Military Transformation Past and Present: Historic Lessons for the 21st Century

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MILITARY TRANSFORMATION PAST AND PRESENT

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Praeger Security International Advisory Board Board Cochairs Loch K. Johnson, Regents Professor of Public and International Affairs, School of Public and International Affairs, University of Georgia (U.S.A.) Paul Wilkinson, Professor of International Relations and Chairman of the Advisory Board, Centre for the Study of Terrorism and Political Violence, University of St. Andrews (U.K.)

Members Anthony H. Cordesman, Arleigh A. Burke Chair in Strategy, Center for Strategic and International Studies (U.S.A.) Th´er`ese Delpech, Director of Strategic Affairs, Atomic Energy Commission, and Senior Research Fellow, CERI (Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques), Paris (France) Sir Michael Howard, former Chichele Professor of the History of War and Regis Professor of Modern History, Oxford University, and Robert A. Lovett Professor of Military and Naval History, Yale University (U.K.) Lieutenant General Claudia J. Kennedy, USA (Ret.), former Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, Department of the Army (U.S.A.) Paul M. Kennedy, J. Richardson Dilworth Professor of History and Director, International Security Studies, Yale University (U.S.A.) Robert J. O’Neill, former Chichele Professor of the History of War, All Souls College, Oxford University (Australia) Shibley Telhami, Anwar Sadat Chair for Peace and Development, Department of Government and Politics, University of Maryland (U.S.A.) Fareed Zakaria, Editor, Newsweek International (U.S.A.)

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MILITARY TRANSFORMATION PAST AND PRESENT Historical Lessons for the 21st Century

MARK D. MANDELES

PRAEGER SECURITY INTERNATIONAL Westport, Connecticut r London

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Mandeles, Mark David, 1950– Military transformation past and present : historic lessons for the 21st century / Mark D. Mandeles. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978–0–275–99190–6 (alk. paper) 1. United States—Armed Forces—Reorganization. 2. Military doctrine—United States. I. Title. UA23.M434 2007 355.6
8670973—dc22 2007027872 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. c 2007 by Mark D. Mandeles Copyright  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2007027872 ISBN-13: 978–0–275–99190–6 First published in 2007 Praeger Security International, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.praeger.com Printed in the United States of America

The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z39.48–1984). 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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This book is dedicated to some extraordinary people who are important to me Bill and Debbi Barnes Jonathan and Linda Bendor Eviathar Ben-Zedeff and Tsofia Lev-Ran Eric and Ann Furst Thomas C. Hone Frank D. Kistler Claudia Landau Ellen and Paul Lazar Jacob and Shari Neufeld John and Nancy Ricca Erie and Charles Shockey Jean-Claude Thoenig and Catherine Paradeise Sarah and Robert Ulis Zvi-Uri and Rachel Ullmann Jan and MarieAnne van Tol Wayne and Lorri Zell And, Simon Chung, whose surgical skill made it possible for me to finish this book

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Contents

Acknowledgments 1. Transformation and Learning in Military Organizations

ix 1

2. Setting the Stage: Learning at the End of the Nineteenth Century

14

3. The Future of Military Aviation between the Wars: The Army and Navy Take Different Paths

28

4. Learning to Conduct Amphibious Landings

48

5. Cooperative Engagement Capability: A Multiorganizational Collaboration

71

6. Conclusion

84

Notes

103

Bibliography

131

Index

153

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Acknowledgments

There is only one thing more painful than learning from experience and that is not learning from experience. —Archibald McLeish

This book began as a study for Andrew W. Marshall, Director of Net Assessment in the Office of the Secretary of Defense. As such, this book follows previous work on the revolution in military affairs I have conducted for Mr. Marshall with my long-time colleague Dr. Thomas C. Hone.1 The Office of Net Assessment is unique in government, and it is an honor and a privilege to do analysis for Andy Marshall. As has happened on my previous Office of Net Assessment research projects, once Mr. Marshall and I reached agreement on the broad questions to examine, the analysis proceeded to examine and analyze questions unforeseen in my original proposal. The questions I had anticipated in my proposal and those I discovered during research were the topic of vigorous argument and debate. I had regular—and intellectually stimulating—discussions and e-mail exchanges with several members of Mr. Marshall’s office, in particular Capt. Jan M. van Tol (USN) and Col. Jonathan Noetzel (USAF, ret.). I have received helpful advice, suggestions, and critical written and oral comments from knowledgeable, kind, and gracious colleagues in preparing this study, including Col. David A. Anhalt (USAF, ret.), Col. John Bower (USMC, ret.), Dr. Rex Buddenberg, Dr. Louis Capdeboscq, Cdr. Patrick Costello (USN), Cdr. John Q. Dickman (USN, ret.), Rear Adm. Michael Frick (USN), Dr. Norman Friedman, Dr. Thomas C. Hone, Dr. Perry D. Jamieson, Col. Robert Joy, MD (USA, ret.), Capt. Karl Hasslinger (USN, ret.), Dr. Martin Landau, Laura L. Mandeles,

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acknowledgments

Joseph Mazzafro, Andrew W. Marshall, Capt. Dan Moore (USN), Capt. Peter Nardi (USN), Jacob Neufeld, Col. Jonathan Noetzel (USAF, ret.), Dr. Sarandis Papadopoulos, Dr. Edgar F. Raines, Jr., Erie Shockey, Dr. Dale Smith, Dr. Hugh Stephens, Capt. Peter M. Swartz (USN, ret.), Truman R. Strobridge, Capt. David Titley (USN), Capt. Jan M. van Tol (USN), Mitzi M. Wertheim, Capt. Jeff Wilson (USN), and Tim Wolters. I apologize to any person who has been inadvertently omitted from this list. Paul Allard and the interlibrary loan staff of the George Mason branch of the Fairfax County Public Library system chased down many otherwise unavailable publications. In addition, I received kind and professional administrative assistance from the staff of the Office of Net Assessment. In particular, Rebecca C. Bash and MSgt. Ralph Smith (USAF) resolved innumerable problems. Dr. Heather R. Staines and Dr. Elizabeth Demers, my Praeger editors, were extraordinarily helpful, as was the Praeger editorial staff, including Nicole Azze. Saloni Jain and the Aptara production and copy editing team were invaluable. My friend, Fritz Heinzen, kept the work on track and handled all the difficult tasks I could not. I especially thank the late Martin Landau. Marty, as he was known to his friends, had one of the best critical minds in the social sciences. In the matter of pedagogy, Marty’s dedication to teaching—and his skill at training his students to think—are the stuff of legend. Years after attending class, Landau’s many distinguished students tell each other stories concerning how he rendered understandable complex and confusing political and administrative phenomena. Such exceptional teaching ability received well-deserved recognition in the form of the distinguished teaching award from Brooklyn College and the Danforth Foundation Harbison Award. Before departing New York City for the University of California at Berkeley, Landau was honored as a Distinguished Professor at the City University of New York. It is not possible to separate Marty’s teaching from his profound and compelling research. His bibliography, covering almost forty years of published research, reveals a steady stream of brilliant theoretical work on diverse topics including the logic and method of social science inquiry, comparative and development administration, decision theory, public administration and organization theory, and American government and institutions. With hindsight, one readily sees that the unifying theme to this diverse corpus of work is the identification and removal of error from political and public processes and organizations. Marty’s teaching and research greatly influenced my understanding of organizational behavior. I miss him deeply. I also thank Jacob A. Stockfisch, whose profound and compelling work also influenced my understanding of how aviators responded to the challenges of the interwar period. My wife, Laura, as always, was a great source of support and help as I wrote this manuscript. My daughter, Samantha, was especially helpful in assembling the index. Of course, despite my intellectual debts to the aforementioned, all errors of

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acknowledgments xi

fact or interpretation are mine. The views expressed in this book are mine, and I am responsible for any errors those noted above were unsuccessful in persuading me to remove. Mark D. Mandeles Fairfax, Virginia

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1

Transformation and Learning in Military Organizations

Among the numerous advantages promised by a well-constructed Union, none deserves to be more accurately developed than its tendency to break and control the violence of faction. —James Madison1

THE CHALLENGE Visionaries of new modes of combat are often far ahead of the technological state of the art. Their visions, therefore, look better on paper than in real life. When reviewing pre-Civil War naval technological advances in steam propulsion and ordnance (these eventually combined to form the propeller-driven ironside with rotating armored gun turrets firing shell ordnance), the late military historian Walter Millis observed that the plans of gun and ship designers were ahead of the state of the art in metallurgy and ballistics.2 A military historian writing in the year 2100 might make three analogous observations when looking back at presentday American architects of a military revolution based on precision munitions, robotics, nanotechnology, bio-engineering, information and decision tool, computer, communications, and sensor technologies. First, weapon systems designers are embedding myriad new technological capabilities into organization structures conceived by eighteenth- and nineteenth-century military theorists.3 Second, operations based on these military technologies require complementary organizational procedures, processes, and structures that currently are not mature—and in some cases may not yet exist. And third, the organizational processes commonly employed to guide the interaction among people, technologies, and military

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organizations are flawed, so there has been little coherent thought about the organizational and operational implications of new weapons technologies.4 This book is written for two very different audiences. First, the officers and civilians who make important decisions now or who may make them soon. Second, the members of the military policy analysis community who try to define and solve problems for the civilians and officers. The latter group is often wrong, because they search for infallible solutions amid unavailable, hidden, ambiguous, and imperfect information, and competing goals and preferences. Physicist John R. Pierce warned against this search for infallibility—a constant in the national security community—when he noted, “Novices in mathematics, science, or engineering are forever demanding infallible, universal, mechanical methods for solving problems.” My intent in this book is to show these two audiences that while there is no infallible method to achieve innovation, the prospects for successfully implementing innovation in the Department of Defense (DoD) may be enhanced. I shall do so by examining, comparing, and analyzing how previous large-scale changes in military capability—what we now call “transformations”—took place and then drawing inferences from that analysis to current and future questions of military transformation. Public servants charged with the responsibility of designing, managing, and overseeing national security programs are rightly concerned about the prospects for innovation and learning within the DoD. There are real national security threats to the United States, and the costs of failure are high if public servants improperly prepare for and conduct military operations and postwar reconstruction. U.S. military organizations have learned and innovated, and they can do it again. To understand how military organizations can learn and innovate, the reader will have to follow, at times, a complex argument. The unique value of this study is its use of multilevel analysis. Most historians and social scientists studying military innovation examine historical case material at a single level of analysis, that is, by looking at the actions of significant individuals or at the interactions of people within an innovating organization. Indeed, examining innovation from the perspective of an individual or a single organization has generated useful insights. Yet, this perspective has been unable to generate effective broad policy guidelines for future innovation. In the real-life world of people in organizations considering military problems, nothing is simple. People have to deal with “solutions” to previous problems that are proposed for new or poorly understood issues. Risk, uncertainty, and ambiguity are constant companions. Individuals and organizations interact in varied and complex ways. Hence, the real key to unlocking the process of innovation is attention to multiple sets of relationships among individuals, organizations, and multiorganizational systems. This book will show that many opportunities exist for strategic leadership—even within an organization as large and complex as the DoD. When properly arranged, interaction among groups of organizations enables effective innovation by enhancing the application of evidence, inference, and logic.

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transformation and learning in military organizations 3

MILITARY TRANSFORMATION: PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS The fascination of DoD and military officials with the concept of military transformation began in the early 1990s.5 During that period, documents prepared by the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) called for “fundamental change” through implementation of the Revolution in Military Affairs. The Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and Air Force proposed transformation road maps, created battle laboratories, designed experiments, and conducted wargames.6 Congress supported these efforts. Congressional Research Service analyst Ronald O’Rourke asserted that as early as 1986, Congress instituted changes that can be seen as examples of defense transformation, including activities that were opposed by DoD leaders.7 In 1998, Congress required the secretary of defense to establish a Defense Science Board task force to examine DoD’s preparations for military transformation.8 Completing its work in 1999, the board defined transformation in terms of pursuing “bold new ways of conducting military operations to meet new security challenges of the 21st century.” It found that DoD leadership called for “fundamental transformation in both military and business affairs” in strong terms, the Services were developing new concepts, sharing themes, and beginning to address new security challenges. In addition, the Defense Science Board observed that the Services and the joint community were beginning to experiment with new concepts of war. However, the board noted that DoD leadership were possibly underestimating the “focus and effort needed to affect fundamental transformation,” and that there seemed to be no “pervasive sense of urgency” to transform military and associated business capabilities.9 In a September 1999 speech at the Citadel entitled “A Period of Consequences,” George W. Bush argued the time was ripe to transform the U.S. military. Bush observed that the six-month planning period used to conduct Operation Desert Storm against Iraq was too long. He pledged to develop lighter, more mobile, and more lethal forces, and promised to appoint a strong secretary of defense who would be given a mandate to transform the military.10 With his election in 2000, President George W. Bush kept his promises and appointed Donald H. Rumsfeld as secretary of defense with the directive to “transform the military for the twenty-first century.” High among Secretary Rumsfeld’s initial two concerns were the development of a viable missile defense system and the reduction of the size of the Army—thus freeing funds devoted to personnel for new materiel programs central to his view of military transformation. In a speech delivered on September 10, 2001 at the Pentagon, Rumsfeld observed that the primary obstacle to achieving change, innovation, and transformation was the Pentagon bureaucracy and its processes. He proposed to transform the way the DoD works and what it works on.11 Less than two months later, Secretary Rumsfeld established an office to develop and implement transformational ideas—the Office of Force Transformation—and appointed retired Navy Vice Adm. Arthur K. Cebrowski to lead it. Previously, Admiral Cebrowski was president of the Naval War College,

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where he was a leading theoretician and proponent of network-centric warfare, an operational concept he believed was central to transformation.12

Crystal Balls and the Impact of New Technology Military leaders agree that technology, in the words of then-Marine Corps Commandant Gen. Charles C. Krulak, “will change tomorrow’s battlefield in a way that none of us really understand.” This situation is not unique to the present, but it provides the context for the current concern about military “transformation.” There can be no crystal ball with which the national security community13 can accurately predict the future even though DoD civilian and military leaders constantly search for one. No operations research method can determine the single most effective apportionment of roles and missions, or identify unequivocally the technologies, operational concepts, and associated organizational structures that will improve military capability qualitatively. The best the national security community can do is to organize to learn by collecting and cataloging relevant information, developing the means to access and critically test the information, and posing and considering alternatives in a systematic matter.14 Thus, the U.S. ability to anticipate and respond to national security challenges—and to minimize the effect of unpleasant surprises—will depend on the quality of analysis of policy tradeoffs and the way OSD, the Joint Staff, Combatant Commands, and the Services interact to provide that analysis. In the larger context of the U.S. national security community’s response to global terrorism, this type of analysis could improve efforts to prevent the type of intelligence failures that occurred prior to the September 11, 2001 terror attacks.15 The Services and Combatant Commands have conducted many good tactical studies, simulations, exercises, and experiments. However, these studies fail to address the linkages among tactical, operational, and strategic levels of warfare, or the relationships between individual-level and organizational decision making essential to implementing the intent of combat leaders. Consequently, the national security community does not have a robust and coherent analytical framework to (1) transform the twentieth-century U.S. military into a twenty-first century force, (2) figure out how tomorrow’s battlefield will be different, or (3) allow officers and enlisted personnel to codify their experiences and to think clearly and systematically about operational concepts, technologies, or organizations. Nor has the analytical community developed a perspective—or credible models—to relate military technologies and operational concepts at individual, organizational, and multiorganizational levels of analysis, or consider operational complications flowing from the use of new operational concepts carried out with multiple generations of equipment. Indeed, as the then-assistant director of the Office of Force Transformation Thomas C. Hone observed, the Army in 2003 was being challenged by Secretary Rumsfeld to explain and justify its current organizational structure. To meet Secretary Rumsfeld’s challenges, the Army could respond to his criticisms

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and try to give him what he wanted, or the Army could employ wargames and simulations to determine which weapons, tactics, and military formations may work best in particular situations. Yet, if the wargames and simulations are poorly designed, the conclusions drawn from them will be flawed—a likely outcome because the analytic community lacks the means to relate operational concepts, technology, and organizations at individual, organizational, and multiorganizational levels. Therefore, the argument between the Army and its critics cannot be resolved—or even illuminated—by simulations, trials, and tests.16 Since military leaders do not have models that relate technological and organizational changes with individual-level cognitive and knowledge requirements, they can’t predict the effects of information asymmetries on combat operations. Discussions about operational concepts and organizational architectures are conducted with little appreciation for (1) the necessity of examining levels of analysis, (2) the problems of evidence and of inference, and (3) how to accumulate, catalogue, and retrieve knowledge about military operations. A related situation has existed in the analytic support to national policies of nuclear deterrence since the invention of nuclear weapons. There has been a great deal of competent analysis on narrow problems (e.g., of basing and dispersal), but precious little work on broader issues of the sort conducted by Bernard Brodie: he examined the kind of analysis that should be done, and asked questions that were hidden behind the numbers on a briefing chart. Indeed, the use of briefing slides to transmit information, array options, and structure decisions is a significant source of analytic failure.17 Current official doctrine assumes it is possible to achieve a seamless forward and backward distribution of information, instructions, feedback, and evaluations—for example, close coordination of tactical and command units or greater interdependence between theater and organizations located in the continental United States. Such assumptions are equivalent to postulating a functioning frictionless organization—an organization without error—conducting flawless operations under the most dangerous, stressful, rapidly changing, and uncertain conditions.18 The potential sources of organizational error and the cognitive effects of sleep deprivation, fear, stress, uncertainty, ambiguity, and information overload on decisions in combat have been inadequately analyzed, and strategies to deal with them are not in place.19 What little official writing exists (e.g., in Joint Vision 2010 or Joint Vision 2020) on information storage and processing, division of labor, command arrangements, span of control, coordination of information and analysis, and personnel skills offers inadequate guidance for practical decision making.

Military Transformation and Military Revolution The concepts of military revolution—that is, a significant qualitative improvement in operational capability—and transformation address a common theme.20

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Both highlight the important role of well-designed experimentation to prevent accepting faulty assumptions and inferences. And both involve linking new organizations and processes, new technologies, and new operational concepts to achieve greatly improved operational capability—or, in Admiral Cebrowski’s words, a “sustained American competitive advantage in warfare.”21 However, the symbolic and bureaucratic uses to which the concept of military transformation has been put—particularly, justifying advanced technology weapons programs—only reiterate the language of military revolutions, and have robbed the concept of its substantive meaning.22 The assumption underlying many of the military Services’ proposals for new transformational technologies is the same as that for components of military revolutions: higher technical performance equates to higher operational capability. Unfortunately, this assumption is wrong. There is no identity relationship between technical performance and operational capability.23 The blind faith that paper acquisition and budgeting plans and elaborately expressed goals for new military capabilities translate directly into improved operational capability transcends political party and particular administrations, imperiling the goal of planned and directed military transformation. Military transformation is more likely to occur when the DoD develops more effective means to (1) apply knowledge and analysis to decision making and action, (2) aggregate and integrate available knowledge, and (3) catalogue, retrieve, and analyze propositions derived from current operations’ “lessons learned” and historical analyses. Stephen A. Cambone, when director of Program Evaluation and Analysis, misunderstood these critical factors in creating the conditions for military transformation.24 Cambone was silent about the problem of organizing to produce knowledge about military operations and the relationship between acquisition plans and future operational capability. For Cambone, transformation would eventually be reduced to “nuts-and-bolts decisions about which ‘platforms and programs’ to buy.”25 Just as there are no simple recipes to achieve a military revolution, there is no simple expedient to military transformation. Successful development of weapons, doctrine, and operational concepts requires a great deal of planned, coordinated, and cooperative action among countless offices, agencies, laboratories, and contractors over a long period of time. Planning to achieve a military revolution or transformation necessarily entails predictions, many of which will not be realized. A military transformation, like a military revolution, is most easily identified with hindsight, because it is impossible to predict secondary (and higher order) effects of self-generating technological and operational change.26 Furthermore, a transformation of operational capability may be hindered, retarded, or delayed by organizational processes and actions that reduce the ability of individuals to apply knowledge and analysis to their tasks. Richard McKenna, naval historian and author of the novel The Sand Pebbles, noted that the interwar Navy’s cutback of the machinist’s mate school (set up by President Woodrow Wilson’s Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels) significantly delayed the acquisition of engineering knowledge for thousands of sailors. Instead, sailors learned engineering through

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“long years of apprenticeship,” and the Navy deprived itself of a higher operational capability achievable by the deployment of large numbers of personnel able to act at higher levels of skills and competence.27 The Navy did not make the same error in regard to aviation. As Navy historian Rear Adm. Julius A. Furer observed, “Perhaps the greatest contribution made by the Navy Department to the program of aviation during its early years was in the education and training of aeronautical engineers; a contribution which made it possible for the Bureau of Aeronautics, when it was established in 1921, to take on all of the functions of a technical bureau without a lengthy interregnum for training its personnel.”28 In other words, the Navy Department, by increasing the number of people having technical knowledge and enhancing their ability to apply that knowledge, raised the prospects for “transformative” success. Today, Marine Corps leaders have embraced this perspective in official documents, such as the 2005 “A Concept for Distributed Operations,” which was signed by then Marine Commandant General Michael W. Hagee. The Concept urges the Marines to “continue to elevate the already high competence of our most junior leaders, educating them to think and act at the tactical level of war, with an understanding of the application of commander’s intent to achieve operational level effects.” Junior leaders will be trained to perform additional technical tasks to enable them “to perform combat tasks accomplished at higher levels of command.”29 These facts have profound implications for planning transformations and devising an organizational strategy to enhance competitive advantage. Knowledge is not free. Resources must be devoted to creating, developing, cataloguing and storing it; retrieving and transmitting it throughout the national security community; and analyzing and correcting it.

