigny battlefield, this book demonstrates that the events of World War I still affect today's world. For those who must plan for future conflicts, Over There provides valuable material on how to, or how not to, go to war.
Nixon's Vietnam War
Jeffrey Kimball. Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1998. 483 pp. Photos. Notes. Bib. Index. $39.95 ($35.95).
Reviewed by Lieutenant Colonel Gary D. Solis, U.S. Marine Corps (Retired)
This highly interesting book draws a disturbing but well-documented portrait of President Nixon's pursuit of an end to the Vietnam War. Focusing on the diplomatic history of Nixon's efforts, Kimball sets out to correct the record as written by the President and his National Security Affairs Assistant, Henry Kissinger, calling their versions "incomplete, disingenuous, and self-serving." While the text is concerned with the diplomatic twists in pursuit of extracting the United States from Vietnam, Kimball also depicts Nixon as an emotionally unstable, hard drinking liar concerned as much with his political legacy as with ending the war. Kissinger comes off no better, depicted as devious to peers, domineering to subordinates, and obsequious to superiors.
Nixon's hawkish views moderated as he proclaimed unique peacemaking abilities after being elected President in 1968. Over the next five years, he and Kissinger followed a plodding, torturous path of overt and covert peace negotiations. Both men kept their cards hidden not only from the North Vietnamese, but from Secretary of State William Rogers, Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird, and often from each other.
Kimball traces Kissinger's and Nixon's negotiating steps, including their repeated misreadings of North Vietnamese intentions. Much is made of Nixon's "madman theory," by which irrationality and unpredictability were employed as a negotiating stratagem: the threat of Nixon's irrational use of excessive force—force that a rational statesman would never consider, but which Nixon presented as a constant possibility. Kimball assures the reader that it was a studied reality of Nixonian geopolitics. Also documented are Nixon's and Kissinger's penchant for keeping secrets, along with their disingenuous justifications for those secrets.
Kimball makes brief mention of a secret Special Forces unit sent deep into Cambodia to assess the then-secret bomb damage. When the first unit was decimated, he writes, a second unit to be inserted "mutinied." Kimball's notes in supporting this account appear reliable, although a few source notes—there are a 100 pages of them—are occasionally less persuasive. This is especially true of his inaccurate coverage of the failed Son Tay raid to free U.S. POWs.
Woven through all this are the continuing peace talks and the intricacies of their diplomatic course. A major strength of the book is Kimball's access to North Vietnamese sources, revealing how U.S. initiatives were viewed by the enemy as well as the nature of North Vietnamese thinking. This alone makes the text a valuable reference for the serious student of America's longest war.
This is a serious work, sometimes dry and dense, but compellingly written with painstaking archival research and an informed interpretation of that research. No adherent of Nixon or Kissinger will relish Kimball's work, but they'll be hard pressed to refute it. Anyone interested in the Vietnam War will profit from reading this insightful, finely documented, and scholarly account.