The CIA’s Greatest Covert Operation: Inside the Daring Mission to Recover a Nuclear-Armed Soviet Sub
David H. Sharp. Lawrence: Kansas University Press, 2012. 344 pp. Illus. Notes. Bibliog. Index. $34.95.
Reviewed by Rear Admiral T. A. Brooks, U.S. Navy (Retired)
In early March 1968, the Soviet Golf II-class (diesel-electric) ballistic-missile submarine K-129 was lost in the central Pacific while en route to her patrol area northwest of Hawaii. She had not communicated with Moscow on her appointed schedule, nor responded to attempts by Moscow to reach her. The Soviets launched a massive search effort but eventually canceled it when no trace of the submarine was found. They had no idea where or exactly when the boat had sunk.
But the U.S. Navy did. An Air Force underwater-sound surveillance system clearly indicated that a pair of catastrophic explosions had taken place at midnight, 11 March, in an area of the mid-Pacific within approximately four miles of 40-00 North latitude, 180 degrees longitude (40N-180). Subsequent covert search operations yielded the exact datum and provided pictures of the wreckage on the bottom at a depth of 16,400 feet. Within six months, a clandestine program was devised to lift the remains of the sunken submarine to retrieve the one intact SS-N-5 missile and its nuclear warhead, as well as any communications and cryptographic material that the submarine may have carried. The details of the design, planning, implementation, and results of this program are the story told in this outstanding book.
But more than 40 years have passed since the sinking and the successful August 1974 recovery of the forward section of K-129’s hull. A half-dozen books have been written on the subject, beginning in the late 1970s. The outline of the story has been the subject of television programs, magazine articles, and all manners of speculative pieces. After all this time, does this book truly add anything new? The answer is yes, it most assuredly does. Does it solve all the mysteries surrounding the loss and partial recovery of K-129? No, and probably many of these will never be resolved.
The author, David H. Sharp, was the Central Intelligence Agency’s Director of Recovery Systems for the project, which was given the cover name Azorian. It involved the construction of a 60,000-ton “deep-water ocean-mining” ship, the Glomar Explorer. Ostensibly, on behalf of Howard Hughes and his corporation, she conducted surveys for mining manganese ore modules from deep in the Pacific. Sharp was intimately involved in the planning, design, and operation of the recovery system installed in the Glomar Explorer, and in this book he provides a detailed account of it all. This is of particular value because the author was not only a participant but actually one of its directors. No other book on this subject can claim the degree of firsthand information and detail that Sharp offers.
But it was not easy for him to publish it. The CIA Security Review blocked it for years, and when approval was finally (apparently very reluctantly) given, a number of things were redacted from the text. Some of these were so silly as to be laughable. Examples include refusing to allow the author to provide the name of the U.S. submarine that conducted the search operations, but permitting him to state that several other authors had identified the boat as the USS Halibut (SSGN-587). He could not identify the Washington, D.C., entity that controlled underwater intelligence collection, but it was OK for him to cite page numbers in other books that identified the organization.
Because of such editing and the CIA’s refusal to allow the author to print photos of the underwater wreckage, work in progress, and so on, a reader who desires a more complete appreciation of the Azorian operation will also want to read Norman Polmar and Michael White’s Project Azorian (Naval Institute Press, 2010). It includes photographs, excellent computer graphics, sound-grams depicting the acoustic events of 11 March, and considerable information from the perspective of the Soviet navy as well as those of other U.S. officials and technicians who were involved in the project.
But even these two excellent books together do not answer all the questions. The K-129 failed to communicate on 7 March but did not sink until 11 March. What was she doing in the meantime? A consensus has developed that she was near the surface on 11 March, when two of her SS-N-5 rockets fired and burned to fuel exhaustion inside of the sail, thus destroying the submarine. But what caused them to fire? There are many theories, none of which appear to fit all the evidence.
It is unlikely the CIA will ever publish its highly classified report of the operation, though a brief, heavily redacted portion of it has been released. With time, participants in Azorian are passing from the scene. David Sharp’s The CIA’s Greatest Covert Operation may be as close as we ever come to getting the whole story out of the agency. It is an outstanding book, providing hitherto unavailable information on what has sometimes been described as “the greatest ocean-engineering feat of the 20th century.”