Planning Transformations Some transformations have required more than twenty to thirty years to become recognized by observers, which means that most, if not all, of the senior civilian and military officials developing initial plans for transformational weapons systems will not be in office to see the fulfillment of their plans and the myriad ways in which they will change.30 For example, in 1973, no one in the U.S. Army anticipated how the technologies of precision guidance would play out in the force structure. Nor did anyone predict that reliance on precision-guided munitions (PGMs) would stimulate a wide range of other effects, including the need to develop new sensor, communication, and computer technologies, new platforms for these technologies, new occupational specialties and associated training curricula, new operational concepts, and new organizations and doctrine for command and control. Yet, military historian Russell F. Weigley observed that the Army, spurred by analyses of the 1973 Yom Kippur War, “initiated the weaponsdevelopment and replacement campaign that by the 1980’s had become the most complete rearming in the Army’s history. Further refinement and distribution of

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PGMs [precision-guided munitions] was conspicuously involved, but the rearming extended into almost every area of weaponry.” Likewise, the Air Force in the early 1970s began to place greater emphasis on PGMs and the organizational prerequisites for using such weapons, for example, intelligence analyses of target sets.31 This rearming of the Air Force also has extended into almost every area of weaponry, 32 and continues to have rippling effects for each of the Services in acquisition, force structure, doctrine, recruitment, training, and organization. In October 2001, U.S. forces began fighting al-Qaeda and Taliban forces in Afghanistan (Operation Enduring Freedom) using a new operational concept. In an example cited by Air Force Maj. Gen. Daniel “Fig” Leaf about the early days of combat, a Northern Alliance commander turned to an Air Force air control specialist and said he wanted to attack Taliban forces on the next ridge. The Afghan commander thought U.S. forces would go through a long approval process, and that the strike would come in after a day or two had passed. Instead, nineteen minutes after the airman’s call, the Afghan commander was surprised to see a bomb flying directly to the Taliban positions he had just identified.33 This operational concept appears to be very similar to the Hunter Warrior concept conceived and first tested by the Marine Corps during the Hunter Warrior Advanced Warfighting Experiment at the Marine Corps Air-Ground Combat Center in Twentynine Palms, California, in March 1997. Hunter Warrior was designed to examine a new operational concept: “small teams in a non-contiguous battlespace, advanced and integrated C3 I [command, control, communications and intelligence] to provide shared situational awareness, and enhanced fires and targeting.”34 Initial thought about this operational concept began in 1992, and over the next five years, it was clarified in wargames, debate, argument, and analysis.35 The experiment, situated in a simulated littoral environment, pitted an experimental (Blue) force of about 2,000 (of which an average of about 100 marines were ashore at any one time), against a (Red) conventionally armed force of almost 4,000. During the experiment, Blue small mobile units, dispersed across a wide area, used a loosely coupled (or “flattened”) command and control structure, and were linked through squad-level battlefield computers to a communications network managed by an experimental Command and Control Center located more than 150 miles away.36 Maj. Lawrence Roberts, a marine aviator who participated in the Hunter Warrior experiment, also noted that Blue air and ground forces communicated effectively using the “Newton Ericsson, a combination of the Apple Newton hand-held digital computer modified with a Global Positioning System (GPS) card and the Ericsson free-text burst-transmission radio.”37 Planning was accomplished through face-to-face exchanges between ground and air personnel. The Hunter Warrior planning process was faster than the conventional air tasking order process, and “greatly enhanced the capability of the maneuver force to function as a single entity within the commander’s intent.”38 Blue teams called in air strikes and long-range fire support from simulated naval units and covert remote-operated mortars. The experimental Blue Force used a simulated network of satellites, surveillance aircraft, micro ground sensors, and

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unmanned aerial vehicles to collect information about the Red Force. As designed, the Hunter Warrior experiment relied upon free play, which allowed unanticipated interactions and tactical innovations to be conducted by offensive and defensive forces.39 Although descriptions of Hunter Warrior appeared in defense trade magazines and newsletters, the similarity between the Hunter Warrior and the Enduring Freedom operational concepts may be coincidental, and a result of the availability of advances in communications and targeting gear.40 However, the melding in combat of ground spotters with aircraft carrying PGMs represents a remarkable example of organizational learning at tactical and headquarters levels.41 The introduction of PGMs into the Army and Air Force, and the creation of a new operational concept melding ground spotters with aircraft suggest that the size and accumulated resources available to the U.S. military allow multiple military transformations to proceed in parallel, at different tempos and with different degrees of maturity. This situation has characteristics of a positive feedback loop, wherein portions of transformation programs may interact and reinforce the others.42 It is conceivable, however, that central pieces of transformation programs may be negated by (1) weakness of multiorganizational coordination and interaction, (2) insufficient attention and support for military thinkers through deliberate identification, protection, and mentoring of innovative personnel, (3) inadequate procurement of enabling technologies (e.g., reliable communications transmission bandwidth for expeditionary forces), and (4) the opportunity costs imposed by continuation of service programs that conflict with the transformation program.43

The Challenge of “Legacy” Constraints, capital stocks, and structure are all part of the “legacy” of past actions, acquisition decisions, and habits. It is difficult to update habits, standard operating procedures, and tradition in changing from one organization and mixture of forces, technologies, and operational concepts to another. Historian Elting E. Morison captured the essence of this problem in describing the use of older artillery pieces, first used in the Boer War some forty years earlier, shortly after the defeat of France by the Nazis and the subsequent British retreat. It seems that the British employed this old and light artillery in mobile units for coastal defense. Unfortunately, these mobile units did not fire their guns quickly enough, and a time-motion expert was hired to suggest improvements. As Morison describes the situation, the time-motion expert Watched one of the gun crews of five men at practice in the field for some time. Puzzled by certain aspects of the procedures, he took some slow-motion pictures of the soldiers performing the loading, aiming, and firing routines.

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military transformation past and present When he ran these pictures over once or twice, he noticed something that appeared odd to him. A moment before the firing, two members of the gun crew ceased all activity and came to attention for a three-second interval extending throughout the discharge of the gun. He summoned an old colonel of artillery, showed him the pictures, and pointed out this strange behavior. What, he asked the colonel, did it mean? The colonel, too, was puzzled. He asked to see the pictures again. “Ah,” he said when the performance was over, “I have it. They are holding the horses.”44

On the verge of fighting a mechanized war in World War II, some behaviors associated with using animal power remained in operational practice. Morison was right to wonder what would remain after the militaries of the mid-twentieth century mechanized. Today, we might ask what residues of mid-twentieth-century practice will persist after the widespread introduction of precision munitions, stealth platforms, and sensor, computer, and communications technologies, and will these residues of twentieth-century practice enhance organizational and operational reliability?

Transformation and Organizational Strategies It is commonly asserted that concrete mission objectives, priorities, and clear metrics to measure progress are essential elements of programs to achieve transformation.45 However, examination of real cases of transformation, such as the introduction of carrier-based aviation into the U.S. Navy (see Chapter 3), and the start of the PGMs transformation in the Army and Air Force, shows that concrete objectives and clear metrics are not necessary components of successful transformation. Indeed, given the accelerating rate of technological advance and the enormous personnel and financial resources devoted to national security, it is likely that, regardless of our plans, roadmaps, and metrics, we will see one or more “military transformations” every fifteen to twenty years. However, there remains the understandable desire of political and military leaders not to leave such matters to chance. A central argument of this book is that military transformation will result more effectively from enhancing the interaction among DoD components to confront risk, coordinate, experiment, discuss, and set priorities. This organizational strategy alters the incentives for how the military creates and uses evidence and inference to judge the implementation of plans and programs. It focuses seniorlevel attention on the role of knowledge and analysis in decision making at three levels of analysis: individuals who think, decide, and respond to problems; interactions among individuals in organizations; and interactions among groups of organizations. The historical cases explored in the following chapters illustrate these three levels, the relationships among them, and potential practical guidelines to promote organizational effectiveness across the DoD. In particular, we shall see that establishing “rules” of evidence may not be an appropriate first step.

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The rules of evidence used to judge new operational concepts, new organizations, and the operational capability of new weapons technologies will emerge through partisan argument and mutual adjustment among individuals in organizations and between organizations, as they learn. Similarly, regardless of what the April 2003 DoD’s Transformation Planning Guidance document calls for, an effort to create a “culture of innovation”46 by promulgating policies to reward innovative thinkers and doers will amount only to verbal and written exhortations. The exhortations to be innovative will be ignored in practice, unless organizational arrangements inherently encourage them. Innovative thinkers and doers are more likely to be rewarded and promoted when organizational leaders see their skills as an advantage in competition and interaction with other organizations. Even so, there will be lags and uneven application of rewards to innovative thinkers. Attention to the role of knowledge and analysis in decision making is consistent with the post-World War II observations of mathematician John von Neumann, a participant in and astute observer of official high-level strategic discussions. Writing as U.S. forces were undergoing a major transformation due to their adoption of nuclear weapons, von Neumann noted “the enormous importance of the most powerful weapon of all; namely, the flexible type of human intelligence.”47 Indeed, von Neumann asserted that human intelligence—the ability to pose analogies, to infer, to marshal evidence, and to test and evaluate assertions and arguments—has a greater impact on the conduct of war than atomic weapons. Von Neumann’s argument is relevant to today’s discussion within the DoD and in national security journals about transforming the military to exploit new technologies and operational concepts, and thereby, to achieve qualitative improvements in military capability.48 As an anonymous officer serving in Iraq noted, “the most high-tech weapons in the U.S. military reside in the ‘brain housing group’ of soldiers and Marines.”49 This chapter’s opening quotation from James Madison represented his belief in the importance of the structural arrangement of organizations in controlling significant sources of error in government. The logic of Madison’s argument to reduce error in government has never been applied to any of the post-World War II DoD reorganizations. In fact, as the U.S. defense establishment has grown, become ever more differentiated, and been reorganized repeatedly, interaction within and among the department’s components has not improved—the interaction is certainly not of a higher quality than that displayed by the interwar naval aviation community or the interwar marine amphibious operations community. It remains for the current generation to improve interaction and analysis among these organizations.50

OUTLINE OF THE BOOK The book is organized into a series of case studies that illuminate some key practical and historical questions of organizational learning:

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r

r

Toward what concepts of operation should we evolve? How should the United States compete in specific missions? What organizational forms and arrangements may exploit U.S. technological and personnel advantages? How should the national security community organize itself to develop new operational concepts and new organizations appropriate to new technologies? Is the use of knowledge and analysis in creating new operational concepts and organizations more or less effective today than it was in the period between World War I and World War II? To what extent do today’s analytical tools and computer and information technologies provide symbolic cover for a reduced application of knowledge and analysis to military problems?

Chapter 2 introduces the problem of organizing to learn by examining the post-Civil War Army and Navy. Chapters 3 and 4 focus on the interwar period. Chapter 3 compares how the Navy and the Army Air Corps aviation communities approached technological and operational uncertainty. Chapter 4 examines the problem of the development of amphibious operations in the United States Marine Corps (USMC) and the Royal Marines. Chapter 5 moves to the present time period and explores how the Navy is developing new operational concepts to exploit the set of technologies comprising cooperative engagement capability. Finally, Chapter 6 applies the insights derived from the case studies to current efforts to guide military transformation.

SUMMARY OF KEY POINTS 1. Weapon systems designers are embedding many new technological capabilities into military organizational structures conceived by eighteenthand nineteenth-century military theorists. 2. Operations based on new military technologies (including precision munitions, robotics, nanotechnology, bio-engineering, information technology, computer, communications, and sensors) require complementary organizational procedures, processes, and structures that currently are not mature or may not yet exist. 3. Current organizational processes do not stimulate coherent thought about the organizational and operational implications of new weapons technologies. 4. There is no crystal ball that can predict the future accurately, determine the single most effective apportionment of roles and missions, or identify the technologies, operational concepts, and associated organizational structures that will improve military capability qualitatively.

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5. A military transformation, like a military revolution, is most easily identified with hindsight, because it is impossible to predict secondary (and higher order) effects of self-generating technological and operational change. 6. A military transformation may be hindered, retarded, or delayed by organizational processes that reduce the ability of individuals to apply knowledge and analysis to their tasks. 7. The methodological key to unlocking the process of innovation is attention to multiple sets of relationships among individuals, organizations, and interactions among groups of organizations. 8. Military transformation will result more effectively from enhancing the interaction among DoD components to experiment, to discuss, and to set priorities. When properly arranged, interaction among DoD components creates effective innovation by enhancing the application of evidence, inference, and logic.

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2

Setting the Stage: Learning at the End of the Nineteenth Century

A far better indicator of the viability of military institutions over the long haul . . . is the quality of professional thought. Historically, the force which thinks best fights best. The required exchange of ideas is invariably painful and difficult, but the internal intellectual battle which it entails must be won if we are to survive. —John F. Guilmartin, Jr.1

INTRODUCTION Noted military historian John F. Guilmartin, Jr., directs us to inquire into whether and how professional military thought is translated into acquisition programs, doctrine, tactics, and training. This chapter will examine the professional military’s nineteenth-century encounter with the need to apply knowledge and analysis to decision making about new weapons and operational concepts.

SMART PEOPLE AREN’T ENOUGH The achievements of the industrial and scientific revolution were used for the first time on a large scale in the American Civil War.2 Consequently, the post-Civil War period of 1865 through 1899 was the first in which senior civilian and military officials began to confront the implications of a requirement for a greater role of knowledge and analysis in decision making. This post-Civil War thirty-four-year period offers some important insights as we look at the actions of civilian and military leaders in our own time.

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Congress opposed a large standing army, and with the conclusion of the war, reduced greatly the army’s size and budget authority. Officers competed bitterly over retention of their commissions. Many senior officers recognized the potential combat impact of new weapons technologies, such as the flat trajectory magazine rifle, high explosives, smokeless powder, and quick-firing artillery. But there was disagreement over mid-term and long-term consequences of those new weapons for tactics and training, weapons acquisition, and the organization of combat forces. Senior leaders had little hard knowledge to help settle complex tradeoffs between old and new weapons and old and new tactics. Finally, there was disagreement over the nature of the threat. Most military and civilian leaders thought future conventional conflicts against European foes were unlikely. The threat at the time was the conflict with determined Indian peoples in the west. The frontier war against the Indians shaped post-Civil War thought about force structure, tactics, training, and acquisition in ways that were inappropriate for combat against European adversaries.3 Army senior leadership had few resources with which to work. As civilians and officers tried to figure out what should be done and how to achieve those ends, a difficult situation was made worse by way the Congress organized the War Department’s decision processes, the wide geographic distribution of troops, slow land transportation away from rail lines, and inadequate Congressional expenditures to train full regiments. Then and now, there were no a priori and analytically correct answers to the many design questions facing senior military leadership: r r r r r r

r

What force structure would be most appropriate to defeat existing and future adversaries? How would we transition from a force structure appropriate to existing adversaries to one appropriate to future adversaries? What changes in recruitment and force structure would lead to an effective fighting force against known and unknown adversaries? What new weapons technologies and weapons should be pursued and procured? How should training be organized and what should training be designed to do? What tactics would be effective against an entrenched adversary employing new rapid firing shoulder arms and artillery? How should we devise and choose such tactics? What operational concepts should guide the design of tactics? How should command and control in loose order formations be organized?

How familiar these questions sound. As in today’s military, the post-Civil War era featured a weak role for knowledge and analysis in decision making and insufficient appreciation of the need to organize to learn. Late nineteenth-century members of Congress, and senior military and civilian leaders, did not understand the necessity of institutionalized experimentation,

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tests, maneuvers, and retrievable bodies of knowledge in order to learn; that is, developing processes, methodologies, organizations, and relationships among organizations to evaluate claims about force structure, roles and missions, weapons acquisition, and doctrine and tactics. Then, as now, military leaders did not understand that how they were organized to learn—or more correctly, were not organized to learn, accumulate, and access knowledge—affected the way options were conceived, discussed, evaluated, and implemented. To be sure, today’s military and civilian leaders and analysts repeat slogans about the need for experimentation. But mere words are inadequate to address our intellectual and conceptual weaknesses. As noted historian Perry Jamieson observes, there were few books available for officers interested in studying tactics. Indeed, the nineteenth-century army “had no permanent process for creating and revising an officially authorized set of tactical principles, recognized and taught throughout the service.”4 And this failure to organize to learn extended beyond questions concerning force structure, roles and missions, to weapons acquisition, doctrine, and tactics, and even to basic questions of camp hygiene and cause of death.5 The post-Civil War Congressional reorganizations of the Army were designed to minimize cost rather than to support experimentation or learning.6 During the Reconstruction era, there were two armies: an army that conducted normal duties under executive command, and a Congressional Army in the South. In 1877, with the abandonment of Congressional Reconstruction, the Congressional Army merged into its Northern counterpart.7 In July 1866, Congress decided the structure of the War Department when it set the number of regiments (this number changed several times during Reconstruction and afterward). In addition to the regiments, Congress set up ten administrative and technical bureaus called departments. The bureaus were independent of the Commanding General (CG) of the Army and answered to the secretary of war and Congress. The CG’s authority was limited; he could not control logistics and had to persuade the secretary before he could alter any of the bureaus’ activities. Staff officers representing the bureaus were assigned to the various army area commands, but these officers were more responsible to the bureaus than to the CG. The Congress designed the War Department’s political and authority relationships so that the CG had no authority to pose tradeoffs; he could not order systematic testing or maneuvers over several years to determine the implications or “externalities” of one bureau’s activities—or lack of activities—on another. Nor could the CG easily implement remedies for perceived weaknesses. Such political relationships made it extremely difficult even to conceive of the need for institutionalized experimentation, testing, and analysis of the results of these activities through interaction among organizations or offices.8 Significantly different from today, civilian contractors and consultants had less leeway to thoroughly pervert decision making—but senior Army officers, without really trying, did a good job on that score by themselves. The artist Frederic Remington was a keen observer of frontier military life. In an 1893 letter to the newspaper Sun, Remington described the Army’s veteran leadership:

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setting the stage 17 The old gentlemen who have taken care enough of their health to get into the high grades . . . are responsible for the dry rot which is disintegrating our army to-day. It will probably take a war to make them resign. . . . There are plenty of infantry field officers who couldn’t get a pony past a dead dog in the road if they were following their regiments in action.9

During the Civil War, participants recognized that new weapons technologies and tactics gave a great advantage to the armies operating on the tactical defensive. As Jamieson notes, “the introduction of rifled shoulder arms, the power of artillery on the defensive, and the use of [ever more sophisticated] field entrenchments . . . all weighed heavily on the side of the defense.”10 Soldiers advancing in closeorder, linear formations were devastated on the “deadly ground” in front of their dug-in counterparts. After the war, inventors made more deadly—both singly and in combination— all sorts of weapons, and continuing improvements in weapons capabilities exacerbated the tactical and operational difficulties. For example, breech-loading cannon using metallic cartridges replaced muzzle-loaders, and smokeless powder increased firepower. Flat trajectory, smaller bore, rifled shoulder arms increased the accuracy of concentrated fires from entrenched troops.11 Army engineers designed increasingly sophisticated fieldworks. The firepower of entrenched troops made it difficult for attackers to maintain cohesion, regardless of their formation. This problem had hindered Civil War assaults, as many officers later recognized. Thoughtful army officers realized that continued technological improvements would make offensive operations even more dangerous to troops attacking soldiers in defensive positions and possessing a variety of weapons capable of directing dense volumes of accurate fire.12 Three examples make the point: in an 1874 Harper’s New Monthly Magazine article, Gen. George B. McClellan warned that traditional formations could not survive the long-range, rapid, and accurate fire delivered by modern weapons. Americans called this territory between opposing troops employing modern weapons the “danger zone” or the “deadly zone.”13 Lt. Gen. Philip H. Sheridan, in his November 1884 Annual Report of the Lt. Gen. of the Army, predicted combat operations much along the lines of World War I’s Western front. Sheridan argued: “Armies will then resort to the spade, the pick, and the shovel; both sides will cover themselves by intrenchments, and any troops daring to make exposed attacks will be annihilated.”14 In 1886, an anonymous infantry officer observed that With the advent of breechloaders and Gatling and Hotchkiss guns, foot soldiers deployed in two-line formations of the Civil War became simply food for gunpowder. The single rank is now and will be the only one used in battle, unless, indeed, the line shall become still more attenuated by the introduction of an open order system.15

While American military leaders understood the tactical impact of technological changes, they did not draw out the broader operational and social implications

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of new military technologies. With hindsight it is clear that not only tactics and strategy had to change, but the Army needed procedures and organizations that could design and critique adaptive strategies more effectively and with greater rapidity. How was the situation perceived at the time? How did the existing organization affect the understanding of challenges and courses of action? What did the Army do? The Army leadership examined proposals for new tactics. They acknowledged that the translations of European tactical manuals used during the Civil War had proved inadequate and they wanted to have a set of tactics independent of European models. Emory Upton provided distinct views about tactics stimulated by his own Civil War experience. His tactical manual, A New System of Infantry Tactics, Double and Single Rank, Adapted to American Topography and Improved FireArms, was published in 1867.16 Building on a New System of Infantry Tactics, Upton’s assimilated tactics, published in 1874, were “manuals whose commands and formations were compatible among the cavalry, artillery, and infantry, so that an officer could move, for instance, from the artillery service to a cavalry regiment and quickly learn the drill of the new unit.” Upton and his comrades were the first U.S. officers to study infantry, cavalry, and artillery together and “design a system applicable to all of them.”17 One of Upton’s goals was to move men more efficiently than in the platoons and sections of pre-Civil War drill books. He accomplished this task by creating groups of four; infantry would march in columns of four, deploy into line by groups of four, and maneuver, flank, or wheel in contact with the enemy in groups of four. He also introduced single-rank tactics. Breechloaders and repeating breechloaders would greatly increase the firepower of an infantry regiment so that it could be deployed in a single rank, rather than two-line formation. Acceptance or rejection of Upton’s new tactics partly depended on beliefs about the tradeoff between firepower and shock. With the increased firepower of infantry regiments in single-ranks of soldiers using breechloading and repeating breechloading shoulder arms, shock tactics—that is, the use of heavy columns or close-ordered advancing lines to overcome a defender with a bayonet charge— would become very costly to the attacker. The single-rank tactic also mitigated the kind of deadly volleys experienced in the Civil War by exposing fewer men to enemy fire. Upton’s tactics were not the last word on the relationship between firepower and shock in combat. Criticism of Upton’s tactical system began in 1867, the year in which it was introduced, and continued into the 1880s. For example, Upton’s critics argued that the system did not degrade well under the confusion of combat, when casualties would require the remaining men to renumber themselves to maintain sets of four. During the 1880s several officers offered alternatives to Upton’s system, but none gained War Department approval.18 In January 1888, Secretary of War William C. Endicott authorized a board of officers to review each combat arm’s tactics. The panel was swamped with proposals from theorists who believed that their ideas deserved the War Department’s

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setting the stage 19

approval and certification. Eventually, drafts of tactical manuals for infantry, cavalry, and artillery were sent to the adjutant general, and were reviewed by a single officer from each combat arm. The Commanding General of the Army Maj. Gen. John M. Schofield, Secretary of War Redfield Proctor, and President Grover Cleveland endorsed the manuals, dubbed the Leavenworth manuals. These manuals became the Army’s authorized tactics through the Spanish-American War. So, twenty-six years after the Civil War, in 1891, the Army finally had manuals that instructed officers how to maneuver and how to command their troops in combat. These three manuals were the first official documents to discuss the separate problems of offensive and defensive fighting. Nevertheless, some officers criticized the 1891 manuals for their length and complexity. In 1894, such criticism led Maj. Gen. Schofield to reevaluate the three manuals, but the changes were minor.19 Throughout the 1880s and 1890s, there was no single and clear agreement in the Army on the changes necessary to accommodate new weapons technologies. A fairly large group of officers gave little thought to the development of new tactics because they believed that existing tactics and organization were adequate to defeat the Indians in the West, and that foreign wars were unlikely. For these officers, existing well-understood military problems shaped their perception of the need for new tactics and organization, and the threat for the foreseeable future did not seem to warrant the effort to make changes. Indeed, campaigning against the Indians mixed periods of intense activity and hardship with less-active periods of resupply and replenishment.20 A few Army officers, including some senior officers who accepted the need to adjust to new weapons technologies, pushed ahead with the consideration of changes and new proposals. Understanding the implications of new weapons technologies required recognizing the new capabilities as different from current capabilities and then designing or devising appropriate organizations, doctrine, and training to adapt. This difficult task was complicated by other problems Army leadership faced, including the absence of enabling technologies, such as field telephones and radios, that would later make loose order formations practical; manpower and resource constraints; the preoccupation with unconventional warfare against Indians; and daily mundane activities to which soldiers had to attend. These other problems created tradeoffs, some unrecognized at the time, in whether and how the Army could devise means to adjust to new weapons technologies.21 During the 1880s and 1890s, the soldier’s daily routine on the frontier consumed most of his time, so that there was little time for tactical study, field maneuvers, or even parade-ground drills. For those inclined to tactical study, there were few available books or discussion forums. With little time or resources, how could military men study, think, and design solutions to future problems? The ongoing war against the Indians demanded the attention of the entire Army and further discouraged officers from thinking about future wars against unknown or unlikely adversaries. With hindsight, Jamieson notes, historians identified the massacre at Wounded Knee as the closing event of the Indian wars, “but contemporary army officers did not see it that way at all. They did not see Wounded

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Knee to be . . . a final, decisive end to a well-defined war. They understood the Indian wars as a long-running, open-ended conflict, without a clearly marked beginning or end.”22 Finally, although some general officers wanted to hold large field exercises, the small size of the Army and limited budgets militated against gathering a sufficient number of soldiers together for drill and examination of tactics. Commanding General John Schofield opposed field exercises because he did not have the money to hold them.23 The need to create knowledge to define and answer questions about force structure, tactics, and organization was recognized by some influential people, although the way exercises were conceived and evaluated limited their usefulness. Lt. Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman, commanding general of the Army after the Civil War, recognized the need for serious study of military problems. In a letter to Francis V. Greene, an officer who had observed and written a lengthy report on the Russo-Turkish War,24 Sherman stated: Modern war calls for a larger measure of intelligence on the part of the individual officer and soldier than it did twenty years ago. . . . Tactical changes are forced on us, . . . thus necessitating more study and preparation on the part of the professional soldier, than in former times.25

By the 1890s, the Army was following Sherman’s recommendation to give more time to practical field exercises and maneuvers instead of classroom studies of tactical theory and parade-ground drills. Army stations all over the country conducted tactical exercises. These field exercises, as Jamieson notes, Were sometimes conducted as part of a post’s inspection: the visiting inspectors described to the battalion or troop commanders a theoretical situation, such as an enemy advance against their station, and the officers deployed and maneuvered their men to meet this imaginary contingency. These exercises tested the ability of commanders to solve practical tactical problems and their soldiers to operate in the field.26