Enterprise: America’s Fightingest Ship and the Men Who Helped Win World War II
Barrett Tillman. New York: Simon and Schuster, 2012. 317 pp. Illus. Maps. Notes. Index. $27.
Reviewed by Paul J. Springer
Barrett Tillman is a master of writing military history that is both accessible to the lay reader and useful to the professional historian. In Enterprise: America’s Fightingest Ship and the Men Who Helped Win World War II, he brings his long experience to bear upon a genre that has become increasingly popular over the past two decades: the unit history. Tillman relies extensively on the personal stories of the men who served on board the Enterprise (CV-6), a ship that participated in more World War II battles than any other American warship. Commissioned in 1938, she endured the shells, bombs, and torpedoes of 20 Pacific battles against the Imperial Japanese Navy, emerging as the only carrier of the Yorktown class to survive the conflict. “The Big E” was credited with the destruction of 911 enemy aircraft and 17 ships, at the cost of nearly 400 crewmen’s lives. In short, the appellation “fightingest ship” holds up under scrutiny.
Many authors have tackled the history of the Pacific war, but few have done a better job of portraying the rigors of wartime on board an aircraft carrier. Tillman accomplishes a difficult balancing act by presenting just enough contextual information about the events of the war while keeping the focus on the ship and her crew. An air-power historian at heart, his primary concentration is on the aerial war that ranged thousands of miles across the ocean, often involving fleet engagements in which the warships never came within sight of each other.
With a keen understanding of the technology of naval warfare, Tillman uses his descriptions of the airplanes and surface vessels to explain some of the unique advantages held by each of the belligerents. The author relies heavily on interviews conducted with surviving crewmen of the ship, which reminds us that World War II veterans are a fleeting resource. Soon we will lose the opportunity to learn directly from them about their experiences.
Tillman’s decision to allow the men of the Enterprise to present their own story eliminates the substantial reinterpretation that too many authors impose on unit histories. While he is certainly sympathetic to the subjects of his study, he is not triumphal. The author manages to bring the warship to life without idolizing everyone who served on board her. In fact, he is fairly critical of Fleet Admiral William Halsey, a man many historians regard as one of the finest fleet commanders in U.S. naval history. Nor does Tillman shrink from critiquing, when appropriate, the actions of the crew and commanders of the Enterprise.
While it is difficult to find fault with such an enjoyable work, a few minor points should be made. More maps would enhance the lay reader’s ability to place the events in context, particularly if they detailed the ship’s movements. An examination of Japanese sources might shed light on a few of the war’s lingering controversies. Many readers would appreciate a bit more background detail on key actors, particularly those who have remained less conspicuous in the historiography of World War II. Finally, the book’s citation style makes a comprehensive review of sources difficult. The inclusion of a bibliography would greatly facilitate this.
But these quibbling points do not mar the high quality of a book that would be equally effective as a classroom resource or a gift for anyone interested in naval history. Enthusiasts and professionals alike will find much to admire in Tillman’s latest work, in both its content and the style of its presentation.
Military Adaptation in War: With Fear of Change
Williamson Murray. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011. 342 pp. Notes. Index. $35.
Reviewed by Captain Stanley D. M. Carpenter, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Williamson Murray has crafted a compelling argument that adaptation in war is a difficult, problematic process. Often, militaries adjust to the changing nature of the battlefield at the tactical level but fail at the operational and strategic levels, thus undercutting any accrued tactical advantages. Murray points out that adaptation in war “represents one of the most persistent, yet rarely examined problems that military institutions confront.”
Problems abound for adaptation. An unwillingness to challenge authority; a lack of intellectual preparation and strategic or critical thinking; prior investments in equipment, organizations, and methods; and prejudice, inability to think imaginatively, or fear of untested methods all complicate the process. Murray asserts that a major detriment is that military organizations, especially among senior leaders, envision future wars based on their assumptions and experiences, but as technology and methods advance, assumptions and notions clash with reality once combat is engaged.