The exercises conducted during the 1880s and 1890s emphasized realistic target practice and skirmish formations to examine the individual skills and initiative of both officers and enlisted men. But, even when they did try to conduct realistic field exercises, the results were of little advantage in deciding difficult and complex tactical questions, because those managing the exercises gave little thought to organizing them—that is, to stating clearly what combat outcomes they expected so that deviations from expectations could be analyzed—or to integrating small-scale exercises into larger ones. New techniques or new technology that might have been developed further were lost for a time. For example, in 1882, an observer at an Artillery school field exercise saw gunners create new techniques and use new technology, including a field telephone. These techniques and technology would not be fully developed and capable of widespread deployment for several more decades.27

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Military leaders were bombarded by the sometimes useful, but more often useless, proposals and weapons, gadgets, and machinery of nineteenth-century inventors. Moreover, in any exercise, it was unclear what actions constituted evidence of a successful attack or defense. Exercise referees faced a difficult tradeoff between continuing an exercise uninterrupted so as to enhance its realism, or to disrupt the realism by stopping the exercise so that men and officers could learn by evaluating the positions of their units. This dilemma was neither simple nor easily solvable, but senior leadership also did not make it a topic of constant review and study. One colonel studied umpiring in the American and European armies, but failed to develop a satisfactory system, and no continuing studies were commissioned. Together, these conditions made it next to impossible to derive useful answers to pressing tactical questions. For example, in criticizing the 1891 Leavenworth manuals, some officers worried about the difficulty of controlling troops in combat due to the physical distance between leaders in loose-order formations. But it seems that no maneuvers were proposed to examine and test this question about command and control of loose-order formations. As a result, in the 1890s, some officers continued to resist loose-order formations.28 Such resistance is not surprising, as army leadership did not make it a priority to establish evidentiary standards and a fund of knowledge that related means to ends and tactics to outcomes, so that progress could be made in exercises to answer such questions. Congress did not structure the War Department to create such knowledge, and senior Army leadership did not emphasize the importance of creating and accumulating tactical and operational knowledge in testimony before Congress year in and year out.29 The organization of the nineteenth-century War Department and the Army’s management style allowed only limited trial-and-error learning about potential battlefield situations faced by the Army. For example, the technology represented by the Gatling and other machine guns outran tactical theory. By the 1890s, Army officers still had not resolved the questions that the introduction of these weapons had raised during the 1860s and 1870s. Officers asked good questions: should rapid-firing guns be considered as artillery pieces or as a new type of ordnance? How did rapid-firing guns fit into the Army’s organization? What tactics should govern their use? But there were no easy answers to these questions, and answers were provided only on the self-initiative of bright individual soldiers.30 In the 1870s and 1880s, Maj. Edward B. Williston tried as hard as any single officer to resolve uncertainties about the machine gun’s role and organization. His battery systematically tested a variety of rapid-firing weapons and tactics for them—these were the only such experiments conducted before the early 1900s. Convinced that machine guns were uniquely valuable, in 1886, Williston advocated that they be organized into a separate service. After this proposal was rejected, Williston urged that, at the very least, the infantry-versus-artillery question be resolved by assigning the quick-firing arms to the artillery. But the Army itself was not organized to do on a wide-scale what Williston did on his own; that is, to organize to learn.31 As a consequence, there was a good deal of disagreement not

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only about tactics, but about the potential operational capability of new weapons, and the need to devote resources to the design of maneuvers and training. In effect, there were no independent standards of proof and no organizational means to enhance the potential to learn regardless of the heroic efforts of individuals. Without a systematic program to develop knowledge about new weapons and tactics, the tradeoffs revealed during actual operational use stymied any thoughts about doing new things with new weapons. Officers were reluctant to use Gatling guns because experience against the Indians showed the difficulty of moving Gatling guns over rough terrain, a significant drawback in mobile warfare against Indians.32

THE NAVY AND THE WAMPANOAG Like the Army, the Navy had individuals who conducted significant research on various technologies that enabled future progress. In the words of historian Frederick S. Harrod, “much of the work involved was unsystematic, and the lines between amateur tinkerer and scientific researcher were frequently not well defined.”33 The fate of the warship Wampanoag illustrates how the Navy featured the same defect in organizational learning and knowledge accumulation as the post-Civil War Army. The Wampanoag story took place amid deep reductions in the size and budget of the Navy, intense competition over promotion and career advancement, and passionate debate over the status of line versus staff officers. During the Civil War, commerce raiding by CSS Alabama and CSS Florida, both built in British navy yards, seriously degraded U.S.-British relations.34 To respond to this situation, Congress authorized the construction of a new class of screw frigate warships—to be the fastest in the world—for commerce destruction. This class of frigates would be used to attack British ports and commercial vessels during war. The Wampanoag, the lead ship in this new class of frigates, was laid down in 1863.35 It was not ready for sea trials until 1868 because most naval construction had stopped with the end of the Civil War. Benjamin Franklin Isherwood, chief of the Bureau of Steam Engineering, designed the propulsion plant and specified the hull configuration, while Naval Constructor John Lenthall, chief of the Bureau of Construction and Repair—with advice from clipper-ship architect B. F. Delano—was responsible for the overall design.36 As specified by Congress, Isherwood’s design placed great emphasis on attaining maximum speed.37 The design, however, had some drawbacks. Convened in 1868, a board of line officers led by Rear Adm. Louis M. Goldsborough (one of the most respected line officers in the Navy) was very critical of the Wampanoag.38 Chief among the board’s complaints was the limited capacity for storing coal, water, ammunition, and supplies in the underwater portion of the hull, as the hull was narrow. The crew’s accommodations also were confined because more than 25 percent of the ship’s coal had to be stored on the berthing deck. The engineering spaces were vulnerable to battle damage. The ship’s sails were small, and poorly

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proportioned and distributed. Finally, there were some complaints about heavy rolling of the vessel in a seaway due to the location of the ship’s center of gravity and the slimness of the hull.39 Yet, the Wampanoag’s speed also offered significant operational and tactical advantages over existing warships, and, especially, merchant vessels. Commissioned on September 17, 1867, the Wampanoag was ordered to sea for her steam trials in February 1868. The report of the trial trip submitted by Capt. J. W. A. Nicholson to Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles concluded that the Wampanoag was “faultless in her model, and, as a steamship, the fastest in the world.” Captain Nicholson also noted the Wampanoag’s various performance shortfalls, but added that improvements could be made easily.40 The Board of Engineers, consisting of T. Zeller, J. S. Albert, and J. H. Long, noted that the ship averaged more than 16.7 knots over 37.5 consecutive hours of maximum speed, and into a mid-winter gale. The engineers concluded that the Wampanoag’s maximum performance could be maintained easily during a passage across the Atlantic Ocean “and we are of the opinion that it is not equaled for speed or economy by that of any sea-going vessel of either the merchant or naval service of any country.”41 Heavily armed with three 5.3-inch Parrott rifled cast-iron guns, two 24-pound howitzers, and other guns, the speedy Wampanoag class of frigate could have very quickly altered the balance of power at sea. To fully appreciate the Wampanoag’s performance in her sea trials, we must refer to steamship performance of the time. The fastest commercial ocean steamers were the City of Paris (of the Inman line) and the Ville de Paris (of the French line). Each made the westward trip across the Atlantic at an average speed of 14.5 knots. The fastest British navy steamers, the Warrior and the Black Prince, were classified as 14-knot steamers. This determination, however, was the result of a speed trial over a measured mile, rather than over a period of several days and varying weather and sea conditions. Although speed was a primary factor in commercial steamship design, the Wampanoag’s performance was only matched eleven years later, in 1879, by the steamer Arizona, and by the British warships Iris and Mercury. Twenty-one years after the Wampanoag’s sea trials, another American ship—the Charleston—finally matched the Wampanoag’s sustained speed.42 Yet, despite her performance in sea trials, the Wampanoag decommissioned on May 5, 1868. Renamed the Florida on May 15, 1869, she was laid up until 1874 when she became a receiving and store ship at New London, Connecticut. In 1885, the Florida was sold.43 Noted military historian Elting E. Morison argues that the Wampanoag was a tremendous intellectual achievement by its designer, naval engineer Benjamin Franklin Isherwood. The ship type also offered tremendous strategic advantage to the U.S. Navy. Morison writes: Isherwood took a single element, the marine steam engine, which in its primitive condition was surrounded by ignorance. By his work he moved far beyond the existing state of the art. This in itself was a considerable achievement, but he went beyond that.

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military transformation past and present He thought of the effect of this single element upon all the other connected elements. Because he did so he went on to develop novel ways to transfer the power available in the engines and then proceeded to act with success in a related field not strictly his, ship design. He then went even further in his calculations. Proceeding from his concept of the fast, heavily gunned vessel that could keep the sea for long periods, he reached the conclusion that such ships if built in large number would alter the contemporary ideas of naval warfare. Rejecting the existing doctrine of harbor defense, blockade, and independent actions, he produced the concept of total command of the sea by the actions of fleets of ships in remote waters. He argued this proposition with force and clarity thirty years before it occurred to Alfred Thayer Mahan at a time when Mahan had all the material elements at hand to force him into making such a generalization.44

It is clear that the Wampanoag was a remarkable ship for her time, and her fate begs the question: why did the Navy reject her? The conclusion of the Civil War ended the potential need to attack British ports and commercial vessels—and the removal of this mission meant that steam propulsion was no longer necessary to the Navy. Senior naval officers wished to return to pre-Civil War duties and missions. Morison believes that line officers rejected the Wampanoag because its adoption would irrevocably change the age-old way of life at sea under sail—including the status of line officers. In From Sail to Steam, Alfred Thayer Mahan recounts a conversation that illustrates Morison’s point about Navy officers’ resistance to changing their way of life at sea. I was told by Mr. Charles King, when President of Columbia College, that he had been present in company with [Admiral Stephen] Decatur at one of the early experiments in steam navigation. Crude as the appliances still were, demonstration was conclusive; and Decatur, whatever his prejudices, was open to conviction. “Yes,” he said gloomily, to King, “it is the end of our business; hereafter any man who can boil a tea-kettle will be as good as the best of us.”45

Historian Lance C. Buhl argues that Morison’s explanation is too narrow. The line officers’ rejection of steam engines extended to engineers as well, and was animated by conflict over status, authority, and organizational power,46 which explains the highly emotionally charged rhetoric and animosity toward Isherwood.47 Indeed, the debates and arguments about the operational capability of the Wampanoag were excessively ad hominem.48 However insightful, Buhl and Morison view the actions and proceedings surrounding the Wampanoag only from the perspective of the problems and interests faced by particular individuals. Historian Paul A. C. Koistinen adds that during this period, the United States faced no major overseas security threats and Congress was far more interested in developing the underdeveloped West and maximizing trade with Europe and other parts of the world. These goals required only a small Navy, and Congress repeatedly rejected individuals’ appeals to build a larger, more advanced Navy adequate for war in Europe or to acquire colonies in the Caribbean and the Pacific.49

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These arguments beg the question of what evidence—at what levels of analysis—is appropriate to determine how knowledge and analysis affected decision making in the Navy and Congress. Absent from these historical analyses is an appreciation of how relevant Navy organizations did not interact to produce evidence and incentives to learn and accumulate knowledge. If Navy organizations had interacted in a way that produced and accumulated knowledge, it is still possible that a fleet of Wampanoags would not have been built and deployed. As Navy Captain Jan M. van Tol correctly observes, deploying a fleet of Wampanoags would have posed major operational and logistical challenges, including the cost of establishing and maintaining overseas coaling stations.50 Nevertheless, the absence of interacting Navy organizations prevented such issues from being raised, discussed, and debated, and thereby obviated choice.

COMPARING THE ARMY AND NAVY In summary, the lack of substantial intellectual effort devoted to organizing to learn created a significant design problem for senior army and naval officers of the post-Civil War era. They might recognize one or more problems due to new weapons technologies, but had no basis on which to judge if the effects of those problems were really serious. Neither senior army nor naval leaders had the organizational means to figure out how to respond to new conditions or rapid changes, how to create and evaluate evidence, or determine what evidence would justify policy changes. Senior army officers did not examine exercise results from the standpoint of building evidence to support or reject new operational concepts. In the Navy, senior leaders sponsored single-ship exercises, trials, and experiments. These efforts, conducted in relative isolation from each other, did not stimulate senior leaders to recognize the opportunities for greater combat effectiveness that new technologies (e.g., steam propulsion) would engender and failed to use exercises to improve or explore future operational concepts. Before the Navy’s 1873 maneuvers off Key West, at-sea multiship exercises had little impact on institutional and technological innovation. During this period, naval personnel in Washington advanced innovations designed by Navy’s technical bureau and private sector inventors. Multiship at-sea maneuvers began in the 1880s when Rear Adm. Stephen Luce and the North Atlantic Squadron conducted a few threat-based maneuvers off the U.S. east coast. These maneuvers provided the model for Navy fleet exercises over the next fifty years.51 There was no lack of smart senior leaders, but these leaders did not understand what sorts of organizations and interorganizational relationships would foster learning. Generals Sherman and Sheridan clearly understood that the future would differ significantly from the past. Those civilians and officers having the intellect to develop probing questions and to provide appropriate answers were hobbled by the absence of organizational means to make smarter decisions. In succeeding years, no organization, or arrangement among organizations, would be designed by senior

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Army and civilian leaders—and presented to Congress—to create knowledge relating military means to military ends. Like the Army, no organization, or arrangement among organizations, would be designed by senior Navy and civilian leaders—and presented to Congress—to create knowledge relating military means to military and foreign policy ends. Yet, as the nineteenth century progressed, the Navy began to improve its ability to learn. At least three different naval organizations were established between 1873 and 1900 that provided the organizational infrastructure for a multiorganizational system. In 1873, the Naval Institute—a private organization dedicated to naval and maritime issues—was founded at the Naval Academy in Annapolis. There is no organization like the Naval Institute in any of the other armed services. The zeal with which the institute guards its editorial independence has varied over the years, but it remains a forum to discuss ways and means to improve the Navy. In 1884, Rear Adm. Stephen B. Luce founded the Naval War College—the first war college in the United States and the first military service institution in the world to be designated a war college. And, on March 13, 1900, in General Order No. 544, Navy Secretary John D. Long established the General Board, “the most important of all Navy Department boards during the first half of the twentieth century.”52 The General Board was given no administrative or executive responsibilities, nor did it have command authority over other Navy Department components. In addition, the board had no special relationship with the president. Its purpose was simple: to provide the secretary of the Navy advice on war plans, naval bases, ship building policy, and other questions. In accomplishing these tasks, in a harbinger of its role in doctrinal evolution and technology development, it coordinated the work of the Naval War College and the Office of Naval Intelligence.53 The first leader of the General Board was Adm. George Dewey, the most distinguished naval officer of his time. After Admiral Dewey’s death in 1917, it became policy to detail only very senior officers as chairman of the General Board, “often the one who had just relinquished command of the Fleet and was on his last tour of duty before retiring.” Most of the other board positions were filled by senior officers who had occupied high command positions in the Fleet and would reach retirement in a few years. Such officers were “energetic” and independent thinkers.54 With the creation of the General Board, the necessary parts of a Navy multiorganizational system could begin to interact on discrete problems, and create incentives to produce and use analysis and knowledge to define and answer questions about naval technologies and combat. Chapter 3 will look in detail at the role of such multiorganizational systems in how the army and naval aviation communities addressed new technologies.

SUMMARY OF KEY POINTS 1. Congress’s reorganization of the post-Civil War Army made it difficult for Army leaders to conceive of the need for institutionalized experimentation, testing, and analysis.

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2. The demobilization of the post-Civil War Navy made it difficult for Navy leaders to conceive of the need for institutionalized experimentation, testing, and analysis. 3. Congress did not structure the Navy and War departments to create tactical and operational knowledge, and senior Army and Navy leaders did not emphasize the importance of creating and accumulating knowledge in testimony before Congress. 4. As the nineteenth century progressed, three different organizations were established—the Naval Institute, the Naval War College, and the General Board—that provided the organizational infrastructure for a multiorganizational system.

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3

The Future of Military Aviation between the Wars: The Army and Navy Take Different Paths

The present [September 1941] maneuvers are the closest peacetime approximation to actual fighting conditions that has ever been undertaken in this country. But what is of the greatest importance, the mistakes and failures will not imperil the nation or cost the lives of men. In the past we have jeopardized our future, penalized our leaders and sacrificed our men by training untrained troops on the battlefield. —Gen. George C. Marshall1

INTRODUCTION Writing in 1962, Bernard and Fawn Brodie observe that the “choice of strategies and of weapons systems is not only more difficult than it has ever been before, but also involves questions that are deeply and essentially baffling.”2 Expanding on that idea in From Crossbow to H-Bomb, they surveyed the role of knowledge and analysis in combat and in preparation for combat—through the design and production of weapons and the invention of operational concepts. Their conclusion is hardly surprising: “the military problem [of choosing new weapons systems or inventing new operational concepts] is, even in its stark outlines, not only beyond the competence of any one person or group of persons but beyond the competence of any one profession.”3 The implications of this conclusion are profound; they lead serious observers to ponder how (1) Department of Defense (DoD) senior leaders manage their attention to issues and problems, (2) the DoD is organized to identify and integrate disparate domains of knowledge when making decisions about new weapons or operational concepts, and (3) the DoD may improve interaction among professions, offices, and persons.

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It is never easy to devise an effective set of organizational arrangements, procedures, and processes dedicated to learning how to do new things. The obstacles to learning encountered by the U.S. Joint Forces Command (US JFCOM) offer a case in point. Goal displacement—the substitution of intermediate goals for the ultimate goal—has dominated the way the US JFCOM conducts its program of military experimentation. In this program, the important measure of organizational performance is the “outputs”—the scheduling of large numbers of tightly programmed experiments each year. The tight scheduling of experimental events means that there is inadequate time between each event to apply what is learned from a previous experiment to the next. Lost in this frenetic scheduled activity is the time to think, analyze results, explore concepts, and exploit serendipity; consequently, each event has little value as an aid or stimulus to learning, and the entire program does not allow for the necessary accumulation of knowledge.4 Adm. Edmund P. Giambastiani, Jr., formerly commander of US JFCOM and currently vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), did not change the practice of conducting experiments in this mechanistic manner.5 An August 2006 self-evaluation by US JFCOM’s experimentation directorate admits attenuated relationships between ends and means and structures and processes, and ineffective strategic planning. Employees complain about goal displacement and a lack of understanding of their leaders’ organizational priorities.6 The late Capt. Edward L. Beach, naval historian and commanding officer of the USS Nautilus, the first nuclear-powered submarine, described a similar situation in the pre-World War II Navy. Beach showed how training was undermined through goal displacement, wherein the original goal of improving combat effectiveness was supplanted by the instrumental means—training and competition in training—so that the original relationship between training and combat effectiveness vanished. Writing of the pre-World War II training, Beach observed: Training was the shibboleth to which we all subscribed. Along the line, competition between ships and units had been instituted as a means to improve training, and by 1941, winning was more important than anything else. Upon it hung prizes and promotion—not to mention that indefinable “ship’s spirit” that denied the impossible. Many were the stratagems devised to improve one’s score, including demonstrations that unsatisfactory equipment could be used despite failure by others. Thus, machine guns that rusted in minutes on exposure to sea air, and hence were of no value whatever to naval warfare, were overhauled just before practice firings and afterward repacked in heavy grease—making them unusable—until cleaned and overhauled for the next practice. Undependable diesels were maintained by working engine-room crews day and night, sometimes until they dropped in warm corners for a few moments of sleep, all in the name of making a poorly designed engine room perform so that the ship would not “get a bad name.” Similarly, depth-charge attacks were graded on the excellence of the charts prepared afterward, in which a perfect score was achieved if all the little circles depicting “lethal radius” touched each other: that is, the submarine could not pass between them, ergo it must have been “sunk.” Such results required only a little skill with a

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military transformation past and present drawing pen. Similarly, ship engineers routinely squirreled away extra fuel in their tanks during noncompetitive periods, so that during engineering competition it could be doled out as necessary to indicate less fuel used than was the case, and thus show operational economy for the judging period. One battleship won the engineering “E” (for Excellence) by cutting off virtually all internal heat, lights, and power, and drastically reducing fresh-water consumption, becoming practically uninhabitable in the process. A gunnery “E” was once awarded because the ship was given a slight list, by judicious use of fuel, exactly equal to the precalculated elevation required of the guns, which could therefore be fired at a faster rate. Performance was the criterion by which careers rose and fell; practice always had to be successful, regardless of what was tested. Torpedo readiness tests, for example, were always preceded by a thorough overhaul of the torpedo to be fired, regardless of whether such a test accurately represented probable wartime conditions. In extreme cases, actual “gundecking” took place (a “gundecked” report was composed on the gundeck and sometimes bore little relation to the real task and data involved). Those who raised voices against such practices (and there were many) were usually put down as being too lazy to engage in real competition. The payoff was in results, regardless of usefulness or applicability to improved efficiency, and the fervor was analogous to the hysteria over college football.7

This chapter will examine the problem of experimentation and learning at senior levels of the Army and Navy. It will explore this problem by contrasting the Navy’s and the Army Air Corps’s aviation communities between World War I and World War II. The Army and naval aviation communities both faced constrained budgets and immature technology. Aviation technology would remain immature for decades. During the interwar period, good aircraft designs were mainly the product of fortuitous and time-consuming trial-and-error research. In the Wright brothers’ lecture delivered in December 1946, famed aerodynamicist Theodore von K´arm´an observed that the field of aerodynamics was still a collection of “mathematical and half-digested, isolated, experimental results.”8 The National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA) was established in 1915 and a few years passed before systematic experimental research into propellers, wing shapes, and airfoils would begin to accumulate.9 Hence, senior officers evaluating the claims, predictions, and hopes of aviation enthusiasts could only know that they did not have the knowledge to make decisions about military aviation. It also was not clear when sufficient knowledge to justify choice would be available. The different organizational means the Army and Navy aviation communities used to deal with their uncertainties is the critical factor in judging their respective operational and technological progress.

THE INTRODUCTION OF CARRIER-BASED AVIATION INTO THE NAVY In an unplanned way, the Navy organized itself to make smart choices about uncertain aviation technologies and operational concepts for carrier-based

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aviation.10 The story begins in the years before World War I, during a time when there were strong opinions but few facts about the use of military aviation at sea. In 1908, after Glenn Curtiss flew from Albany to New York City (in 170 minutes) to claim the New York World’s $10,000 prize, the World’s editors claimed: “The battles of the future will be fought in the air! The aeroplane will decide the destiny of nations.”11 A Scientific American editorial in 1910 stated that “to affirm that the aeroplane is going to ‘revolutionize’ naval warfare of the future is to be guilty of the wildest exaggeration.”12 Others predicted high promise. In 1913, Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske suggested the use of airplanes as “the simplest, cheapest and most readily available means of defending certain of our island possessions against invasion or capture by a foreign power.”13 Although the Wright brothers were the first to demonstrate heavier-thanair-powered flight controlled by an onboard pilot, the United States quickly fell behind the Europeans in experimenting with the new technology.14 By 1914, the technical performance of European aircraft exceeded that of U.S. aircraft, with U.S. development stymied, in part, by litigation between the Glenn Curtiss and Wright companies over patents.15 Once World War I combat began, the higher performance of European airplanes allowed them to do some interesting things, including reconnaissance, dropping torpedoes against anchored ships, aerial artillery spotting, and close air support during the Somme offensive in 1916.16 Great Britain pioneered the use of naval aviation during World War I. Toward the end of the war it designed and built the world’s first aircraft carrier, Furious.17 The aircraft launched from British carriers attacked land targets and engaged in scouting and reconnaissance. U.S. Navy officers worked closely with their British counterparts during the war, and emerged from the war convinced that aircraft would be effective weapons.18

Post-World War I Organizational Interaction Over the course of fewer than ten years, a set of relationships—a multiorganizational system19 —grew up in the Navy encompassing the Fleet, the Bureau of Aeronautics, the Naval War College (NWC), and the General Board.20 This multiorganizational system identified and corrected errors in the development of new technologies and creation of new operational concepts. How this multiorganizational system developed its critical role in the introduction of carrier-based aviation into the Navy is central to the differences between the Navy and Army aviation communities. By 1919, aviation questions had become a matter of public concern. The Navy’s General Board recommended to Navy Secretary Josephus Daniels that he propose to President Woodrow Wilson and the Congress a program to construct aircraft carriers and develop effective aircraft. The following year, cumulative experience and aerodynamic research had created the necessary background for new arguments about the role of aircraft and its status with respect to established

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weapons platforms. The institutional Navy broadly concurred that changes in doctrine and procurement were necessary. The General Board stated in its annual report (dated September 24, 1920) that aircraft carriers “should be considered as an absolutely essential type in a modern fleet. For the United States Navy they are urgently needed.”21 The debate over whether aircraft would drive the battleship from the sea and replace it as the Navy’s main offensive weapon was initiated by the chief U.S. advocate of air power, Army Brig. Gen. William “Billy” Mitchell.22 On December 5, 1919, he appeared before Representative Fiorello La Guardia’s (RNY) congressional committee on aviation and argued that an air force alone could prevent hostile invasion, and an air force alone would soon be superior to a navy for national defense.23 Nevertheless, informed opinion doubted the ability of aircraft, at the existing state of technology, to alter immediately and profoundly the conduct of warfare.24 La Guardia (who took a leave from Congress to serve in the Aviation Corps during World War I) noted the extremes of the debate: There was a tendency “on the part of some members of the House to pooh-pooh the airplane and regard it as a mere experiment or a toy. There was also a tendency on the part of others to regard it as a miracle weapon that would win the war. I argued against both attitudes.”25 Meanwhile, senior Navy officers Rear Adm. William F. Fullam and Rear Adm. William S. Sims wrote newspaper and magazine articles (e.g., in the New York Tribune and Sea Power) and testified before Congress about the promise of air power. Rear Admiral Sims’s January 1920 charges that the Navy had been unprepared for war by 1917 stimulated the Senate Committee on Naval Affairs to hold hearings. The hearings substantiated Sims’s opinions while increasing the size of the public audience for discussion about military aviation policy. Articles about naval aviation began to be published in major national and regional newspapers. Behind the scenes, senior naval officers became convinced that naval aviation merited its own bureau. In 1919, Navy Secretary Daniels and CNO Adm. William S. Benson had opposed the creation of a Bureau of Aeronautics. The bureau chiefs and then-director of Naval Aviation, Capt. T. T. Craven, supported that decision. Mitchell’s public attacks on naval aviation changed their views.26 In mid-October 1920, the Navy began a series of bombing tests, including bombing against an obsolete and anchored battleship. Although these tests were conducted secretly, photographs showing ship bomb damage were smuggled to the London Illustrated News and published in December 1920—shortly before scheduled House hearings on future Army and Navy appropriations. These photographs also were published by major American newspapers amid cries for a thorough discussion of naval aviation. When he testified before the House Appropriations Committee, Mitchell seized the opportunity presented by the press frenzy over the ship bomb damage photographs to belittle naval aviation. Mitchell argued for a unified air service and claimed that airplanes would sink warships. The challenges posed by air power advocates led Senator William Edgar Borah (R-Idaho), on January 25, 1921, to demand an investigation of what

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constituted a “modern fighting navy” including analysis of the value of the battleship construction program.27 In the meantime, on January 22, 1921, Navy Secretary Josephus Daniels asked the Navy’s General Board to report on which type of ship should be the future mainstay of the Navy.28 On February 2, 1921, the General Board reported that “From the ancient galley period to the present time . . . the strength of navies has always been based upon the number and power of its ships of the fighting line; that is, of its battleships.”29 The General Board also noted that several seemingly critical challenges to the battleship had been met successfully. In the 1880s, cheap torpedoes were touted as the weapon capable of making the battleship obsolete. This threat, however, was answered by increased underwater protection, larger defense batteries, and larger, faster, more effective destroyers. In World War I, submarines were declared to be the main threat. This threat, again, was answered by the use of destroyers and other fast ships armed with depth charges and listening devices.30 The Board predicted that “future employment of aircraft in connection with naval operations will introduce new problems of attack and defense of far-reaching importance. They will become increasingly valuable adjuncts to the fleet . . . [Yet, at the present time] the defense of surface ships against aircraft attack, whether by bombs or torpedoes, seems fairly well solved.”31 The proponents of submarines and aircraft, stated the Board, ask the Navy “to accept hopes for accomplishment . . . It would be the height of unwisdom for any nation possessing sea power to pin its faith and change its practice upon mere theories as to the future development of new and untried weapons.”32 In other words, the General Board argued that the evidence for the claims of aircraft proponents was simply insufficient and inadequate. The Board cited a report with conclusions parallel to its own submitted by the British First Lord of the Admiralty to Parliament.33 Senior Navy officers supported the Board’s conclusions. For example, Adm. Henry Mayo (the World War I commander of the Atlantic and European Fleets), Adm. Charles B. McVay (chief of the Bureau of Ordnance), and Adm. David W. Taylor (chief of Bureau of Construction and Repair) gave public speeches, published articles, and presented Congressional testimony in support of the General Board’s views and arguments. Foreign navy officers, including British Admiral John Rushworth Jellicoe, French Admiral Lucien Lacaze, and German Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, joined the fray and wrote in favor of battleships.34 Navy Secretary Daniels also argued against the views of air power advocates and vigorously criticized Billy Mitchell’s attempts to qualify himself as a “naval expert.”35 In February 1921, air power advocates received support from three important officers: Rear Adm. William F. Fullam, Rear Adm. William S. Sims, president of the NWC, and Rear Adm. Bradley A. Fiske.36 Fiske believed aviation “was destined to bring a revolution in warfare in comparison to which the revolution brought about by the invention of the gun was like a vaudeville performance.”37 In testimony before the Senate Committee on Naval Affairs, Rear Adm. Fullam argued “the Navy Department utterly neglects the future. It does not have a single

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long-range submarine fit to operate with the fleet. Without an air force our navy cannot exist against a navy with one.”38 At the National Republican Club, Sims added a description of a battle between two fleets, one of sixteen battleships and four aircraft carriers and the other of twenty carriers, each with an equal complement of auxiliary ships: The airplanes of the battleship fleet would be swept out of the air. The only defense the battleship fleet would have then, as it would be unable to close with the swifter airplane carriers, would be through anti-aircraft guns. I have had some knowledge of gunnery, and accurate gunnery is possible only when the target is in the same plane. The percentage of hits by anti-aircraft guns on the western front during the war was less than one out of a thousand.

Sims concluded: I told Chairman [Thomas Stalker] Butler [R-Pennsylvania] of the House Committee on Naval Affairs that the only thing he and his colleagues could do in deciding upon the building program was to accept the preponderance of the evidence; that they would probably decide wrong, and that, as usual, the United States would continue to suck hind teat in naval construction.39

The press evaluated Mitchell’s charges about the advantages of air power favorably and argued he should be given an opportunity to test his claims.40 On February 1, CNO Adm. Robert E. Coontz and Adm. David W. Taylor told the House Committee on Naval Affairs that the vulnerability of the battleship to aircraft had been tested thoroughly, and there was no need to test it further. Within a week, senior Navy officials reversed that view.41 On February 7, Daniels wrote to Secretary of War Newton D. Baker that the Navy was contemplating conducting bombing tests on naval vessels to simulate aerial warfare, and suggested the experiments be conducted jointly with the army. Baker accepted the offer and the Joint Army and Navy Board42 was asked to study the problem and make recommendations. On February 28, 1921, the Joint Army and Navy Board approved the program of tests to be conducted between June 1 and July 15 and recommended experimental goals and targets.43 In advance of the experiment to demonstrate the feasibility of air attack of battleships, Secretary Daniels declared that he would “stand bareheaded on the deck of a battleship and let Brig. Gen. Mitchell . . . take a crack at him with a bombing airplane.”44 Targets for the tests included two obsolete U.S. battleships, Iowa and Kentucky, the German battleship Ostfriesland, cruiser Frankfurt, three destroyers, and four submarines. The German ships were to be attacked by aircraft first, and then if still afloat, by a division of destroyers at 5,000-yards range. The most spectacular attack was planned against the Ostfriesland by aircraft dropping 550- and 1,000-pound bombs. Admiral Coontz detailed the purposes of the tests, as follows:

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1. The ability of aircraft to locate vessels operating in the coastal zone and to concentrate on such vessels sufficient bombing airplanes to make an effective attack. 2. The probability of hitting with bombs from airplanes a vessel under way and capable of maneuvering, but incapable of anti-aircraft defense. 3. The damage to vessels of comparatively recent design resulting from hits from bombs of various types and weights.45 The intervening months before the tests were filled with bureaucratic maneuvering and wild claims. Army aviators were so sure of their ability to defeat surface vessels that they suggested the fleet be allowed to fire back at the planes with antiaircraft guns. In other words, the aviators lobbied to increase the realism of the tests. The test results were ambiguous to military professionals. On the one hand, the tests proved that aircraft could sink unarmored submarines, destroyers, and cruisers. The sinking of the captured German battleship Ostfriesland showed that battleships could be sunk by aerial bombardment. The sinking made front page news. On the other hand, there were mitigating factors: weather was ideal and targets were stationary, the attacking aircraft were not themselves under attack, and the Ostfriesland, an old battleship, did not have modern compartmentation, armor, and pumping systems. The many differences between battle and test conditions rendered the inference invalid that battleships had become obsolete.46 Battleship proponents minimized the air power (and submarine) threat by presenting the battleship as an evolving weapon system.47 In September 1921, the bombs landing on the USS Alabama during bombing tests added new arguments. Officers observing these tests argued that aircraft were the best defense against air attack, and that aircraft carriers were absolutely necessary. Air power proponents became ever more convinced of their own views. The lack of test realism did not give them pause. Instead, air power advocates aroused the press and public to discuss the issue of air power. Journals printing articles on the debate included: Aviation, Aeronautical Digest, Aerial Age, U.S. Air Service, Scientific American, Army and Navy Journal, United States Naval Institute Proceedings, Sea Power, Outlook, Review of Reviews, Literary Digest, and World’s Work. Air power advocates attracted arms controllers and proponents of economy in naval expenditures, who believed that air power promised much cheaper national defense.48 Partly in response to the public posturing over air power, senior Navy leaders decided to shift the navy aviation program from under the Director of Aviation within the office of the Chief of Naval Operations to a separate bureau. The Bureau of Aeronautics was authorized by Congress in 1921.49 In the meantime, in 1919, Rear Admiral Sims, president of the NWC, had initiated a program of tactical and strategic games and simulations at the NWC that addressed the potential of naval aviation. He also demanded that wargame rules for the use of aircraft be realistic. That is, he used real data culled from fleet

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exercises to write wargame rules. NWC faculty corresponded regularly with fleet naval aviators to become aware of “lessons” from experience that could be used to refine the games. By 1922, Rear Admiral Sims had instituted a process whereby the potential of naval aviation deployed with the fleet could be established systematically and rigorously through tactical and strategic simulations at the NWC. These simulations addressed various issues concerning the effective employment of aviation, including how aviation should be based and supported and how aviation might be used—given anticipated technological developments. Rear Admiral William A. Moffett at the Bureau of Aeronautics paid close attention to fleet exercises and NWC wargames, and used that information to write proposals for higher performance aircraft. He also provided to the NWC wargamers estimates of future aircraft performance. The wargamers used these estimates in simulations and wargames to examine potential future military operations. The inferences drawn from NWC wargames, influenced by Bureau of Aeronautics estimates of future aircraft performance, were provided to the Fleet to inform the operational issues examined in exercises at sea. The results of these exercises were used in later NWC wargames and by Bureau of Aeronautics officials to set new technical aircraft requirements.50 The Navy pursued this sort of interaction and rigorous analysis despite continued uncertainties and doubts about naval aviation. Speaking at a Kiwanis Club meeting in 1922, former assistant secretary of the Navy, Franklin D. Roosevelt, stated, “It is highly unlikely that an airplane or fleet of them could ever successfully sink a fleet of Navy vessels under battle conditions.”51 By 1923, the Navy had in place the multiorganizational analytic system of the General Board, the Fleet, the NWC, and the Bureau of Aeronautics. The General Board played an especially important role in the deliberations about the interplay of carrier design, aviation technology, and operational concepts. The General Board’s members asked demanding questions about tactics, operational concepts, and risks of developing new technologies. In effect, the concerns, deliberations, and questions posed by the General Board about aviation created informal rules of analysis and evidence. These informal rules of evidence were honed by the interaction of the General Board with the Fleet, the Bureau of Aeronautics, and the NWC. Senior officers constantly sought to gather information about matters they needed to decide, and this concern was passed along to other Navy organizations. Despite continued analysis and refinement of thinking about naval air power, naval aviation remained subordinate to the battleship throughout the 1920s and 1930s. The analysis conducted in 1924 by the General Board’s Special Policy Board played a key role in maintaining the position of the battleship.52 The Special Policy Board heard testimony that made it clear that proponents of battleships and air power saw limits in each other’s positions, but none in their own.53 The Board’s report was an internal Navy document that justified the retention of the battleship strategy for two reasons. First, civilian aviation experts projected technological limitations in aircraft performance. Second, those charged with advancing aviation

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had achieved their own prominence in the context of battleships, and saw aviation as supporting rather than challenging battleships. In essence, their conclusions derived from an incremental analysis of existing operations and doctrine. The new technology was examined in terms of value added to known and understood operational capability. There were no accepted analytic tools (e.g., a gedanken experiment or a test of a hypothesis that can be performed only in the mind) to permit an examination of technology, operations, and doctrine radically different from what members of the Special Policy Board knew and had experienced. Thus, a different employment of naval aviation was only a possibility if a rival naval power should pursue a very different aviation mission, such as offensive operations utilizing torpedo planes.54 Such an examination would be much more difficult to conceive (and carry out). It would involve analysis of implications and effects much more remote from those experienced by members of the Board. In 1925, the General Board issued a special report that supported the institutional and technological supremacy of the battleship and its partisans. The General Board defined the Navy’s technological needs in terms of two strategic missions: to gain, and then maintain control of disputed seas and sea communications. These missions involved fighting the adversary’s fleet, which required a mixture of ships, the most important of which was the battleship.55 The General Board recognized the aviation threat to battleships, but NACA and MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) civilian aeronautical experts did not foresee the rapid technological evolution of aircraft. Future improvements of aircraft were presented as more limited than those of the battleship, even in the context of naval arms treaty ceilings. For example, the General Board compared calculations of the expected numbers of hits delivered by battleships and aircraft in war based on the Washington Treaty limitations. This analysis favored battleships.56 The 1925 scheduled rotation of naval commands also had an important effect on the analysis and furtherance of the possibilities of naval aviation. Capt. (later Admiral) Joseph M. Reeves left the NWC (where he had been a leader in the conduct of wargames) and was appointed Commander of Aircraft Squadrons. He was given broad authority by the Battle Fleet CINC to experiment and test ideas about tactics and strategy. To that end, he used the experimental carrier, the Langley, to examine different ways to conduct operations. In the NWC wargames, Reeves learned that the greatest effect from a carrier’s aircraft was as a group. However, in operational trials, Langley’s take-off and recovery times were too slow to deliver the requisite pulse of aircraft and ordnance against opposing ships. Reeves drastically cut the take-off and recovery cycle and increased the number of aircraft that could be operated from fourteen to as many as forty-two.

The Naval Aviation Multiorganizational System Writing in 1949, Gen. Henry A. “Hap” Arnold observed that the 1925 Mitchell trial stimulated naval leaders to become “air-minded in a big way.”57

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Even with hindsight, Arnold simply did not understand how the interactions of officers (such as Reeves) representing the General Board, the Fleet, the NWC, and Bureau of Aeronautics determined organizational activities, including simulations, wargames, fleet problems, and new technology initiatives. The interplay of organizational units and activities created a multiorganizational system that effectively conducted systematic analysis of the potential of new aviation and related technologies and operational concepts. Unlike their Army Air Corps (AAC) counterparts who made strident assertions about the value of aviation without embarking on a program to develop knowledge about technology or operations, senior navy officers accepted the technological uncertainties of aviation. They did not try to mandate a decision to choose either battleships or aviation as an approved means to deliver ship-killing ordnance. Navy leaders, in particular the members of the General Board, recognized such a decision would be premature. It is worth reiterating that the creation and evolution of the multiorganizational naval aviation community was partly accidental. No naval leader decided that interaction among offices concerned with aviation would be an effective forum for learning. Yet, once the interaction among the General Board, the Fleet, NWC, and Bureau of Aeronautics began to direct analysis and testing, the relationships among these organizations strengthened. Furthermore, no naval leader thought to apply the aviation multiorganizational arrangement to other strictly naval problems, for example, the Bureau of Ordnance’s development of torpedoes. During the early years of World War II, torpedoes furnished by the Bureau of Ordnance suffered three types of failures: unreliable depth control, premature explosions, and loworder explosions. Contemporary observers noted that scarce funds limited realistic developmental testing. Yet, the lack of interaction among offices and personnel involved with torpedo development more readily explains both the absence of sufficient testing and the want of any demands for realistic testing. In a 1943 speech to the Torpedo Station at Newport, Rhode Island, chief of Bureau of Ordnance, Rear Adm. (later Adm.) William H. P. Blandy, remarked: Even with the relatively meager funds available in time of peace, much of the work now being done after more than a year and a half of war, could and should have been accomplished years ago. . . . That the work was not accomplished during peace or earlier during this war or, so far as the Bureau’s records disclose, that no one either in the Bureau or at Newport apparently questioned the inadequacy of the design without such tests, shows a lack of practical appreciation of the problems involved which is incompatible with the Bureau’s high standards, and reflects discredit upon both the Bureau of Ordnance and the Naval Torpedo Station. The Chief of the Bureau therefore directs that as a matter of permanent policy, no service torpedo device ever be adopted as standard until it has been tested under battle conditions simulating as nearly as possible those which will be encountered in battle.58

With hindsight, a remarkable feature of this interwar history is that the U.S. Navy embarked on a self-evaluating course of inquiry regarding aviation despite

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the risk that it could lead to significant reductions in budgetary commitments to battleships. Outside organizations, including Congress, made explicit the aircraft– battleship tradeoff. In modern times, some commentators have argued that only an outside agency (e.g., one committed to operational testing) can engage in the type of inquiry carried out within the Navy in the interwar period. The Navy’s interwar experience evaluating carrier aviation shows that when self-evaluation involves the interaction of separate offices, an outside agency may not be necessary to ensure that rigorous analysis is conducted on technological and operational possibilities. It also is important to emphasize that in the matter of carrier aviation, no single Navy office acting on its own could have pursued carrier development to the detriment of battleships. Naval civilian and military leaders faced rapidly changing technologies and uncertainty about the relationship between new technologies and operational concepts. Given this decision problem, the most effective strategy was to discover organizational goals through action rather than to announce “vision statements” or goals (say, in 1919 or 1921) and use these as the basis for an acquisition program. The interaction of the four organizations permitted the Navy, as a whole, to initiate and implement innovation in aviation technology and operations, despite doubts that persisted about carrier aviation until the onset of combat in 1941. The Navy’s aviation community addressed the problem of doctrine development, operational concepts, and acquisition of new technology quite differently from the Army Air Corps (AAC) and the Army Air Forces (AAF).

THE ARMY AIR CORPS: THE PRIMACY OF INDEPENDENCE FROM THE ARMY While there were Army airmen (such as then-Maj. Claire Chennault) who advocated attack aviation and proposed to experiment with new operational concepts (such as warning net stations and aerial reconnaissance) during the interwar period, majority opinion focused on long-range bombardment.59 Air doctrine formulated at the Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS) during the interwar period had four elements. First, bombing population centers can defeat an enemy. Second, the airplane is an offensive weapon. Third, military aviation should be centrally controlled by an airman who should be coequal with land and sea commanders. In operations with ground or sea forces, airmen should decide how air assets should be used. And fourth, the priorities for air attack should be to (1) establish air superiority over the war theater, (2) interdict movement of enemy troops and materiel, and (3) provide close support against enemy troops.60 The formulation and reiteration of these doctrinal principles were not subjected to vigorous debate, historical analysis, or field experiments. No conscious effort was made to develop or test propositions about the relationship between the feasibility of precision bombardment and bombing particular target sets on the one hand, and combat results and ultimate political outcomes on the other.61 For example, there was no vigorous intellectual debate or experimentation in the ACTS—or anywhere else in the AAC—about the contribution of then-existing

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aviation to ground combat, naval operations, or even long-range bombardment.62 Nor was there a perceived need to improve the realism of AAC maneuvers and tests, or to reexamine the results of previous maneuvers as aviation technology improved. Assumptions built into the Air Corps maneuvers—about developing and testing operational ideas and the importance of good public relations—mitigated learning. The 1931 Air Corps maneuvers were the largest held to that date. Air Corps Chief Maj. Gen. James E. Fˆechet assigned his assistant, Lt. Col. Benjamin D. Foulois, to command the exercise. The maneuvers became a very large logistical exercise involving a series of aerial demonstrations over major cities in the eastern United States and Great Lakes region. The public was fascinated by the aerial display, and Army Chief of Staff Gen. Douglas MacArthur and President Herbert Hoover were pleased. There were no serious accidents.63 As Foulois biographer, Col. John “Fred” Shiner remarked, Foulois was a “‘doer’ rather than a great thinker.” Foulois’s intellectual approach to the exercise missed opportunities to learn, for example about the limitations of bombardment aircraft in air warfare. Clair Chennault, a participant in these maneuvers, described the efforts to examine the interaction between bombers and fighter-interceptors, noting that effective interception of bombers depended on the warning system, which, Was a loose network of spotters who reported vaguely by telephone. Chief function of this net was supposed to be warning civilians to take cover rather than to provide defending fighters with intelligence for interceptions. Normal orders to defensive fighters then went something like this: “The enemy bombers reported over Point X at 9 a.m. Take off and destroy them.” It would then be 9:15, and X was twenty miles away. When we flew to X and returned after failing to sight any bombers, it was accepted as undeniable proof that fighters could not intercept modern bombers. . . . Major General Walter (Tony) Frank, official umpire, concluded 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.”64

Over the next two years, Chennault complained about the flaws of the 1931 maneuvers, and especially about the absence of (1) a functioning aircraft warning net, and (2) the provision of radio intelligence to defending fighters in the air. Contrast AAC context for organizational learning described by Chennault with that of the Royal Air Force (RAF). By 1934, the RAF’s Fighting Area Headquarters “had already developed most of what it would need for 1940, and was acquiring the rest through a sharp and rising learning curve. It had a large and experienced body of strategic air defence personnel, the only ones in the world, under a senior command dedicated solely to that task, organized in an effective way, possessing the world’s most sophisticated C3I [command, control, communications, and intelligence] system, and training for remarkably advanced operations.” Beginning in 1933–1934, through the development of “radar, high performance cantilever

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monoplanes with eight wing-mounted machine guns, and the systematic improvements of air tactics,” the RAF’s Fighting Area Headquarters began to solve its remaining organizational problems. Only the RAF used radar effectively in air defense. The RAF succeeded in 1940 against the Luftwaffe because the RAF had spent the previous twenty years preparing for a repeat of German air attacks.65 The 1933 War Department budget funded maneuvers to be held during May in California and Fort Knox, Kentucky. Air Corps Chief Maj. Gen. Benjamin D. Foulois assigned Maj. Gen. Oscar Westover, assistant chief of the Air Corps, to command the California exercise. The California maneuvers had just begun when they were cancelled because Air Corps officers were needed to run the Civilian Conservation Corps.66 Despite the cancellation of the California exercise, Westover’s assumptions had hardened. He concluded that (1) high-speed bombers (e.g., Martin B-10 monoplanes with a top speed of more than 200 miles per hour) could fly through enemy air defenses unhindered, (2) the lower speed of pursuit aircraft (e.g., the Boeing P-12 biplane) made them a minimal threat in daylight and useless as escorts, and (3) fighters could not operate efficiently or safely at high speeds. Westover developed these conclusions before the advent of radar and further progress in the design of engines and monoplane fighters. The conclusions were not reevaluated until wartime experience over Germany showed the viability of high-speed fighter aircraft and the vulnerability of tight formations of well-armed bombers.67 In the meantime, the maneuvers held at Fort Knox did little to examine tactical and operational assumptions about the use of aircraft as weapons. Chennault complained that the exercise plan was developed by a board of Air Corps officers that did not include any fighter pilots. During the maneuvers, Chennault had, as Tammany Hall leader George Washington Plunkitt might have commented, “seen his opportunities and took ‘em.”68 [The] fighters intercepted and “attacked” the bombers by day and by night, using high, intermediate, and low altitudes on every attempt that was made. Before the maneuver period was half completed, the bomber boys set up a deafening clamor, blaming “unfair conditions,” and began limiting the freedom of action of the defending pursuit force. . . . [T]he simple addition of three mobile cavalry field radios, manned by trained observers, plugged a blind spot in the warning net and enabled the First Fighter Group to intercept every bomber attack launched.69