The author addresses two distinct dynamics that affect the ability to adjust to circumstances—the fundamental nature of war itself and human nature. Citing the great theorist Carl von Clausewitz, who said that war was the realm of “friction” and “chance” with ambiguity and uncertainty, Murray adds an opponent’s own adaptation. All of this complicates the decision-making process. Bureaucracies and military organizations, structured to impose order on the chaos of armed conflict, are naturally resistant to change and thus typically oppose radical adjustments, as the author asserts: “The rhythms and culture of most bureaucracies are antithetical to successful adaptation.”
Clearly, the Industrial Revolution and the increasing pace of technological change have complicated the process. A chief complaint against military institutions is the lack of an effective means of transmitting lessons learned from the hard reality of combat. Those that are better at it tend to do better at actual adaptation.
Ultimately, human nature is the basis of the problem. Not all military leaders are capable of overcoming the complexities involved with adjusting to fast-changing realities in the midst of a violent situation, a trait the author terms “incompetence” (not to imply stupidity or obtuseness). He characterizes this as the inability to confront and overcome what is a natural resistance to adaptation—either intellectually or through learned skills in management and leadership, or through the leader’s own personality. Often, simple character traits undercut the ability to adapt.
Murray employs 20th-century case studies to illustrate the problems. For World War I, he cites the German adoption of new tactics such as infiltration, artillery concentration, and defense in depth, which so flummoxed the Allies. However, the focus on tactics with a concomitant lack of operational and strategic thinking in both world wars ultimately doomed Germany. Tactical (and even operational) artistry such as effective combined-arms warfare could not overcome the lack of strategic vision. General Erich von Ludendorff in World War I and commanders of the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe in World War II illustrate such a lack of strategic vision, even though they were also tactically adept and adaptive. Murray calls this dynamic “strategic myopia.” To show the influence of personality, he gives the example of Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding, head of the Royal Air Force Fighter Command from 1937 to 1940. His vision led to the development of the British radar and integrated air-defense command-and-control system that won the Battle of Britain.
Never afraid to challenge conventional wisdom, on several occasions the author argues that well-known and accepted concepts of historical events are erroneous. For example, he challenges the “myth” that the Luftwaffe was not interested in strategic bombing. Recent scholarship has shown that as early as 1937, German aircraft designer Willy Messerschmitt proposed the feasibility of long-range strategic bombing of North America using the Me 264 heavy bomber then under development, thus supporting Murray’s argument. Although a formal plan was not submitted to Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering until 1942 for a campaign against the United States, efforts to develop capable heavy bombers such as the Messerschmitt Me 264, Junkers Ju 290, and Heinkel He 277 also bolster Murray’s contention that the Luftwaffe was interested in a strategic-bombing capability.
Murray is generous in citing other prominent scholars. His references are, in fact, a gold mine for any reader seeking a solid bibliography of the best in military history and analysis. Perhaps because of his own academic background, the author is particularly keen on the intellectual development of officers and decision-makers through the service-college educational process. He argues that such institutions, through their rigorous examination of the dynamics of war, arm future leaders with the necessary scope of vision, critical analysis skills, and creative imagination to adjust to the realities of future wars. In summary, he proposes that the key to successful adaptation lies in asking the right questions and in the willingness to challenge perceptions, conventional wisdom, and accepted concepts and doctrine, despite institutional and human roadblocks.
In an age of rapid transformation brought about by technological innovation and dramatic shifts in the nature of warfare from nation-state conflict to irregular and insurgency struggles, the need for this type of thinking in methods, weaponry, tactics, doctrine, etc., is greater than ever. Murray’s book illustrates how difficult it is for military institutions to accomplish this mission—as well as how onerous are the consequences for those who fail to adapt.
The Future of Power
Joseph S. Nye, Jr. New York: Public Affairs, 2011. 320 pp. Notes. Index. $27.99.