In the ACTS, the quality of thought about the potential of aircraft in combat was no better than that developed by AAC headquarters staff in Washington.70 In 1935, the Air Corps Board—composed of the commandant of the ACTS and several ACTS staff—ruled a technological impossibility the development of a large pursuit airplane capable of (1) speeds 25 percent higher than existing bombers, (2) a higher ceiling capability, and (3) an extremely high rate of climb. The board allowed continued experimentation on pursuit aircraft designs, but urged resources be concentrated on bomber self-defense.71 The Air Corps in general, and the

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ACTS in particular, showed little interest in the experience of the Spanish Civil War—despite the use of modern aircraft by each side. Other branches of the Army, however, took a keen interest in that combat, and concluded that the strategic bombardment of cities and industries had little effect on morale and modern fighters could be quite effective against bombers. These conclusions were unwelcome in the AAC, and did not stimulate a reexamination of doctrine, operational concepts, tactics, or acquisition programs.72 Brig Gen. William “Billy” Mitchell’s proclamations about air power were primarily a means to force public officials to accept and implement his recommendations (in the manner in which he stated them); his tests were public relations stunts—not experiments within a systematic program to learn more about the uses of aircraft in combat; indeed, some of these stunts “backfired badly for the Air Corps.”73 Neither Mitchell, nor other senior airmen, proposed or willingly organized the kinds of systematic tests, field experiments, or maneuvers such as those being conducted by the Navy’s aviation community. Air Corps and General Headquarters (GHQ) Air Force flying tests were driven by the desire to respond to public relations problems, such as the need to demonstrate a long-range capability to President Franklin D. Roosevelt.74 Moreover, and—this is a critical point of comparison with the Navy’s approach to aviation—the organizational components of the Army’s aviation community did not interact to produce knowledge about tactics, operations, and technology. The absence of sufficient funds to experiment and analyze is not an appropriate excuse for the performance of the AAC aviation community (note Rear Admiral Blandy’s remarks above). Neither the AAC nor the naval aviation community had adequate funding during the interwar period. However, the AAC was funded at an increasing percentage of overall spending throughout the interwar period. AAC leaders never thought that they were receiving enough. The leadership of other Army branches thought that the AAC received too much funding support.75 The Army Air Corps leaders resisted interacting with such other Army combat branches as the field artillery. Prominent military historian Edgar F. Raines, Jr., has noted that Air Corps officers developed the technical requirements for artillery observation aircraft by reflecting on World War I experience—not by working with field artillery in exercises and maneuvers. The prime Air Corps concern was speed for survivability, and they designed observation aircraft that were too fast to allow spotters to identify targets and too large and heavy to operate close to artillery.76 The Navy’s General Board, composed of senior admirals, mediated claims about tactics and technology. Its demand for empirical proof and justifications for proposals made naval air power proponents devote resources, time, and thought to developing evidence. As noted above, the NWC conducted wargames that pointed to possible uses of aircraft. Fleet exercises tested these ideas and generated demands and requirements for new technology. The Bureau of Aeronautics developed requirements for new technology to exploit the tactical and operational possibilities revealed by the wargames and fleet maneuvers.77 These different naval organizations did not always agree, and their leaders did not necessarily

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like each other. Yet, their interaction—the tests, discussion, disagreements, and arguments—focused the discussion on empirical proof, and thereby produced useful knowledge about tactics, operations, and technology. The absence of such institutional relationships in the AAC hindered its ability to create useful operational doctrine in advance of combat and to forecast tactical problems and potential solutions. As a result of the absence of the interplay between vigorous analysis and systematic field experiments and maneuvers, no ACTS officer writing about the future of air power anticipated the need for important ancillary technological developments necessitated by bombing campaigns. Consider, for example, whether long-range bombardment would have been possible without the application of earth-moving equipment—developed for civilian civil engineering tasks—to construct air fields. But there were no doctrinally directed calls for improvements in such equipment. Other notorious failures of doctrinal analysis included (1) the opposition to the installation of wing bomb shackles that could accommodate droppable fuel tanks, (2) the view that bombers could defend themselves or evade enemy fighters if attacked, and (3) the related neglected development of long-range fighter escorts.78 The interwar failure of the Army aviation community to create rigorous experimentally based analyses about the potential use of aircraft in combat continued during the early years of World War II combat in Europe. No congressional committee, secretary of war, Army Chief of Staff, or chief of the Army Air Corps directed the Air Corps to create an air-ground doctrine through the interplay of maneuvers and vigorous argument.79 The failure to do so was a failure of strategic leadership. Senior U.S. airmen did not consider air-ground coordination to be an issue worthy of serious examination even after they observed Germans use aircraft with ground forces to defeat France; they neither requested nor designed joint airground exercises of close air support.80 Senior Army officials, who also observed German air-ground coordination in France, were quite interested in the issue. In August 1940, Gen. George C. Marshall directed his G-3, an airman—Brig. Gen. Frank M. Andrews—to produce studies that could guide aircraft acquisition and training. Andrews’s response of September 26, 1940, contained five mission types led by close air support. He also noted the AAC was inexperienced (by European standards) in close air support, and recommended that (1) air-ground tests be conducted soon and (2) a large number of ground troops and airmen be trained to work together.81 Meanwhile, Army Gen. Lesley J. McNair (commander of Army Ground Forces) believed new operational concepts should be based on experience, that is, on testing alternative ideas and maneuvers, and that ground troops and airmen should work together in simulated maneuvers and operations. McNair, focusing on the German style of ground warfare, began to remake the ground forces’ doctrine and structure.82 But while the Army expanded, the leaders of the Army Air Forces (AAF—created on June 20, 1941) devoted little attention to training with ground forces or to techniques implementing coordinated air and ground operations.83 Field Manual FM 100-15 Field Service Regulations, Larger Units, June 29, 1942,

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simply advocated the general principle of attaining air superiority within an entire theater of operations.84 While the AAF procured B-25 Mitchell and B-26 Marauder and A-20 Havoc bombers for possible army support, neither air nor ground leaders advanced clear statements about concepts that could implement effective joint airground operations. The April 1942 Aviation Support of Ground Force Field Manual 31–35 did not require direct communication between a supported ground unit and the aircraft attempting to provide support. Not surprisingly, ground soldiers’ requests for direct air support were usually unsatisfied.85 In early 1941, experiments on air-ground coordination were conducted, despite the opposition of AAF leaders, as part of the Louisiana Maneuvers. Piper and other light aircraft manufacturers offered to lend the Army aircraft to test for liaison and field artillery spotting. Piper Cubs were so effective in the maneuvers that the Army rented the aircraft and civilian pilots for the GHQ maneuvers. Again, these light aircraft performed extremely well. As a result, a requirement was written for six to ten Piper Cubs to be organic to each Army division and corps artillery for artillery fire spotting and liaison. These aircraft would be piloted by Army, not AAF pilots. (After World War II, these pilots advocated and pioneered assault concepts. The AAF, despite its initial opposition to the concept, tried, but failed, to bring the liaison aircraft under its control.) In spite of the peacetime need and opportunity to develop operational concepts—doctrine—for air-ground operations, the AAF did not do so, nor were AAF leaders willing and eager experimenters. Consequently, operational concepts were developed in the field by trial and error. For example, the need for coordinated air-ground-naval operations in the Mediterranean led to the development—without the aid of peacetime experimentation or prior doctrine—of procedures and concepts to coordinate air operations with ground and naval units.86 Speaking of the arrival of the AAF in Europe, General Henry H. Arnold observed: “our program was still untested in combat, but we were sure that we were right.” As the late military historian Walter Millis noted, “the event was to prove that in many respects they were not nearly so right as they thought they were.”87 Maj. Gen. Claire Chennault was considerably less diplomatic than Millis. Chennault observed that the same Air Corps officers who ignored the evidence he produced about the use of fighters during the 1933 Fort Knox exercise, “were in control of the air force in 1942 and 1943 when hundreds of unprotected B-24’s and B-17’s were shot down over Europe.”88 Indeed, it is difficult to look at pre-World War II air power doctrine as much more than assertions unsupported by evidence from field tests, experiments, or early war experience. During the interwar period, the AAC’s components did not interact systematically to produce knowledge and there continued to be little coherent argument and debate among airmen, and between airmen and other military thinkers, about the validity of air power doctrine, the supporting evidence, or tests to resolve the issues. Airmen reiterated doctrine, and made little effort to analyze and test it.89

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CONCLUSION In the 1960s and 1970s, an illiterate argument about the relative ease of accomplishing social tasks became quite common. It began with the question, “If we can go to the moon, why can’t we. . . ?” The thought pattern behind this argument is now evident again in proposals for undefined innovative organizations to exploit the potential of “transformational” or RMA-type technologies. Going to the moon was a relatively simple task compared with the military organization problem we face. What is the difference? Going to the moon was very complex, but only along the single dimension of technological capabilities. To be sure, the engineering design problem was daunting. Yet, the design effort was set up in a very cooperative environment; a single new agency was given a clear goal. Potential side-effects and concerns—for example, international relations— did not side-track NASA’s main task. Enormous resources were provided. The organization was able to draw upon production capabilities, technological knowhow, and research capabilities of an entire society. The conditions of success were clear: people would walk on the moon. No politician demanded a long-range plan or “vision” document in advance of the task; and no one was asked to anticipate the profound consequences of the moon voyages, for example, the new perspective we gained when we viewed the earth from space. In contrast, since the mid-nineteenth century, national security decision making increasingly has required a multidimensional increase and application of knowledge encompassing and integrating a wide range of fields. Yet, for much of this time, Army and Navy leadership approached their tasks, responsibilities, and duties unconscious of the imperative to organize themselves to learn. The military leadership of the nineteenth century—and the leadership of the corresponding congressional committees—did not set up a permanent process to create and revise operational concepts and tactical principles for combat based on analysis of combat experience, exercises, maneuvers, and experiments. With every passing year, engineers and scientists invented new and improved weapons, high explosives, and related technologies that materially affected the conduct and outcome of combat. Once Orville and Wilbur Wright invented a flying machine in 1903, it was not long before aviation was applied to military problems. The Army and Navy pursued two different approaches to developing knowledge to exploit military aviation. There are two important comparisons between the Army and Navy interwar aviation communities to keep in mind as this book explores conditions to transform the military for the twenty-first century: First, the interwar naval aviation community unconsciously created a multiorganizational system—an interactive relationship among various separate and independent agencies dealing with aviation that fostered the development and evaluation of new technology and effective doctrinal operational concepts. The interwar Army aviation community made assertions about air power but made little effort to test those assertions systematically. The

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Army aviation community, facing the same political and budgetary constraints that confronted its naval counterpart, did not have a multiorganizational system—an interactive relationship among its components that tested ideas. As a consequence, it was unable to develop its technology, doctrine, and operational concepts as well as its counterpart in the Navy. Second, individuals played critical roles in the formation and continuing operation of a multiorganizational system. Senior Navy and Air Corps officers had different tolerances for the necessary negotiation, mutual adjustment, and argument that are fundamental to the operation of a multiorganizational system. Perhaps unconsciously, they had varying appreciation for the corrective role of experimentation and analysis in the invention of new operational concepts, the development of new technologies, and the perfection of human-machine-organization systems. Gen. George C. Marshall, in this chapter’s opening quotation, recognized that the complexity of current human-machine-organization military systems makes intelligent experimentation essential to the prudent expenditure of resources and victory in combat. Furthermore, he understood that it is far better to gain information and knowledge by letting theories die under intense peacetime criticism of exercises, wargames, and analysis than to gain the same information sacrificing people in combat. Chapter 4 will examine how the United States Marine Corps and the Royal Marines addressed the problem of devising operational concepts and doctrine to conduct amphibious landings.

SUMMARY OF KEY POINTS 1. The military problem of choosing new weapons systems or inventing new operational concepts is beyond the competence of any one person, group of persons, or of any one profession. The key problems concern (a) how the DoD is organized to identify and integrate disparate domains of knowledge and (b) how to improve the interaction among professions, offices, and persons. 2. In an unplanned way, the Navy aviation community became organized as a multiorganizational system that made smart choices about uncertain aviation technologies and operational concepts for carrier-based aviation. 3. The Navy’s multiorganizational system encompassed the Fleet, the Bureau of Aeronautics, the NWC, and the General Board. The General Board’s deliberations, concerns, and questions created informal rules of analysis and evidence. 4. The Navy embarked on a self-evaluating course of inquiry regarding aviation despite the risk that it could lead to significant reductions in budgetary commitments to battleships. No single Navy office acting on its own could have pursued carrier development to the detriment of battleships. Doubts

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remained about carrier aviation until after the onset of combat in World War II. 5. No program of analysis developed in the AAC to review and analyze operational concepts, tactics, doctrine, or acquisition programs. Air leaders were not willing experimenters; they reiterated doctrine and made little effort to analyze or test it. 6. The Army aviation community, facing the same political and budgetary constraints that confronted their naval counterpart, did not have a multiorganizational system—an interactive relationship among components that tested ideas. Consequently, the Army aviation community was unable to develop its technology, doctrine, and operational concepts as well as its naval counterpart. 7. Individuals play critical roles in the formation and continuing operation of a multiorganizational system. Senior Navy and Air Corps officers had different tolerances for a multiorganizational system’s negotiation, mutual adjustment, and argument—and a different appreciation for the corrective role of experimentation and analysis in the invention of new operational concepts and the development of new technologies.

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4

Learning to Conduct Amphibious Landings

Our Admirals and Generals felt that with courage and a brave face our troops could land. It was true that the well-armed Turks were amply ready and could easily concentrate against any army which could land and supply. —John Masefield1 Until we have determined upon the force and organization necessary, and have trained and equipped it (insofar as peace time training permits) so that it can actually execute the tasks foreseen with the maximum mobility, celerity and efficiency, the Corps will have failed to properly perform its assigned duty. This training should complete and verify the type, number, and suitability of equipment necessary, all of which, naturally, in the beginning must be based upon the experiences gained by ourselves and others in campaigns of the past. —Col. Robert H. Dunlap (USMC)2

INTRODUCTION This chapter reviews the experience of the U.S. Marine Corps and the British Royal Marines in developing amphibious landing doctrine during the period between World War I and World War II. The conduct of amphibious assaults entails the successful performance of interdependent and very complex organizational tasks. Individually and collectively these tasks have a high probability of failure.3 In reviewing the development of amphibious tactics used in World War II, Marine Corps Lt. Gen. Holland M. (“Howlin’ Mad”) Smith wrote that such operations involved “the highest and most inclusive degree of coordination yet achieved.” Indeed, Smith argued, amphibious warfare’s “most lasting and significant contribution to

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military science” was organizational, that is, in the “combination, cooperation, and coordination” of forces.4 The creation of amphibious doctrine and tactics, the organization of forces to carry out the mission, and the acquisition of materiel to conduct operations also are interdependent and complex organizational undertakings with a similarly high probability of failure. In the United States, the thinking and analysis to accomplish these tasks were conducted in the context of rigorous criticism of error. Lt. Gen. Smith noted that amphibious doctrine progressed “by trial and error—many errors in some cases—but each error was converted into a lesson applied to the next operation.”5 Some aspects of the Royal Marines’ situation and problems are not fully analogous to the U.S. Marine Corps (USMC): with a worldwide empire, British civilian policymakers were less interested in seizing advanced bases, and the Royal Marines (RM) was not closely aligned with the Royal Navy.6 Nonetheless, as described below, some senior Royal Navy officers were interested in the need to seize advanced bases. Their concerns were largely precluded by the organization of the British national security establishment. Thus, the juxtaposition of the U.S. Marine Corps and the Royal Marines during the interwar period provides an example that complements the analysis offered in Chapters 2 and 3: how military services become organized to learn has a direct impact on the quality of the doctrine produced and the equipment acquired.

A Historical Note Amphibious landings and assaults have a long history as operations to support empire building. Military historian Alfred Vagts discusses, among others, Greek, Roman, Saxon, Viking, and Norman amphibious operations.7 The famous Bayeux Tapestry represents an amphibious operation, and was commissioned by Archbishop Odo (half-brother of William I the Conqueror), an eye witness to William’s 1066 invasion of England.8 Lt. Gen. Victor H. Krulak and military historians Jeter A. Isely and Philip A. Crowl note that Swiss-French general Antoine Henri Jomini, in Pr´ecis de l’Arte de la Guerre (1838), laid out the broad principles on which all phases of an amphibious operation are based. These principles include deceiving the enemy about the point of debarkation, selecting a beach with terrain and hydrographic conditions favorable to the attacker, employing naval guns to support attacking troops, landing artillery as soon as possible, seizing the high ground commanding the landing area, building supplies ashore quickly, and transforming the operation from amphibious to land warfare.9 In 1861, Rear Adm. S. P. Lee and Rear Adm. S. F. DuPont anticipated a future role for marines in conducting amphibious landings, but their idea was not acted upon. Later, in 1896, then Lt. Commander William F. Fullam proposed the marines be organized for expeditionary duty to support the fleet. This proposal, too, was not acted upon.10 Thus, although a great deal had been written about amphibious assaults

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by the 1920s, little had been accomplished to translate such musings into military organizations, operational concepts, and equipment appropriate to the tasks.

Security Environment Constraints: Arms Control Treaties During the period between World War I and World War II, two factors structured the efforts of those developing a doctrine of amphibious assault upon hostile shores and the application of that doctrine during combat. The first factor was the silence of international arms control agreements on amphibious assaults, which permitted the signatory nations to explore and develop this capability. On December 14, 1920, Senator William E. Borah (R-Idaho) had introduced a resolution— later appended to the 1921 Naval Appropriations Bill—calling for an international conference to reduce naval armaments. In response, President Warren G. Harding invited the principal powers to a conference on naval disarmament and other questions related to Pacific territories. On November 12, 1921, Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes convened the International Conference on Limitation of Armament in Washington, DC, and proposed a comprehensive plan to limit naval forces. By February 1922, the delegates had created three interrelated treaties that shaped naval policies of the United States, United Kingdom, and Japan, with each nation’s military free to develop an amphibious assault doctrine and operational concept and equipment as it saw fit. Article XIX of the Naval Limitation Treaty (signed by United States, United Kingdom, Japan, France, and Italy) prohibited new bases in Asia and the Western Pacific outside of carefully defined “home lands” and maintained coastal defenses and fleet repair and maintenance facilities within the treaty area to 1921 levels. Applied to U.S. bases in the Philippines and Guam, to British Hong Kong, and to Japanese Formosa and central Pacific islands, this treaty provision formalized Japan’s world lead in amphibious forces, doctrine, and technology—demonstrated dramatically by the 1914 attack on Kiaochow (or Jiaozhou) along the Chinese southern coast of Shandung province— and enhanced the U.S. requirement for an amphibious assault capability in a conflict with Japan.11 To fight Japan, the U.S. Navy would have to steam west across the Pacific Ocean while facing attacks from air and sea forces based on the Japanese island chains. The second factor affecting the development of amphibious assault capability in the United States and Great Britain was the interaction of the separate agencies that dealt with amphibious operations. The key factor in whether and how the interwar Army and Navy aviation communities learned about the employment of aircraft in war was how the Services organized themselves to learn. Similarly, how the USMC and the RM organized themselves to consider the task of amphibious landings was a significant factor in the resulting tactics, doctrine, materiel, and training. In examining the actions, interactions, and organizational arrangements of each Service, the key point of comparison again is the existence or absence of a multiorganizational system, that is, interaction among partially overlapping

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organizations. Before examining the British and American approaches to amphibious operations, this chapter briefly reviews the Gallipoli Campaign, the seminal World War I experience relevant to the development of amphibious operations doctrine, training, and equipment.

GALLIPOLI The Gallipoli campaign was one of the most disastrous Allied defeats of World War I. The initial plan to open the Dardanelles Straits was developed by First Lord of the Admiralty Winston S. Churchill and First Sea Lord John Fisher, with the support of Secretary of State for War Lord Horatio Herbert Kitchener. In 1915, British and French leaders decided that if they could control the Dardanelles Straits and Constantinople (now Istanbul), they would be able to ship supplies to Russia, their ally against Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and knock the Ottoman Empire out of the war. In February 1915, a British naval fleet disabled some small forts at the entrance to the Dardanelles. After this initial success, the fleet steamed north to a more strongly fortified Turkish area, where it was forced to retreat. British and French leaders then decided to conduct an amphibious landing operation on the Gallipoli peninsula at two points, north and south, to defeat the Turks in the middle. However, during the initial landings, the Allied forces did not surprise the Turks, who were alert and ready. Turkish forces were entrenched in the heights of a rugged terrain unfavorable to the attacker, and naval bombardments could not remove them. Contrary to then-current intelligence estimates and assumptions of later historians, the Allies did not land against a feeble foe led by an ad hoc command arrangement. Instead, the Allies faced the “best-trained and best-led infantry divisions in the Ottoman Army.”12 Furthermore, on the Allied side, a high proportion of troops and officers were inexperienced. Between April and June 1915, three bloody battles were fought, during which the Allies gained and lost several thousand yards. In August 1915, the Allies attempted another assault at Suvla Bay, which also failed. Finally, in December 1915, Allied leaders decided that the situation was hopeless and evacuated the troops. The failure of the Gallipoli campaign has been ascribed to several reasons, including inadequate preparation, shortage of munitions and troops, Turkish strength, mistakes of various individuals, and the Allied misuse and nonuse of their combat, training, doctrine, procurement, and supply organizations. British military leaders misunderstood the complexity and difficulty of connecting available military means and technology with campaign goals. The performance of these military leaders led David Lloyd George to call them “the trained inexperts (for they were actually trained not to be expert in mastering the actualities of modern warfare).”13 As time passed, British military leaders learned how to organize artillery, coordinate combined arms and counterbattery fire, and conduct accurate

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naval gunfire and air observation. Yet, improved ability to conduct operations occurred too late in the Gallipoli campaign to be decisive.14 Military historian Timothy H. E. Travers illustrates civilian and military leaders’ failure to use their organizations competently by citing Brig. Gen. Simpson Baikie of the 29 Division in Gallipoli who Castigated the War Office Ordnance Department for artillery and shell shortages. . . . He was surprised to find that no one was paying attention to the consumption of artillery shells; that no arrangement for the supply of shell from England had been made; and that there was a serious deficiency in high-explosive shell.15

Such organizational shortfalls extended to all significant aspects of the campaign and to the interrelationships among them (e.g., the relationship between supply of artillery shells and tactics).16 During training for the campaign, lip-service was paid to cooperation among various types of artillery and naval gunfire, but no effective process for such cooperation was conceived. Actual wartime experience was necessary to force attention to the necessity of designing and implementing a process to coordinate artillery and naval gunfire. Contemporary analysis of the Gallipoli campaign was stymied by five factors: disputed command relations between the Army and the Navy; conflict over the conduct of the operation between British commanders and the Australian-New Zealand expeditionary corps; fleet operational failures before the landing; conflict with French forces assigned to the campaign;17 and a longstanding cultural prejudice against empirical analysis of warfare. Combined, these factors added up to a failure by military leaders to conduct strategic analysis. Senior British officers did little to gain an appreciation for the difficulty and complexity of interservice coordination,18 or to try to understand where and how technology, such as the internal combustion engine and rapid-fire weapons, fit into warfare. The views of General Sir Ian Hamilton illustrate this point. In the middle of the Gallipoli campaign, General Hamilton argued that “warfare was really quite simple, all that is needed was higher courage and better morale than the Turks, and success would follow.” On June 7, 1915, Hamilton told Kitchener, “there was no need for strategy or tactics, just courage.” He made the same argument to Churchill in mid-June.19 Small wonder that Prime Minister Lloyd George was frustrated by his military “trained inexperts.” General Hamilton’s substitution of belief in the primacy of morale for a hard-headed causal analysis of combat operations is consistent with the attitudes expressed by senior British officers years earlier. In June and July 1901 lectures delivered to the Royal United Service Institute, Jean de Bloch (the world’s first scientific arms controller) had confronted the same attitude in response to his analysis of the impact of military technologies on tactics, operations, and national economies and societies.20 From today’s perspective, the two chief causes of the Gallipoli campaign’s failure—as well as the fighting in Europe—were organizational: (1) the absence of specialized offices—coordinated by leaders and

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guided by formal processes and procedures—that could match activities (means) with goals (ends), and continually survey their environment for signs of trouble (conflicts between means and ends) and (2) lack of leadership recognition that their organizations (and organizational processes and procedures) were poorly matched to their assigned tasks. British military and civilian leaders made no preparation to convert industry from civilian production to the production of war materiel, nor did they devise plans to expand the military.21 In other words, they simply did not understand how to use their organizations, nor did they understand that inattention to the relationship between organizational means and ends would have high political and military costs. Following the Gallipoli fiasco, nonmilitary observers examined the campaign, but the experience was presented fatalistically rather than as a “laboratory for identifying and correcting the operational flaws that might have swung the campaign to the allies.”22 John Masefield’s Gallipoli was published in 1916 and written primarily for an American audience. Masefield, later the poet laureate of Great Britain, was a friend of General Sir Ian Hamilton. Many prominent European military pundits concluded that amphibious assaults were infeasible, primarily because of improvements in aircraft, artillery, and machine guns. For example, military writer Alexander Kiralfy concluded that then-modern weapons and continental transportation systems would preclude amphibious operations on the European coast, and Basil Liddell-Hart argued that land-based air power could defeat an amphibious assault.23 Needless to say, their analyses were flawed because they didn’t grasp the use of experimentation to test operational ideas and the application of technologies.24 The British military’s analysis of Gallipoli did not produce conclusions or inferences that were more defensible than the civilians’. In 1919, the Admiralty created the Mitchell Committee to write a report on Gallipoli. The Historical section of the Committee of Imperial Defence published official histories of World War I. They were intended to be accurate summaries of operations. However, neither Royal Navy nor Army officers liked Sir Julian Corbett’s 1923 account of Gallipoli in Naval Operations, Vol. 3, or Brigadier-General Cecil AspinallOglander’s 1929 Military Operations: Gallipoli.25 None of these studies provided the starting point for further armchair analysis, or a program of experiments or exercises conceived to examine rigorously the Gallipoli experience.26

THE INTERWAR YEARS IN GREAT BRITAIN Before 1914, there was little interest in the British military to form a force whose role would be to conduct amphibious assaults to seize, fortify, or protect temporary naval bases. With the outbreak of World War I, the Royal Naval Division was fielded quickly as an ad hoc division, and composed of three brigades, one of which was the Royal Marines. The Royal Marines’ job was to conduct amphibious operations. With the end of the war, however, the Royal Naval Division disbanded,

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resulting in the loss of the division’s combat lessons, as no organization preserved and examined the division’s wartime experience.27 The total number of people engaged in defining and setting military and acquisition policy during the interwar years was smaller in Britain than in the United States. The number of senior civilian leaders was smaller, too. The Committee of Imperial Defence, established in 1904 by Prime Minister Arthur J. (later Lord) Balfour, was the primary British political and military planning organization during World War I and World War II.28 For most of the years between 1919 and 1939, the Committee of Imperial Defence (presided over by the Prime Minister) had only five members. In 1922, Prime Minister David Lloyd George established the Chiefs of Staff Committee that advised on air, sea, and land policy. The Chiefs of Staff primarily devoted themselves to planning and operational problems, and the Inter-Services organization worked out the details.29 One implication of the small number of people involved in policymaking is that there were fewer opportunities to identify and correct policy errors through interaction of policymakers and their staffs. The patterns set by the formal and informal relations within British government limited access of a wide sector of people to defense policymaking, and hence, limited opportunities for error identification and correction. Most of the committee members were drawn from the aristocracy30 —a sector generally unimpressed with the concept of merit appointment and promotion.31 Government decisions were made by small groups of men who depended on each others’ good opinions.32 As British political scientist Herman Finer observed, “it was etiquette that each [chief of staff] should not criticize the conceptions of the other.”33 The British military’s cultural prejudice against empirical analysis was reinforced in the interwar years by the organizational relationship between the military establishment and civilian government, which discouraged multiorganizational interactions. As military historian Allan R. Millett notes, The British military establishment made it difficult for operational development of any sort to receive a fair hearing, and the Parliamentary form of government itself simply reinforced innate military conservatism. Budgetary restraints provided a convenient excuse for maintaining the status quo, but the British armed forces might have done far more within the prison of fiscal restraint. . . . The Royal Navy and Army simply assumed that amphibious operation presented too many problems for them to solve in peacetime.34

A formal government rule that constrained planning and spending also reinforced the ineffective organizational interaction between civilian and military planners. In August 1919, Winston S. Churchill, as secretary of state for war, issued an order to the military services that they should plan and develop spending estimates assuming that the British Empire would not be engaged in a major war during the next ten years. Called the Ten Year Rule, this government order was adopted as a planning guideline by the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID).35

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In 1928, Chancellor of the Exchequer Churchill successfully urged the Cabinet to keep the rule in force until the Cabinet specifically acted to revoke it. Although the Cabinet abandoned the Ten Year Rule in 1932, the spirit of the Rule was retained as a limit on planning and spending. During the 1930s, senior civilian and military leaders failed to examine whether the Rule continued to be appropriate to the security environment in Europe. With hindsight, Lord Ismay recalled, “I am struck by the extraordinary modesty—or even inadequacy—of the recommendations which we put forward from time to time to the CID. Economy had become so ingrained in us that we asked for no increases which could not be justified in the greatest detail.” Lord Hankey, secretary of the CID, also recalled how deeply the Ten Year Rule was ingrained in decision making: “When I woke up in the morning, I’d say ‘Good God, the Ten-Year Rule starts in again this morning.’”36 Although the British military still viewed the Germans as the main enemy in Europe, there were no Admiralty or War Office plans to conduct combined amphibious landings in Europe against enemy opposition.37 Royal Navy leaders thought that amphibious operations were not as important as other programs, such as carrier aviation, the destroyer force, strengthening the battle line, or the submarine force.38 The existence of formal and informal obstacles to the development of new operational concepts, however, did not translate into inactivity. In October 1919, a group of 169 officers drawn from the three service staff colleges met for a week to examine the defense of Hong Kong and Singapore, and concluded that the 1913 Manual of Combined Naval and Military Operations should be revised to incorporate World War I experiences, e.g., the early deployment of artillery, the need for aircraft, and the use of tanks in the first wave to counter machine gun fire. A few months later, the Board of Admiralty (the Royal Navy’s highest committee for policymaking), concerned about the coordination of forces complicated by the organizational birth of the Royal Air Force and the adequacy of existing fixed bases, ordered naval staff to prepare a mobile base plan, and to devote special attention to air operations. In 1920, Board of Admiralty officers, working through the Royal Navy Staff College, convinced the RAF and army to participate in a joint committee—the Inter-Department Committee on Combined Operations—to develop a new manual on joint operations. In June 1920, the joint committee met and defended the status quo by “asserting service independence and rejecting the importance of preparations for opposed landings.”39 Some Board of Admiralty officers disagreed with the Inter-Department Committee’s conclusions, and, in 1921, called for a review of amphibious operations by Royal Navy Staff College officers. This effort resulted in The Manual of Combined Naval Military and Air Force Operations—Provisional (completed in 1922). An interservice committee led by Army Staff College Commandant W. H. Anderson produced a chapter on combined operations for the 1921 Army Field Service Regulations. In 1925, the Manual was revised to include a discussion of “lessons learned” from the biannual staff colleges’ joint operations exercises. It is not clear, however, what useful knowledge appropriate for planning could be gleaned from

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the exercises held between 1925 and 1935. As military historian Donald Bittner observes, the exercises consisted largely of “time studies focusing on the unloading of ships, construction of piers, and the erection of guns; hill gradient and road tests, and beach trafficability and landing craft load assessments.” The exercises were not tactical and did not relate individual tasks to each other in the context of amphibious landings.40 Academic military analysis was isolated from other sectors of the military, and although problems were identified (e.g., tanks could not be landed on beaches, air cover was unreliable, and artillery cover was ineffective), no solutions were explored. The staff college discussions were not informed by exchanges with operational forces or acquisition personnel, and local commanders initiated the only field exercises conducted in the 1920s—the 1924 Bay of Bengal landing to protect Singapore and the 1928 landing in Moray Firth (Scotland)—to provide new and different training. The next landing exercise, conducted in 1934, was primarily a communications test.41 Through the mid-1930s, senior Royal Marine officers did not try energetically to make their organization become, in military historian Allan R. Millett’s words, “champions of amphibious operations.” In part, the Royal Marines were preoccupied with other organizational issues, including force reductions and a reorganization to combine the Royal Marine Artillery with the Royal Marine Light Infantry. Senior Royal Marines were timid in advocating a changed role within the military establishment. In 1923, the Admiralty called for a review of the wartime role and training of the Royal Marines. Admiral Sir Charles Madden led a committee that examined the question for six months and issued a confidential report on August 20, 1924. The report reasserted the need for traditional marine duties, e.g., marines aboard warships for landing party and gun crew service. The committee’s report also recommended that marines serving ashore train to seize and defend temporary bases and to conduct amphibious raids upon enemy coastal bases. One background paper used for guidance by the Madden Committee was a 1924 address made to the Naval War College by USMC Commandant, Maj. Gen. John A. Lejeune. The Madden Committee reported: Many of the observations in Major-General Lejeune’s report apply forcibly to the British Corps. . . . We wish here to point out that there is much in the report to show that the United States authorities have given considerable thought and attention to the functions, organisation, and training, of their Marine Corps, and have included in it a considerable body of men trained to operate with their fleet and to secure for it suitable overseas bases, so essential in a Naval war conducted at some distance from bases in the United States. We should be glad to see the value of the Royal Marine Corps for similar operations appreciated with equal clearness.42

Senior Navy and Marine officers agreed with the conclusions of the Madden Report. Yet, Admiralty officers decided they could not ask for more money to increase the size of the Royal Marines, and senior Royal Marines did not object to

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that decision. Senior leaders of the Royal Marines were content to “provide elite detachments for ships and ad hoc battalions for colonial service,” and discouraged dissent by lower level Marine officers about the limited institutional role for the Royal Marines.43 It was not until 1927 that a limited responsibility for amphibious operations was given to the Royal Marines.44 The 1929 stock market crash coincided with a crisis within the services; there were disagreements over the coordination of joint actions, equipment shortages, a renewed Japanese threat to Singapore, and budget cuts. In the 1930s, the Royal Marines organized annual exercises “to test landing craft, vehicles, and equipment needed to disembark a heavy artillery force over an undefended beach or at a friendly port.” While there was an awareness of inadequacies of doctrine, procedures, and military technology, the scope and scale of these exercises provided little guidance for solving these problems in conducting an amphibious assault.45 The Admiralty received reports about developments in the United States and Japan on amphibious operations, and was anxious about its own ignorance and inexperience in amphibious warfare. In 1936, the Royal Naval Staff College prepared another revision to The Manual of Combined Operations. At about the same time, RN Captain Bertram Watson prepared a memorandum for the Admiralty that was used to persuade the War Office and Air Ministry to support studying amphibious operations. Military historian Kenneth J. Clifford called this memorandum “one of the most important papers in British combined-operation history.”46 The Deputy Chiefs of Staff committee working on The Manual of Combined Operations “concluded that joint operations needed a permanent institutional advocate,” and serious preparations to develop a capability to conduct amphibious assault operations began. The Manual was issued in 1938, and an institutional advocate for joint operations was created.47 The Chiefs of Staff Committee established the Inter-Service Training and Development Sub-Committee (responsible to the Deputy Chiefs of Staff) and the Inter-Services Training and Development Centre (ISTDC) at the Royal Marines base of Eastney Barracks, Portsmouth. The initial staff was led by RN Captain L. E. H. Maund (later Rear-Admiral), and included a staff of army, RAF, and RM officers, and some clerks. The ISTDC had a budget of £30,000 to conduct research on amphibious operations. The following year, the ISTDC struggled to reconcile theoretical studies of amphibious operations produced by the staff colleges and the Admiralty with the development of prototype amphibious ships and landing craft. The ISTDC studied the “relationship of airborne operations to landings and the special engineering requirements of defending and overcoming” defenses on beaches. It also provided an educational perspective to the senior levels of British defense planning, the Chiefs of Staff Committee and the Committee of Imperial Defense. Captain Maund had seen the 1937 Japanese amphibious operations in Shanghai, and he advocated development of amphibious capability. Maund convinced Maj. Gen. Hastings Lionel Ismay (later Lord Ismay), secretary to Deputy Chiefs of Staff Committee and Committee of Imperial Defense.48 Ismay saw that the Royal Marines trailed the United States and Japan in the development of amphibious

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capability. Nevertheless, as late as November 1938, the Admiralty did not anticipate the need for amphibious combined operations against particular targets, and was not amenable to spending money to study the issue. No other high-ranking member of the British military establishment proposed the need for an amphibious assault force. By 1939, Brigadier Bernard L. Montgomery “was the only senior army officer who had commanded an amphibious landing force, his own 9th Infantry brigade” in a July 1938 assault at Slapston Sands, near Dartmouth.49 Senior military officers continued to express doubts about the necessity of amphibious operations. In 1937 and 1938, Air Vice Marshal Richard Peirse of the Deputy Chiefs of Staff argued that amphibious assaults against an enemy without air power were unnecessary, and impossible against an enemy with air power. Military historian David MacGregor observes that the British interwar amphibious doctrine was based on “suspect assumptions”—e.g., the need for absolute secrecy in planning, surprising the enemy, and small and simple operations. The relationship among the ISTDC, staff colleges, and the Admiralty did not generate a demand for empirical experimentation. The analytic effort to create amphibious doctrine and to assert alternatives was conducted in isolation from empirical study. There appears to have been no program of experimental efforts or exercises to test the assumptions of amphibious doctrine.50 British political leaders “provided no external connection within Parliament for amphibious operations,” and “the discipline of the party system and civilian control made it difficult for military missionaries to sidestep the bureaucracy.” Winston S. Churchill did not have a leadership position in Parliament and no one took his place to ask questions about the status of peacetime preparations for warfare. A few specialized shipbuilders embraced amphibious warfare, but no other industrialists did. The Board of Trade, which regulated the merchant marine, rubber-stamped military views on transport requirements.51 The outbreak of war in September 1939, as military historian Correlli Barnett observes, “led not to an expansion of the ISTDC but to its disbanding. After all, what with a new Western Front in France and the prospect of fleet battles and the bomber offensive, there was not going to be any such thing as [amphibious assault] operations—or so the service mandarins believed.”52 The ISTDC was revived in January 1940, but it was not a central piece of any multiorganizational system that guided exercises and experiments complemented by wargames or other analyses. In summary, British military leaders directed little attention to amphibious landings until 1940.53 When World War II began, there was (1) little doctrine on amphibious operations, (2) only some prototype equipment and the start of production lines, (3) little available equipment, (4) poor estimates of the quantities of needed equipment, (5) some amphibious operations study groups, (6) no command and staff organization to plan, and (7) no permanent organization to train troops or conduct operations.54 Lt. Gen. Howlin’ Mad Smith recalled that the Royal Marines were “carefully restricted in latitude of opinion and activity.”55 In comparison to the United States and Japan at the start of the war, the British had the greatest gap between forces and requirements. The war—and Winston Churchill’s demands

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as Prime Minister—finally galvanized British efforts and they “pioneered in the creation of specialized techniques and equipment for landings, the creation of joint staffs, and the orchestration of naval forces and landing forces.”56 The British experience of being unprepared to conduct amphibious operations at the outbreak of World War II validated George C. Marshall’s dictum that “it is utterly impossible to improvise military organizations.”57 Marshall did not deny the possibility of rapid innovation to solve pressing operational problems or that successful military operations could be improvised. Instead, he was referring to the need for detailed analysis, deep thought, and experimentation prior to creating organizations for the purpose of accomplishing new tasks. The abrupt recognition of the need to conduct amphibious operations by the highest level of the World War II British defense community temporarily relieved it of pressure to alter its structure—e.g., decision processes and sequencing of decisions, processes to empirically test planning assumptions, locations and numbers of veto points, and redundancy and operation of communications channels. Yet, the kind of learning at which Churchill excelled—the ability to identify appropriate goals and to relate these to means—masked obstacles to learning within the British defense community. The British were able to invent, innovate, and develop new equipment and procedures, but they were less able to develop and learn corresponding new strategies and organizational routines. This history also shows the great difficulty of improvising a process to learn when institutional arrangements and cultural habits discourage the kinds of interactions, communication, coordination, and thought necessary to learn to do new things. The presence of organizations, interactions, communication, and thought necessary to do new things does not guarantee the successful development of complex capabilities such as amphibious operations. However, the absence of these almost guarantees failure. Having money to spend on equipment, exercises, experiments, and staff study groups matters, but money is irrelevant when organizations are not constituted to use it effectively.

THE U.S. MARINE CORPS In contrast to the Royal Marines, the relationships and interactions between U.S. Navy and Marine Corps organizations were more conducive to the creation of knowledge about amphibious doctrine, logistical and organizational requirements, and specifications for materiel.

Early History Between 1800 and 1934, the Marine Corps conducted about 180 landing operations in various parts of the world to protect American lives and property. Prompted by the 1885 American intervention in Panama, some naval strategists

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began to advocate the construction of a battleship fleet large enough to defeat an enemy far from U.S. borders. Although not fully articulated, this strategy also required overseas support bases, and the projection of forces ashore. Marine officers did not engage their Navy counterparts in this discussion of possible amphibious operations.58 In the immediate years prior to the 1898 Spanish-American War, Marine and Navy officers wondered whether the Marines had any role with the Navy. Some planners at the Naval War College and in the Office of Naval Intelligence had other ideas. Navy Capt. Alfred Thayer Mahan, in his December 1890 war plan against the United Kingdom, assigned the Marine Corps the task of amphibious landings to seize a base of operations for the fleet. Later revisions to these plans, however, did not refer to the Marine Corps in the context of advanced bases.59 Marines were inspired by the Marine 1st Battalion seizure against opposition of a site for a naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, in June 1898. Such heroics stimulated Marine officers to devote serious attention to the conduct of amphibious operations. The Guantanamo Bay site was needed to support the U.S. Fleet blockading the Spanish squadron in the Santiago harbor. In effect, as military historian Jack Shulimson observes, “The Marines seized and protected an advance base for the fleet blockading Santiago.” The conflict showed Navy officers that they could not depend on the Army to secure ground positions for naval tasks; the Navy would need its own ground force.60 By 1900, USMC functions relating to landing operations were delineated in the “Advanced Base Concept,” which established a USMC role in the capture and defense of overseas bases. However, over the next twenty-five years, the “seizing and defending” portion of the Advanced Base Concept actually referred only to unopposed landings.61 During the period between the Spanish-American War and World War I, younger officers wanted to reappraise the USMC mission and revamp the organization and officer education in USMC schools. In particular, these younger officers wanted to recast the USMC as ground troops in amphibious operations undertaken with the Navy.62 In 1900, the General Board assigned the Marine Corps the advance base mission, providing the Marine Corps with a clear role.63 This role would form the basis of future amphibious operations doctrine. Just as importantly, the continuing interest in—and advocacy of—amphibious operations by admirals serving on the General Board would stimulate and guide analyses of island-hopping strategy and amphibious operations conducted at the Naval War College, the Marine Corps, and the Navy.64 The failure of the 1915 Gallipoli operation further stimulated USMC interest in amphibious operations.65 About a year later, the Marine Corps Gazette was founded, which provided a forum to discuss future Marine Corps missions and joint operations with the Navy in performing amphibious landings.66 A key factor in developing a USMC capability to conduct amphibious landings was its assigned role in War Plan Orange to seize and hold Japanese-occupied islands in order to convert them to advanced bases for the Navy, or at least to neutralize them as enemy strongholds. The USMC, in order to retain a viable role in U.S. national

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security, was thus obligated to develop the means to implement the war plan.67 Navy and marine planners expected that the Japanese would fight tenaciously to hold their islands, and the effort to displace them would require specially trained and integrated ground, sea, and air forces. The Interwar Years in the United States By the beginning of the 1920s, personnel in four Navy Department organizations were studying amphibious operations: the Office of the CNO, General Board, Naval War College (NWC), and USMC Commandant. Of these four organizations, amphibious assault was a specialization critical to the continued organizational existence only to the Marine Corps, but amphibious assault was not a listed duty in the 1920 U.S. Navy Regulations.68 The situation was precarious, in Howlin’ Mad Smith’s words, “no special troops existed which had been trained for [amphibious assault]. Not a single boat in the naval service was equipped for putting troops ashore and retracting under its own power.”69 Nevertheless, Marine Corps leaders saw that a specialized wartime mission would make the Corps fully distinct from the Army and provide a justification useful to Congressional supporters seeking to prevent the Army from absorbing the Corps.70 In analyzing the Pacific region security environment, Marine Commandant Maj. Gen. John A. Lejeune argued that the Navy’s logistical need for bases and supplies required a Marine Corps capability to seize, fortify, and hold bases. In 1920, Lejeune ordered his friend and long-time advocate of offensive amphibious operations, Maj. Earl “Pete” H. Ellis, to investigate the requirements of amphibious landings and operations across the central Pacific. As an NWC student in 1912–1913, Ellis participated in drafting war plans against Japan.71 In his memoir, Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift noted that Lejeune’s interest in amphibious operations was stimulated by the Versailles Treaty, which mandated formerly German-held islands in the Pacific to Japan. Ellis wrote the 30,000-word Operations Plan 712, Advanced Base Force Operations in Micronesia, in seven months. Lejeune endorsed the plan on July 23, 1921. Ellis wrote: In order to impose our will upon Japan, it will be necessary for us to project our fleet and land forces across the Pacific and wage war in Japanese waters. To effect this requires that we have sufficient bases to support the fleet, both during its projecting and afterwards. As the matter stands at present, we cannot count upon the use of any bases west of Hawaii except those which we may seize from the enemy after the opening of hostilities. Moreover, the continued occupation of the Marshall, Caroline, and Pelew [Palau] Islands by the Japanese (now holding them under mandate from the League of Nations) invests them with a series of emergency bases flanking any line of communications across the Pacific throughout a distance of 2,300 miles. The reduction and occupation of these islands and the establishment of the necessary bases therein, as a preliminary phase of the hostilities, is practically imperative.72

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According to Ellis, amphibious assaults required much peacetime training, meticulous planning, and careful tactical and logistical organization.73 Advanced Base Force Operations in Micronesia became the center of Marine Corps strategic plans for a Pacific war by stimulating thinking about amphibious operations, field exercises, officer education, and equipment development at the Marine Corps Schools at Quantico. The plan also formed the basis for War Plan Orange approved in 1924 by the Joint Board of the Army and Navy.74 Military historian Allan R. Millett observes that Lejeune’s commitment to amphibious operations was a refinement of his own and previous commandants’ views—including Maj. Gen. George Barnett (commandant, 1914–1920) and Maj. Gen. John H. Russell, Jr. (commandant, 1934–1936)—that the Marine Corps should take the organizational lead to seize advanced naval bases in future naval campaigns.75 Comprehensive studies to develop doctrine and amphibious operations techniques began in 1921.76 In that year, Col. Robert H. Dunlap’s detailed examination of the Gallipoli campaign was published in the Marine Corps Gazette. Dunlap— an amphibious planner on Rear Adm. William S. Sims’s NWC staff and a friend of Maj. Pete Ellis—argued that the Gallipoli campaign involved many of the problems Marines would face in an amphibious assault, including: (a) Landing on open beaches under fire requiring exact and careful staff work by a composite staff of Army and Naval officers; (b) continued supply by the Navy of the forces so landed; (c) evacuation of the wounded, requiring close cooperation between the Army and Navy; (d) coordination of naval gunfire with the movement of forces on shore; [and] (e) the lessons incident to night marches, combat, and supply.77

Dunlap’s analysis pinpoints numerous British planning and organizational errors at Gallipoli, such as insufficient attention to the effects of weather and tides in the opening stages of the campaign, too great attention to secrecy that prevented necessary coordination of forces, and the need for careful planning in “the packing of equipment, the suitability of which must be determined by study and observation of its use while in training.” Dunlap discussed the requirement for effective ground transportation and a “proper howitzer” after landing, adding that if such equipment is not available when a conflict begins, it is the Marines’ own fault. He also discussed the necessity of coordination of aviation to support landing forces, and close cooperation—in today’s terms, joint planning and execution— between the USMC and the Navy in conducting landings.78 Similar analyses were conducted and presented to a wider audience in Naval Institute Proceedings, Navy in-service papers, and lectures at the NWC. In particular, during the 1920s, officers at the NWC devoted a great deal of attention to the Gallipoli campaign. In 1926, the Naval Institute published an essay on amphibious doctrine by Capt. W. D. Puleston, which offered new options for advocates of amphibious operations.79 Marine officers attended the NWC, Army War College, and Army Command and General Staff College, where they proselytized for amphibious operations with Army and Navy officers.80