Reviewed by Lieutenant Jonathan Lushenko, U.S. Navy
In this work, Joseph Nye distills into one short volume a lifetime of study of the pursuit and mastery of power. A renowned figure in the field of international relations and the former dean of Harvard’s Kennedy School, Nye masterfully deconstructs in clear language the complexities of power in the global arena, while considering how these forces are changing in the 21st century. He clarifies up front that this, his twelfth book, is aimed not at an academic audience but rather the general reader.
While the overarching purpose of The Future of Power is to stimulate a broader narrative across the world, Nye homes in on the United States. He states: “The problem of American power in the twenty-first century is not one of decline, but of a failure to realize that even the largest country cannot achieve its aims without the help of others.”
With this challenge in mind, Nye thoughtfully explores the foundations of domestic sovereignty through an interdisciplinary review that is largely historical. References to thinkers such as philosopher Bertrand Russell, sociologist Steven Lukes, political scientist Robert Dahl, U.S. President Dwight Eisenhower, Thucydides, Machiavelli, and even Sherlock Holmes all contribute to Nye’s ruminations on international prestige. Not surprisingly, he settles on a “policy-oriented perspective”—meaning “who, gets what, how, where, and when”—that builds on Dahl’s three faces of power: public, hidden, and invisible. This leads him to a description of the phenomenon’s two distinct constructs: resources and behavioral outcomes.
Adhering closely to his book’s stated purpose, the author effectively illustrates his definition and supports further arguments throughout the work, using figures and tables. Moreover, his allegorical prose—he was seemingly intent on averaging one or two analogies and metaphors per page—provides welcome and sometimes amusing relief from material that would have otherwise been tedious. Still, for some readers the continuing stream of figurative language, however at times poetical or humorous, may itself become tiresome.
Nye’s analysis stems largely from his most recent intellectual brainchild: smart power. Defined as “the ability to combine hard and soft power resources into effective strategies,” it is critical to create “successful strategies in the new context of power diffusion.” For readers unfamiliar with these concepts, the author provides clarifying examples that are often quite basic. For instance, a nice smile is a soft-power resource and may incline others to do something that we want. But “if I smile at your mother’s funeral, it may destroy soft power rather than create it.”
Ample introduction of these concepts—whether soft, hard, or smart—is followed by exploration of more recent intricacies. In particular, Nye’s discussion of cyberpower, “the ability to obtain preferred outcomes through use of electronically interconnected information resources of the cyberdomain,” pertains to the ascendancy of China. This serves as a launching point for the author’s investigation of how power has diffused among nonstate actors and networked governments.
Nye evokes the so-called BRICs—Brazil, Russia, India, and China—to explore the oft-cited decline of American dominance in the 21st century. He astutely contrasts the largely economic-based emergence of the BRICs with a more comprehensive U.S. supremacy based on not only economy but also openness and innovation. Ultimately, Nye concludes that “the rise of China is a misnomer” and that the country will “not surpass [America] in overall power in the first half of this century.” However, his policy recommendations clearly recognize the potential decline of U.S. preeminence and serve as a prescription for maintaining American exceptionalism in an era when we will see “the rise of the rest” during the next century.
Specifically, the author counsels that a smart strategy for maintaining American power must answer five questions: What goals or outcomes are preferred? What resources are available and in which contexts? What are the positions and preferences of the targets of influence attempts? Which forms of power behavior are most likely to succeed? What is the probability of success? His overall conclusion—the United States must rediscover how to be a smart power—is a bit of an anticlimactic, self-evident finish to an otherwise insightful and fresh account. While invitingly simple, Nye’s analysis too often obfuscates China’s overt maneuvering for global influence. Its growing navy, increasing economic ties with oil and mineral rich Africa, and seemingly orchestrated cyber-attacks demonstrate a real desire to challenge and surpass U.S. supremacy before the second half of the 21st century. In other words, the United States must not become ignorant of China’s intentions while becoming a smart power.
The strength and appeal of this work resides in its clear, straightforward discussion and analysis. While Nye does not break much new ground, he achieves his mission to stimulate a broader dialogue. The book is well-suited for academic or professional readers wanting to better understand the contemporary face of power. It also serves as an appropriate starting place for those beginning an exploration of international relations.