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In the meantime, diplomats from leading nations were crafting the naval arms limitation treaties described earlier in this chapter. The General Board opposed the 1922 Naval Limitation Treaty’s nonfortification of bases provision. On February 11, 1922, Major General Lejeune wrote to the General Board on the topic of “Future Policy for the Marine Corps as Influenced by the Conference on Limitation of Armament.” Lejeune argued that “the primary war mission of the Marine Corps is to supply a mobile force to accompany the Fleet for operations on shore in support of the Fleet.”81 The development of an amphibious capability to support the Navy and continue as part of the Navy was a theme to which Marine Commandant Lejeune returned at every opportunity.82 Senior Marine Corps and Navy officers recognized the need to test concepts and tactics for amphibious operations both in their classrooms and in field exercises. The 1923–1924 Fleet maneuvers were the largest conducted to that date. Two of the four problems examined during these maneuvers included the Marines: Problem Number 3 involved a forced passage of the Panama Canal by the Pacific Fleet against the Atlantic Fleet, and an expeditionary force of Marines operating in the Caribbean. Problem Number 4 was more directly related to amphibious assaults. In this exercise, conducted on Culebra Island (Puerto Rico), 1,750 Marines became part of the Pacific Fleet, and 1,550 Marines, artillery, and special troops with advance base material became part of the Atlantic Fleet. The Pacific Fleet tried to seize a base in the northern islands of the Atlantic Fleet’s territory, and to establish a blockade of the Atlantic Fleet’s home territory. The maneuvers lasted almost one month; they involved a good deal of free play, and were distinguished by an empirical attitude and approach to the work at hand. Although some of the Marines’ critics argued that the 1924 maneuvers were a failure, over the next fifteen years, the Marines set about correcting the errors they discovered. This empirical approach—identifying real problems from participation in and observations of action and testing practical solutions—paralleled the U.S. Navy’s exploration of carrier-based aviation, and stands in marked contrast to the British resistance to a program of empirical analysis. For example, the maneuvers revealed the need to distinguish friendly from enemy aircraft. In response, the maneuver participants developed a coded challenge system and then created a telephone link between observation posts and antiaircraft guns. Marine Col. Dion Williams, a participant in the maneuvers, noted that “throughout [Problem Number 4 on Culebra] every effort was made to have the conditions as realistic as possible.” As with the carrier aviation maneuvers, the effort to achieve realism was accompanied by intense disagreements about interpretive rules to judge and evaluate damage and other effects.83 Senior Marine officers reviewed these exercises, supported the commitment to realism, and discussed the weaknesses revealed. For example, Marine Corps Commandant Lejeune noted that training must involve “actual embarkation and disembarkation under conditions as near actual war conditions as possible. This enables us to learn by experience how to handle our equipment and at the same time gives the Navy an opportunity to become familiar with the needs of the expeditionary force.”84

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The 1924 maneuvers involved the first landing problem in which 3,300 personnel fought at Culebra (Puerto Rico) and the Canal Zone. Admiral Robert E. Coontz, commander in chief of the U.S. Fleet, and later Chief of Naval Operations, observed “The participation of the Marine Corps Expeditionary Force with the Fleet in the winter maneuvers of 1924 afforded the first real opportunity for determining the value of such a force to the Fleet.”85 The 1925 joint maneuvers involved 2,500 Marines attacking army forces at Oahu, Hawaii. This exercise “emphasized the need for extensive study of . . . forced landings. Previous landing exercises had been conducted on a small scale, and valuable lessons learned, but the broad importance of this type of operation had never been clearly demonstrated as in the exercise of 1925.”86 In 1927, the deployment of Marines to Nicaragua and China ended the exercises (exercises would be resumed in 1932 in Hawaii). Nevertheless, the maneuvers held during the 1920s identified tactical and materiel shortcomings, including the problems of disembarking troops from transports to landing boats, moving artillery and tanks ashore to help breach beach defenses, and conducting effective naval gunfire, close air support, and assault engineering.87 These problems were addressed in professional journals, in implementing training for landing operations, and in the formulation of written doctrine during the early 1930s. With respect to training, for example, in 1924–1925, advanced students at the Marine Corps Schools devoted only two hours to landing operations. By 1927, the curriculum included more than 100 hours of instruction about landing operations.88

Development of Written Doctrine Although maneuvers and exercises were called off in 1927, investigation of amphibious operations continued.89 Lt. Gen. Smith noted that the analyses of Gallipoli and of the broad task of amphibious assault were animated by the effort to “dissect every failure and locate the weak spots and failure-factors.”90 In 1927, the NWC and the Marine Corps Schools at Quantico began studying landing operations.91 Also, in 1927, the Joint Army and Navy Board issued Joint Action of the Army and Navy. The USMC retained its traditional missions (e.g., ship duty and service within the Navy) in this manual, but also was assigned responsibility for “land operations in support of the fleet for the initial seizure and defense of advanced bases and for such limited auxiliary land operations as are essential to the prosecution of the naval campaign.”92 The development of amphibious doctrine and capability was difficult and uncertain. Marine units assigned to duties in China and Nicaragua, and competition with other budget priorities, removed exercise and amphibious units from the Fleet, and reduced Marine enlisted strength and ability to support the Fleet. In 1931, responding to roles and missions competition with the Army, the General Board asked Marine Commandant Ben H. Fuller to justify and rank USMC missions. Fuller assigned highest priority to seizing and defending naval bases. The General

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Board, CNO William V. Pratt, and the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations War Plans Division supported Fuller’s priority.93 In 1931, the Marine Corps Schools began work on a textbook of amphibious operations. In this process, individual marines were assigned the task of describing the schedule of activities in a landing operation. These lists were reviewed by more senior officers. According to military historians Jeter A. Isley and Philip A. Crowl, an unnamed Marine captain who led the aviation committee noted the group developing the textbook “approached its subject . . . about the same as every other committee, with a lantern in one hand and a candle in the other—but neither of these seemed to throw much light on the subject, so we wound up by hiding our lights under a bushel and using the imagination that God gave us to use for this particular purpose.”94 Isley and Crowl’s description makes it seem that the Marines working on the textbook came to their subject with a tabula rasa. However, for years various military theorists had provided commentary on amphibious operations and had proposed lists of activities, schedules of tasks, equipment and supplies, and tactics. In 1929, Maj. Gen. Eli K. Cole provided such a list to the readers of the U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings. Cole’s analysis was serious and comprehensive. Perhaps to demonstrate the gravity of the subject, his article began with the Latin motto: Aut vincere aut mort (“Either conquer or die”).95 In 1931, E. W. Broadbent noted the deficiencies of naval gunfire and ammunition to support amphibious operations, and added providing medical care to the Navy’s responsibilities during amphibious operations.96 In conjunction with the intellectual and practical work on amphibious assault, in 1933, Army Chief of Staff Gen. Douglas MacArthur proposed that the Marine Corps should be transferred to the Army. MacArthur’s proposal increased the urgency with which senior Marine officers viewed the need to more fully develop the doctrine for seizing forward bases.97 In September 1933, Brig. Gen. James C. Breckinridge, the head of the Marine Corps Schools, recommended to Commandant Fuller that classes be cancelled for the coming academic year, so that students and instructors could concentrate full time on developing doctrine for amphibious operations. Assistant Commandant Brig. Gen. John J. Russell, Jr., and Breckinridge maintained frequent contact over the ensuing months. In March 1934, Russell became Marine Corps commandant. Meanwhile, suggestions and analyses of the developing doctrine came from widely dispersed sources. A notable piece of work from a young Navy officer, H. K. Hewitt (later Admiral), who had served as Fleet gunnery officer, provided a detailed assessment of gunfire support for landings. One participant later wrote that Hewitt’s analysis, “for the first time (of record) explored the subject [of gunfire support] that became so vital to the success of landing Ops in WWII.”98 Col. Ellis Bell Miller was placed in charge of the effort to develop amphibious doctrine. By spring 1934, the effort had evolved into the Tentative Manual for Landing Operations, a book of several hundred pages examining amphibious operations.99 Prior to the release of The Tentative Manual, naval planners had not seriously considered that seized bases would permit strategic bombing of

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the enemy homeland.100 With the release of The Tentative Manual, for the first time, the entire course of instruction at the Marine Corps Schools was based on Marine missions and tasks. The Office of the CNO and the Fleet reviewed the Tentative Manual before it was adopted by the Navy. The Manual was adopted as a text in the Marine Corps Schools for the 1934–1935 term. Revisions to the Tentative Manual continued through 1935, when, as Millett observes, “the Manual became the authoritative guide within the Navy Department for future amphibious exercises and for research and development.” Russell approved the establishment of a board to revise amphibious doctrine based on input from those using it to train and to teach.101 Parallel to writing the Tentative Manual, overseas Marine brigades returned to the United States, the “Expeditionary Force” was renamed the “Fleet Marine Force” by the secretary of the Navy, following a recommendation by Marine Commandant Maj. Gen. Ben H. Fuller, and preparations began for the resumption of Fleet landing exercises. The designers of the Fleet Marine Force organization wanted to integrate ground and air marine forces with the fleet.102

Resumption of Landing Exercises In 1932, landing exercises were held in the Hawaiian Islands and at San Clemente Island (off the California coast). Millett observes that the Fleet Landing Exercises (FLEXs) were used to refine “the mobilization concepts and training embodied in Marine Corps Contributory Plan, C-2, Orange, reviewed and revised each year in the 1930s.”103 In 1935, annual FLEXs began on Culebra, and were held on Culebra through 1940. Some of the exercises included naval gunfire and aviation support.104 The 1935 and 1936 FLEXs were limited to three battalions (two infantry and a mixed artillery) transported by two old battleships and ships of the Navy’s Latin America constabulary, the Special Service Squadron. In the meantime, in 1936, Japan repudiated the Washington Conference Treaties, and the following year began a major naval rearmament program and its war to dominate China. In 1937, the United States and Great Britain also began naval rearmament programs. In 1937, FLEX-3 was held off the Southern California coast. The Navy invited the Army to participate in the exercise. The Army provided an expeditionary brigade and the USMC sent 2,500 marines. The Navy adopted the Fleet Training Publication 167 in 1938, which “became the official doctrine for landing operations,” and reflected the growing consensus that amphibious assaults would be possible, but difficult.105 From January through March 1938, FLEX-4 was held in Puerto Rico and involved about 2,500 marines and an army expeditionary brigade (again invited by the Navy).106 The exercises conducted in 1939 (FLEX-5) and 1940 (FLEX-6), led by Brig. Gen. Holland M. Smith, drew inspiration from the increasing world anxieties about looming war. FLEX-6 was the most realistic

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exercise attempted to date, and the first exercise in which the Fleet Marine Force’s 1st Brigade was outfitted like a wartime expeditionary force in equipment and numbers of personnel. One landing was conducted at night from rubber boats. Submarines were used for reconnaissance and to land scouts. Underwater defenses were built to obstruct access to beaches. Training emphasized fire control and the use of different types of ammunition against expected targets.107 While these fleet exercises dealt with some problems relevant to amphibious operations, the biggest emphasis was on Marine and Navy supply and equipment shortfalls, including inadequacies in landing craft, gunnery, antisubmarine warfare, and aerial combat.108 Nevertheless, in conjunction with various analyses provided by the Marine Corps Schools and the NWC, these exercises were used to devise tactical, operational, and materiel solutions to the “problem of effecting a frontal assault on a defended shoreline. . . . Planning for the worst and the consideration of all eventualities resulted in the development of weapons, equipment and techniques to meet them.”109 In August 1941, FLEX-7 marked the debut of the Higgins boat. Maj. Gen. Smith’s maneuver with about 17,000 soldiers and marines was the last exercise before the United States would enter World War II. Held at New River, North Carolina, FLEX-7 was more complex than any previous maneuver, and involved parachute operations, night landings, close air support, and the movement across beaches of lots of equipment and supplies. Smith’s post-maneuver report emphasized shortcomings and made thirty-eight practical recommendations for conducting amphibious landings.110

CONCLUSION At first glance it seems unfair to compare the USMC with the Royal Marines. The Royal Marines were not responsible for Gallipoli, and did not have a role analogous to the USMC’s role within the USN. British military planners concentrated on a war against Germany on the European continent. Modernization of the Royal Navy was secondary to the problem of preparing for war in Europe. Within the Royal Navy, preparing to conduct amphibious operations was not high on the list of spending priorities. Yet, the British also faced strategic problems that mandated some consideration of amphibious operations. As Millett argues, the British history of naval campaigns, imperial defense, joint campaigns, and disengagement from continental alliances justified the existence of an amphibious assault force.111 The task of developing doctrine and equipment with which to conduct amphibious operations was difficult for both the U.S. Marine Corps and the Royal Marines. Funding was always an issue, but more importantly, the interactions guiding and constraining the work of the Marine Corps and the Royal Marines were critical to the effective discharge of developing doctrine and equipment.

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The ability to experiment with techniques, tactics, and equipment was vital in order to guide the articulation of doctrine and new requirements. The U.S. Marine Corps and Navy experimented with the modification of army weapons to protect against saltwater corrosion and foreign matter (e.g., sand), day and night landings, feints, subsidiary landings, and broad-front attacks, smoke screens, air and naval gun support, concentrated assaults and dispersed infiltration, and the firing of all sorts of weapons from landing craft. The Royal Marines were far less disposed to systematic experimentation with equipment during the 1920s and 1930s. The success of the U.S. Marine Corps in creating doctrine and forces for amphibious operations is largely a function of the interaction among the General Board, NWC, Office of the Commandant, Marine Corps Schools, and the Fleet as they responded to political and strategic problems. The Marine Corps Schools, for example, responded to the challenge of devising doctrine and providing a justification to prevent the Army from incorporating the Marine Corps (as an economy measure) by making a significant commitment to doctrine development and historical analysis.112 The total hours of instruction on amphibious operations increased from about 25 percent of the curriculum in the mid-1920s to about 60 percent mid-1930s.113 The work of the General Board, NWC, Office of the Commandant, Marine Corps Schools, and the Fleet during the interwar period was driven largely by interaction and discussion of problems and solutions. Operational problems and materiel shortcomings identified in the early 1920s became clearer through interaction over time.114 Indeed, the interaction among the General Board, NWC, Marine Corps Schools, Fleet, and Office of the Commandant became selforganizing: the ideas examined during exercises and maneuvers—information created by experience—corrected and refined ideas generated by historical analysis and doctrine development, and provided the basis for further questioning and analysis. This kind of self-correcting behavior of organizations concerned with amphibious operations avoided a common failure of organizations—they do not learn well from experience. The late political scientist Aaron Wildavsky argued that the needs of the organization and the people within it conflict with the “self-evaluation” mandate to monitor activities continuously in an intellectually honest way and to change policies when they are ineffective. Wildavsky correctly identified factors that inhibit learning from experience in an organization in which there is little jurisdictional overlap (such as, Who will evaluate and who will administer? How will power be divided between administrators and evaluators? Who will bear the costs of change? Can authority be given to evaluators and blame given to administrators? How may administrators be convinced to gather information that might help others—i.e., evaluators—but can only harm them?). The interaction among a set of organizations having partial overlap of jurisdiction allows the establishment of “self-correcting organizations” on the basis of rational criticism, as described by eminent political scientist Martin Landau. The seeming contradiction between the two is resolved at the level of multiorganizational systems.115 The way the

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U.S. Marine Corps approached the development of amphibious doctrine and the acquisition of materiel to conduct the mission is quite similar to that displayed by U.S. Navy organizations concerned with carrier-based aviation. Thus, the interwar “golden age” of military policy analysis exemplified by carrier aviation also includes the development of the doctrine of amphibious operations.116 The failure of the Royal Marines to develop an analogous capability or doctrine is a result of an analogous absence of a multiorganizational system. As Millett notes, the consideration of amphibious operations in the United States was far less organizationally constrained than in Great Britain (and in Japan). In the United States, articles on amphibious operations were published in service journals and occasionally in public magazines. Members of Congress followed discussion in hearings and in the discussion of annual reports of the service secretaries.117 In Britain, in contrast, senior military leaders made policy under an organizational system that did not acknowledge the requirement of basing policy upon a foundation of rational criticism. Individual senior officers may have understood the limits of their knowledge about the requirement for, and mechanics of, amphibious assaults—but they did little to develop a program to create the empirical knowledge necessary to examine and evaluate their assumptions. In 1946, Lt. Gen. Holland M. Smith wrote, The current naval doctrine on landing operations, which was published prior to our first landings in 1942 and without the benefit of the combat experience of this war, was based on long consideration of the problems and the limited experience gained in maneuvers. It has proved remarkably sound. The organization, planning, tactics, and techniques prescribed provide largely satisfactory answers. The doctrinal solutions have been revised and improved as technical developments have met the demands of the tactical requirements.118

This view was reiterated a few years later by Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift, who remarked that the Marine Corps’ greatest contribution to World War II victory was doctrinal; noting “the fact that the basic amphibious doctrines which carried Allied troops over every beachhead of World War II had been largely shaped— often in the face of uninterested or doubting military orthodoxy—by U.S. Marines, and mainly between 1922 and 1935.”119 The following chapter will examine the evolving Navy air defense program, Cooperative Engagement Capability, from the perspective of how organizations are interacting to develop the technology.

SUMMARY OF KEY POINTS 1. How military services organize to learn, and to accumulate and retrieve knowledge, has a direct impact on the quality of doctrine and the equipment acquired.

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2. The British military cultural prejudice against empirical analysis was reinforced in the interwar years by the relationship between the military establishment and civilian government, which discouraged multiorganizational interaction. Furthermore, within the military, the relationship between the Inter-services Training and Development Centre, the staff colleges, and the Admiralty did not generate a demand for experimentation. 3. Between 1925 and 1935, British naval-army amphibious exercises were not tactical; they consisted largely of time studies of unloading ships, the erection of guns, and construction of piers; beach trafficability and landing craft load assessments. 4. British military academic analysis was isolated from other sectors of the military; staff college discussions were not informed by exchanges with operational forces or acquisition personnel. No organization explored empirical solutions to amphibious problems, nor was there an experimental or exercise program to test doctrinal assumptions. 5. Royal Marine officers did not make the strategic choice to make their organization the champion of amphibious operations. British military leaders directed little attention to the problem of amphibious warfare until 1940. When they did begin to think about amphibious landings, in comparison to the Americans and Japanese, the British faced the greatest gap between forces and requirements. 6. In the United States, fleet maneuvers were held in the 1920s to examine amphibious operations. The work was distinguished by an empirical approach to the problems of creating doctrine, inventing tactics, and acquiring equipment. Marine and naval officers identified real problems from participating in and observing action, and tested practical solutions, including to day and night landings, broad-front attacks, air and naval gun support. 7. The creation of Marine doctrine and forces for amphibious operations was driven by the interaction and communication on problems and solutions in a multiorganizational system composed of the General Board, NWC, Office of the Commandant, Marine Corps Schools, and the Fleet. Operational problems and materiel shortcomings identified in the 1920s became clearer through interaction over time. 8. The interaction among the General Board, NWC, Office of the Commandant, Marine Corps Schools, and the Fleet became self-organizing: the ideas examined during exercises and maneuvers—information created by experience—corrected and refined ideas generated by historical analysis and doctrine development, and provided the basis for further questioning and analysis. 9. The failure of the Royal Marines to develop an analogous amphibious operational capability or doctrine is a result of an analogous absence of a multiorganizational system.

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5

Cooperative Engagement Capability: A Multiorganizational Collaboration

By April 1951, the Eighth Army [led by General Matthew Ridgway] had again proved Erwin Rommel’s assertion that American troops knew less but learned faster than any fighting men he had opposed. . . . The tragedy of American arms, however, is that having an imperfect sense of history, American[s] sometimes forget as quickly as they learn. —T. R. Fehrenbach1 We stumbled along from one error to another while the enemy grew wise, profited by his wisdom, and advanced until our [Japanese] efforts at Guadalcanal reached their unquestionable and inevitable end—in failure. —Vice Admiral Raizo Tanaka2

INTRODUCTION The above quotations refer not only to the ability of combat organizations to learn from experience and under fire, but to the complexity of organizational learning. Learning is tied inextricably to forgetting: in order to mitigate forgetting, a conscious effort must be made to encode, store, and to retrieve experience. Learning from experience is a process that mixes memory and inferences from information with experience—both personal and that of others. Yet, the interaction of many people—subject to different experiences, vagaries of memory, personnel turnover, inter- and intra-office conflict and disagreements, and geographic distribution—make extracting lessons from experience and retaining them a challenging organizational task under the best of circumstances.

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Posturing an organization to learn is a strategic choice that partially depends on analogous choices by other organizational leaders. The leadership of a learning organization must be able to carry out three types of tasks: anticipate the shape of an uncertain future, generate options for acting effectively in changed environments, and implement new plans quickly.3 A leader’s success in positioning his organization to learn also depends on the organization’s relationships with other organizations that have overlapping tasks and missions. In earlier chapters, the most propitious condition for successful innovation and transformation of military capability arose in conjunction with the unplanned development of effective multiorganizational interaction. At first glance, it appears that the development of the U.S. Navy’s Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC) program displays some features of a multiorganizational system.

THE COOPERATIVE ENGAGEMENT CAPABILITY PROGRAM In 1999, the Navy’s theater air and missile defense program, Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC), was designated a Department of Defense (DoD) “Category 1D” program, which entails the expenditure of more than $2 billion dollars (in constant FY1996 dollars) for research and development. Yet, for a program of this size and potential importance, little is known about the way in which the program has been evaluated or assessed by senior Navy military and civilian officials. A search of Center for Naval Analyses reports on CEC reveals only a few items, and none of these concern how the Navy might figure out new operational concepts for CEC.4 Nor has the Naval Historical Center—the Navy’s official history office—prepared studies of the program.5 A search of the U.S. Government Accountability Office Web site, likewise, revealed no reviews dedicated to the CEC program, although CEC was sometimes included in comparisons of major weapons programs.6 Similarly, a search of the Congressional Budget Office Web site produced no reviews.7 The Congressional Research Service (CRS) does not permit public access to its publications, but a search of CRS documents listed on three Web sites—the Federation of American Scientists,8 Representative Mark Green,9 and the State Department10 —revealed a few discussions of CEC as part of CRS studies of network-centric warfare or the Navy’s current destroyer (DDG-1000), cruiser (CG[X]), and Littoral Combat Ship acquisition programs.11 In the absence of official studies and reviews of the CEC program, the information used in this monograph to describe the program derives from unclassified articles written for trade magazines and interviews conducted with personnel at the Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory, the Navy’s Program Executive Office/Theater Surface Combatants, and the commander of Naval Sea Systems Command, Vice Admiral Phillip M. Balisle. The paucity of available information means that the description of the program in this chapter is provisional.

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The Logic of CEC The CEC is an integrated air defense network composed of software and hardware that allows ships and aircraft to share sensor data on aircraft or missiles. Ships and aircraft participating in the CEC network share a common, composite, and real-time air-defense representation of the area in which they are operating. Sharing sensor data allows ships and aircraft in a Battle Group to avoid and mitigate certain types of errors, such as tracking discontinuities that plague even powerful individual radars. For instance, highly variable atmospheric phenomena may cause false returns or no returns on radar. In littoral areas, horizon and local terrain limit the detection range for radar, and reduce the ability of individual shipborne radars to detect and engage long-range, low-altitude aircraft and missile threats. Flight profiles of low altitude and high speed complicate the difficulty of detecting aircraft or missiles having a small radar cross section. The presence of friendly or neutral ships and aircraft within the littoral area also complicate identifying and tracking potential rapid “pop-up” threats, thereby reducing the range at which threats may be detected and shortening the reaction time to respond to hostile aircraft or missiles. In sum, CEC reduces the number and variety of errors associated with individual radars (no matter how powerful) by increasing the ability of the battle group to track targets accurately, and to maintain a consistent identity and path for each target. During Operation Desert Storm, shipborne radars located at different positions in the Persian Gulf could not consistently detect and track the same targets. CEC, by sharing raw sensor data among all equipped ships and aircraft, avoids critical and longstanding errors: with CEC, there are fewer dual and swapped tracks, fewer inconsistent identifications, and higher track accuracy of all flying objects.12 There also is a little noticed—but very significant—implication of CEC’s ability to reduce the number and variety of errors attendant to individual radars: CEC may reduce stress levels and cognitive demands of calculation and computation for individuals in combat information centers looking at display monitors and making decisions to engage and kill airborne threats.13 Although none of the technical articles surveyed for this chapter refer to the concept of redundancy as a means to reduce sensor errors,14 the underlying logic for CEC exploits the insights of mathematician John von Neumann on the role of redundancy in designing reliable systems from unreliable components.15 Von Neumann argued that the probability of error, e.g., within a communications channel, can be made arbitrarily small by carrying the message on multiple and independent lines. In CEC, radar data from the individual ships in a Battle Group are transmitted to other ships in the group by a line-of-sight data distribution system. In principle, combining the raw sensor data from individual ship and aircraft sensors provides a more reliable and accurate picture of aircraft and missiles. Each ship or aircraft uses identical data-processing algorithms so that each has the same display of track information on missiles and aircraft. The technical challenge is to

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combine the available information and distribute it to operators in real time. Using sensor data relayed by other ships in the group, any ship may launch an antiair missile at a threatening air target within its engagement envelope.16 The ability for each ship’s antiair warfare combat system to attack targets using other units’ missiles, targeting data, and terminal homing guidance provides the entire battle force with a more reliable and much deeper depth of fire. The reliability of the entire battle force’s antiair warfare capability also increases because the networking of the force (through CEC) allows older (or legacy) systems to operate beyond their original design capabilities by linking them with the newest sensors in the Battle Group.

Origin of the CEC Program During World War II, the threat of kamikaze attack aircraft established a need for coordinated air defense among ships that would have a longer range than that of individual ships. In 1958, the Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory (APL) forecast that the Navy would need an air defense system able to screen, monitor, track, and attack large numbers of radar contacts simultaneously.17 APL played a lead role in developing the Talos, Terrier, and Tartar shipto-air missiles, and integrating these missiles with search radars and weapons control equipment. This systems integration work entailed coordinating ships with overlapping antiair warfare ranges. Yet, a basic coordinated air defense system was deployed only in early 1960, with the arrival of the tactical data link, referred to as Link-11, and the Naval Tactical Data System. Continued development of aircraft and missiles by U.S. adversaries spurred the need for additional advances in detection, weapons control, and engagement of air and missile targets. Automating detection, weapons control, and engagement was a primary technical solution to the increased range and larger number of attackers, but automation was accompanied by greater difficulty of coordination.18 One potential solution was the Aegis weapon system, composed of a powerful phased array radar (the AN/SPY-1), a tactical computer program to monitor the radar and direct antiair missiles, and a battery of antiaircraft missiles. In 1969, RCA (now Lockheed Martin) won the Aegis antiair warfare development contract.19 In 1972, an Aegis acquisition milestone identified the goal of raising a Battle Group’s ability to conduct antiair warfare by sharing Aegis sensor data with older sensor systems on various classes of ships. At the time, no technology was available to perform these tasks.20 Indeed, Navy officers saw no need for sensor netting and industry leaders believed that sensor netting would undercut their ability to sell many individual advanced and powerful radars.21 Between 1972 and 1975, APL invented and analyzed the concept of a “force weapon-control system” that entailed data processing and data distribution—these were the forerunners of the CEC concept fifteen years later.22

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By 1977, four factors influenced the development of the Battle Group AntiAir Warfare Coordination (BGAAWC), a program begun at APL to integrate and coordinate newly developed ship air defense systems, and managed under the Aegis Program. These factors were: 1. Projected Aegis performance promised outstanding radar detection and tracking that could be used by all ships in a Battle Group. 2. Operational fleet experience with Talos, Terrier, and Tartar anti-air missiles and Link-11 revealed severe performance shortfalls, including inappropriate engagements of friendly forces and inadequate speed, capacity, and data-link fidelity of the tactical combat computer system. 3. New and improved display, automation, computer processing, and miniaturization technology was available but not employed for coordinated air defense. 4. Laboratory studies projected that a battle group’s air defenses could be coordinated more effectively.23

Navy and APL technical personnel recognized that there would be a powerful force multiplier effect if Aegis target detection and tracking data could be distributed and coordinated with other Aegis and antiair warfare ships. Through this work in the early 1970s, APL engineers and scientists conceived the CEC concept.24 APL, as the Navy’s “technical direction agent”25 for the BGAAWC26 program’s system engineering process, developed requirements and performed critical laboratory and at-sea experiments. Experiments to prove the concepts of combining raw sensor data and integrating these with fire control were successful. In late 1981, seeking an appropriate defense against large numbers of antiship cruise missiles launched from Soviet Backfire bombers, the Chief of Naval Operations commissioned the Center for Naval Analyses (CNA) to conduct the “Outer Air Battle Study.” Completed in 1983, the “Outer Air Battle Study” authors argued that netted defenses—a capability afforded by the CEC concept—would be needed to counter cruise missiles.27 Studies such as the CNA’s “Outer Air Battle Study” and continued technological progress converged around 1987 to show the practicality of the CEC signal processor. Experience garnered in the BGAAWC program translated readily into the CEC program. In July 1987, the CEC program was established and an APL requirements, development, and test team was assembled from APL staff who worked in various programs, including Aegis, Terrier/Tartar, and BGAAWC. Within three years, more than 170 APL staff members were working on CEC, primarily from APL’s Fleet Systems Department, but also from the Space, Naval Warfare, and Submarine Technology Departments.28 In 1987, CEC was managed by an office that became the Navy CEC Program Office, PMS-465 in the Naval Sea Systems Command’s (NAVSEA’s) Program Executive Office for Theater Combatant Systems (PEO[TCS]).29 Under the direction of the Program Executive Office, a multiorganizational system developed

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composed of more than thirteen geographically distributed separate government offices and private companies. In addition to NAVSEA’s CEC Program Office (PMS-465), these agencies and companies included APL, the NAVSEA’s Program Executive Officer for Theater Combatant Systems Interoperability Task Force, NAVSEA’s divisions at Dahlgren, Crane, Port Hueneme, and Corona, various DoD test ranges and land-based test sites, Raytheon Systems Company, Lockheed Martin Corporation, Northrop Grumman Corporation, and E-Systems/ECI Division. This multiorganizational system developed and tested CEC aboard several classes of ships (e.g., Aegis cruisers, destroyers, and aircraft carriers) and the E2-C Hawkeye aircraft.30 In parallel to the interaction among Navy offices, APL, and private companies, members of Congress and their staffs expressed strong interest in the accomplishments and potential of CEC, and have influenced the program development schedules and performance goals. The at-sea test, Demo 90 (discussed below), was described to Congressional staff and senior Navy leaders while the operational experience of Operation Desert Storm was very fresh. Congressional staff and Navy leaders recognized that CEC might solve Desert Storm operational deficiencies involving “situational awareness,” target identification and sensor effectiveness, and coordinated deployment of offensive and defensive systems. Congressional staff, interested in the deployment of CEC by all the armed services, directed the Navy to speed up the CEC development schedule and to add new functions to the program (e.g., composite identification and self-defense system cueing).31

CEC Program Management and Testing CEC was demonstrated in Demo 90,32 which was conducted at sea in July and August of 1990. Before the test, an intensive period of study, analysis, and discussion occurred between APL and the Navy. System models were created to analyze and explore different designs and to ensure that the system configuration would meet performance goals. After these preliminary design and tradeoff analyses, experiments, and studies were completed, the proposed system was evaluated in detail at Navy design reviews, whereupon the system design was frozen for Demo 90.33 Demo 90 involved two weeks of intensive exercises in an operational environment that involved ships, land-based surrogate ship systems, and aircraft. The test focused on the coordination of sensors in a carrier battle group and emphasized the generation, fidelity, and validity of the CEC composite-track picture of all aircraft and missiles. More specifically, the test also demonstrated several critical CEC concepts including distributed tracking, distributed net control, measurement-level sensor data networking, and phased-array antennas in the Data Distribution System. Evaluation of the test results, performance shortfalls, and recommended improvements were documented for tests planned for June 1994. In addition, based on the Demo 90 test results, the Navy issued an Operational

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Requirement Document, a document required by DoD acquisition procedures, which directed the CEC program to include early warning aircraft and all surface ships that had antiaircraft and self-defense capabilities.34 Following the initial Demo 90 briefing, Congress continued to receive regular briefings on the status of the CEC program; Congress directed the Navy to begin a formal at-sea test period beginning in late 1993. These tests were required to demonstrate new CEC capabilities inspired by Desert Storm experience, and to allow the Fleet to experiment with new tactics. Congressional interest in these tests stimulated the Navy to assign, for the first time, an entire Battle Group to test a single system. Congressional interest also extended to the identification of specific ships for participation.35 In order to facilitate CEC program management, APL created a coordinating organization composed of representatives from the Program Executive Office, Navy laboratories, and industry.36 The 1994 tests involved both developmental tests (called DT-IIA), and operational tests (called OT-1). The developmental tests examined design and equipment performance, and the operational tests scrutinized the Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN 69) Battle Group operational performance, which included the Anzio (CG 68), Cape St. George (CG 71), Kidd (DDG 993), Wasp (LHD 1), and a P-3 aircraft. In the developmental tests of prototype equipment, the ships in the Battle Group were able to “kill” some targets they could not “see.” Reviewing these tests, Secretary of Defense William J. Perry declared, “this is the greatest thing since stealth.”37 The operational tests began in June 1994; inspired by the experience of Demo 90, the preparation for these tests involved the same type of design studies, experiments, and analyses and interaction between APL and the Navy that preceded Demo 90. The June 1994 Developmental and Operational Test was conducted by the Dwight D. Eisenhower Battle Group.38 This test, like Demo 90, demonstrated tremendous potential to reduce problems in identifying and tracking airborne targets. It should be noted that Navy officers preparing the Battle Group for deployment did not welcome the added requirement of installing and testing CEC. As then-Capt. Phillip M. Balisle (commander of the Aegis cruiser Anzio, one of the ships in the Eisenhower Battle Group) remembered, he was “shocked and suspicious” of CEC and thought it was not technologically capable of performing the promised functions. The experience of the tests in the underway periods and Developmental Testing changed his mind. There were seven dedicated “underway” periods— training and exercises—prior to deployment of the Battle Group. At the start of the predeployment exercises, the antiair warfare specialists applied then-existing criteria to arrange the geometry of ships to assure good sensor coverage of potential airborne threats. With the use of CEC, Balisle remarked, “the light bulb turned on,” and they realized that CEC would allow a far more effective arrangement of ships (and sensors) to identify, track, and counter enemy aircraft and missiles than possible by individual ships.39 In these exercises, the Eisenhower Battle Group demonstrated a robust sensor netting capability integrated with fire control.40

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Balisle’s realization that CEC would change significant aspects of warfare at sea is reminiscent of the sudden insight Rear Adm. William F. Fullam—a battleship admiral—had about the future role of aviation. Yet, in both cases what mattered most was the “shared commitment to deciding rationally, on the basis of evidence gathered from simulations and experiments, [and] how to judge among . . . different proposals.”41 Operational assessments were conducted in 1995, and in May the system received Milestone II approval for entry into engineering and manufacturing development, which signified that CEC met seventeen activities required in Milestone I’s program definition phase.42 The subsequent engineering and manufacturing development phase would determine system capabilities and whether the CEC hardware and software were producible, supportable, and cost-effective.43 Between January 19 and February 2, 1996, at Kauai, Hawaii, a cruise missile defense Advanced Concept Technology Demonstration—“Mountain Top”—was conducted using CEC. The demonstrations and tests conducted under Mountain Top involved the CEC-enabled first ever beyond-radar horizon engagement of a cruise missile from a ship, and established the potential for beyond-line-of-sight Patriot (PAC-3) surface to air missile engagements.44 Later in 1996, Initial Operational Capability (IOC) was certified for the use of computer programs and equipment (AN/USG-1) in the Aegis guided missile cruisers Anzio and Cape St. George. Both ships, with CEC installed, deployed twice with the Dwight D. Eisenhower Carrier Battle Group with positive reviews. In preparation for certifying IOC, program managers ensured that the computer programs operating on CEC equipment were reliable and mature. They also developed airborne and shipborne versions of the Common Equipment Set (AN/USG-2 and AN/USG-3, respectively) that would be smaller, lighter, more reliable, and cheaper.45 In early 1997, following congressional guidance, the Navy certified Initial Operational Capability (IOC) for CEC, which entailed upgrading engineering development model equipment to the AN/USG-1 configuration.46 Although CEC had achieved IOC with the AN/USG-1 equipment, the program had not yet passed Technical Evaluation (TECHEVAL) and Operational Evaluation (OPEVAL). Passing TECHEVAL and OPEVAL were required to approve production of the AN/USG-2 equipment set.47 In July 1997, an Initial Operational Test and Evaluation of the AN/USG-2 data distribution system was conducted on the amphibious assault ship Wasp. In August, additional tests were conducted to support the decision to proceed to low-rate initial production of CEC equipment. During these tests, operators encountered interoperability problems in using the combat system and the tactical digital data links.48 Personnel using the combat system consoles were overwhelmed with inconsistent data, alerts, and identification conflicts. Work on CEC over the next three years was devoted to identifying and fixing the interoperability problems.49 In 1998, further tests on Aegis cruisers Hue City (CG-66) and Vicksburg (CG-69) revealed similar interoperability and combat system problems. Navy

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officials decided that they could not diagnose, fix, and retest the combat systems for carriers and amphibious assault ships, and Aegis cruisers—and then test them with CEC—in time to meet the then-existing Technical and Operational deadlines. These deadlines were delayed until spring 2001. To meet these deadlines, the NAVSEA Program Executive Office established an Interoperability Task Force within the Program Executive Office for Theater Surface Combatants. The organizational mission for this task force was to coordinate five different acquisition programs across three different Navy systems commands and to achieve sufficient technical progress in these acquisition programs to warrant operational at-sea tests in 2001 and the deployment of CEC in the John F. Kennedy (CV-67) Battle Group by 2002. The Interoperability Task Force directed battle group tests and analyses, and the creation of a “system engineering process” to (1) coordinate the preparation of the individual systems for planned Technical and Operational Evaluations and (2) ensure that the individual combat systems, the tactical data links, and CEC would operate together reliably. In 1999, two administrative actions were taken that had a great effect on the CEC program. First, CEC was designated an Acquisition Category ID program.50 Second, NAVSEA set up a “Distributed Engineering Plant,”51 composed of landbased test sites using combat system mock-ups, to test and analyze battle group interoperability prior to at-sea tests.52 The Distributed Engineering Plant (DEP) innovation is extremely significant. In effect, DEP accomplishes the long-established public administration goal of a program “pre-audit,” which assesses the validity of plans and the probability of error and risk prior to operation.53 As such, the DEP offers the means to assess and reduce three types of errors that continually plague military development programs: schedule delays, performance shortfalls, and budget overruns. The Army’s Development Test Command plans to test its networked Future Combat System using a DEP-type distributed testing.54 In preparation for the May 2001 operational evaluation (OPEVAL), various tests and exercises were held. In April 2000, a two-week test was conducted over a 40,000 square-mile area along the Atlantic coast of Georgia and Florida at the All Service Combat Identification Evaluation Team exercise. This test demonstrated the ability of sensors aboard ships and aircraft to be linked into a network to form a “single integrated air picture”—a continuous cohesive track of aircraft and missiles in real time. At-sea tests were conducted in September 2000 (Underway 10) and December 2000 (Underway 11) with the largest number (to that time) of “cooperating units”—Cooperative Engagement Processor-equipped ships and aircraft, connected via the data Distribution System network. The testing featured the Wasp, Hue City, Anzio, Cape St. George, Vicksburg, Carney (DDG-64), Dwight D. Eisenhower, aircraft, and CEC land sites at the Surface Combat System Center (Wallops Island, Virginia), and the Combat Direction Systems Station (Dam Neck, Virginia). In Underway 10, problems were discovered with network operations, and fixes were identified for CEC, Aegis, and several other systems. These problems were mitigated in time for Underway 11, which was conducted in two phases.55 In Phase I, off the coast of Puerto Rico, tests demonstrated the ability

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of CEC and the Aegis Weapon System to support Standard Missile surface-to-air engagements. In Phase II, off the Virginia Capes, additional sea- and land-based units were added to stress system performance and to replicate the challenge of multiple CEC-equipped carrier battle groups operating together. Supersonic targets were engaged by firing a Standard Missile and a NATO Sea Sparrow missile. In May 2001, CEC hardware—the AN/USG-2 data distribution system—and baseline 2.0 software entered operational evaluation and deployment in the John F. Kennedy Battle Group.56 The test and evaluation activity determined that the shipboard data distribution system hardware, AN/USG-2, and associated software were effective, but identified several issues for further examination, particularly interoperability of the aircraft-based AN/USG-3 equipment with the battle group. The Acquisition Decision Memorandum (dated April 3, 2002) approved the AN/USG-2 for full-rate production of up to 215 CEC systems, the AN/USG-3 hardware dedicated for aircraft for Low-Rate Initial Production, and a plan for a CEC upgrade.57 The Memorandum projected the fleet to be fully equipped with the sea-based CEC by 2008—twenty-one years after the start of the program.58 In 2002, Raytheon, the primary CEC contractor faced competition from Lockheed and Solipsys for the development of an improved version of CEC, called CEC Block II. In December 2002, Raytheon decided to buy Solipsys. A few months later, Raytheon and Lockheed agreed to form a team to compete for the development of Block II. The Navy, in an effort to retain the advantages of competition, announced in mid-2003 that it would divide the Block II development into smaller contracts. In December 2003, the Navy cancelled its plans to develop CEC Block II in favor of a new plan for a joint-service follow-on capability.59 Between 2003 and 2006, the Navy addressed interoperability problems identified during operational testing, and maintained that technical corrections were made to combat systems, such as Aegis, the Advanced Combat Direction System, the Ship Self Defense System, the Command Data Link Management System, and the E-2C Hawkeye. The Director of Operational Test and Evaluation’s Fiscal Year 2005 Annual Report noted that most of the deficiencies identified in FY 2004 operational testing had been ameliorated or corrected. Fielding of CEC continues in the Arleigh Burke DDG-51-class of Aegis-guided missile destroyers in amphibious warfare ships, in aircraft carriers, and in E-2C Hawkeye aircraft. The Navy is pursuing various upgrades to CEC, and these improvements will be installed into existing CEC units already installed into ships and aircraft. CEC achieved full operational capability in May 2005. In its review of CEC, the Government Accountability Office declared that the technologies and design of airborne and ship-based versions of CEC were fully mature, and the basic design was stable.60 In the meantime, in 2005, the Single Integrated Air Picture (SIAP) program, a program parallel to CEC, delivered a computer model that will enable the Navy and the other Services to implement the theory of network-centric warfare. The SIAP is a network tool that will provide a single tactical picture of the battlespace

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showing enemy and friendly units on land, sea, and in the air to infantrymen, pilots, and commanders. Whereas the CEC was a Navy program—created to solve naval air defense threats—SIAP, a “joint” program, was begun to solve battle management problems generic to all the services. SIAP is being developed by the Joint SIAP System Engineering Organization and is supervised by a board of directors composed of senior officers from U.S. Joint Forces Command, each of the military services, and the nine Unified Combatant Commands. This board seeks to ensure that CEC and SIAP sensor measurement and radar tracking will be compatible—or interoperable. The duplication between the CEC and SIAP led Rear Adm. Charles T. Bush, Naval Sea System Command’s chief of Integrated Warfare Systems, to replace the Navy’s CEC Block 2 upgrade with SIAP. Yet, a planned product improvement effort for CEC hardware was also initiated to take advantage of technological advances that reduce weight, size, and cost without adding new critical technologies.61 In early 2007, CEC remains a viable program for naval integrated fire control, and a principal enabler of network-centric operations by naval ships.62 The Joint SIAP System Engineering Organization (JSSEO) was chartered by the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the undersecretary of defense for Acquisition, Technology and Logistics, and the assistant secretary of defense for Command, Control, Communications, and Intelligence. As a joint organization, the JSSEO is staffed by representatives from all the services. Like the CEC program office, the JSSEO has developed a collaborative system engineering process within a multiorganizational system, which includes interaction with US JFCOM, the Joint Staff, the Missile Defense Agency, Defense Information Systems Agency, Director of Operational Test and Evaluation, the Services, and industry partners Boeing, Northrop Grumman, Raytheon, and Lockheed Martin.63 Congressional committees have followed the progress of CEC and SIAP and, in the FY 2004 defense appropriations act (P.L. 108-87), directed that CEC Block 2 funds may be available for “purposes similar to the purposes for which appropriated,” such as SIAP.64

CONCLUSION At a minimum, Navy program management entails the very difficult task of coordinating the actions, research, tests, reviews, and approvals of numerous Navy combat system program offices, and their Navy technical agents, e.g., APL and industry. Coordination of these activities takes place within a political system in which the representatives of different organizations have distinct and different contexts, goals, and resources with which to evaluate experience. APL, as inventor of the CEC concept and “technical direction agent,” must arbitrate and mediate between industry and the Navy. The NAVSEA CEC program office must respond to Congress, and senior Navy and Office of the Secretary of Defense

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officials, such as the OSD Office of Operational Test and Evaluation (OT&E). Although these various organizations support the CEC program, their interests and positions on particular issues sometimes conflict. For example, while Congressional staff urge rapid development of the various CEC technologies, OT&E—a voice for more rigorous testing of the CEC hardware and software—places greater emphasis on conducting adequate developmental and operational testing. Contractors compete for priority on CEC contracts, e.g., Raytheon Company’s Command, Control, Communications and Information Systems, and Lockheed Martin’s Naval Electronics and Surveillance Systems. The resolution of these organizational conflicts most often involves some form of bargaining or negotiation that employs empirical arguments, data, and experimental results to support one or another position. In any discussion of transformation, the critical issue concerns how organizational learning proceeds. In the CEC program, the interaction of many different organizations in conjunction with a strong commitment, supported by DEP, to using tests, exercises, and experiments to resolve technical and operational uncertainties provides the appropriate set of relationships to encourage progress. The development of the technologies associated with CEC has not been easy and technical problems remain. CRS analyst Ronald O’Rourke, for example, notes that Navy officials acknowledge that CEC will strain the Fleet’s available data-transmission bandwidth capability. The modification of CEC with Tactical Component Network, a system developed in parallel, might reduce bandwidth requirements without reducing effectiveness.65 The feasibility of this potential modification of CEC was increased by Raytheon’s purchase of TCN’s developer— Solipsys. The modification has been tested by the multiorganizational system responsible for identifying performance shortfalls in CEC. Using analogous terms, the OT&E FY2001 Annual Report notes the impact of the CEC’s multiorganizational system: “through collaborative analysis between the major subsystem teams, rapid feedback was provided to a senior system engineering council that made recommendations to the PEO regarding software modifications to enhance overall system performance.”66 A key measure of organizational learning is whether the program allows new concepts to develop in response to experience. Only six years after the CEC program was born, many new concepts had been proposed and discussions held with personnel in other services for future operational applications and technological evolution, e.g., to expand antiair warfare capabilities, and to apply the concept to new activities (such as networked strike and surveillance, tactical ballistic missile defense, and Navy antisurface and antisubmarine warfare).67 As operational experience with CEC accumulates, naval warfare theorists continue to propose new operational concepts that will alter the way forces are deployed and employed in ways the CEC designers “could not have begun to imagine.”68 In one respect, however, the operation of this multiorganizational system has not been very effective in diffusing knowledge about CEC to the Fleet. As Vice Admiral Balisle noted, the CEC experience of people in the Eisenhower Battle

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Group largely remained “in the family” of those who went to sea with the Battle Group.69 The next chapter will relate the experience of the CEC program to the development of amphibious operations doctrine, the introduction of carrier-based aviation into the U.S. Navy and the Royal Navy, and the approach to doctrinal and weapons development by nineteenth-century military leaders.

SUMMARY OF KEY POINTS 1. Organizational learning requires procedures and processes to encode, store, and retrieve experience. Under the best of circumstances, extracting and retaining lessons from experience is a challenging organizational task. 2. Posturing an organization to learn is a strategic choice that partially depends on similar choices by other organizational leaders. 3. Under the direction of Naval Sea System Command’s Program Executive Office for Theater Combatant Systems, a multiorganizational system developed, composed of more than thirteen geographically distributed separate government offices and private companies. 4. Members of Congress and their staffs expressed strong interest in the accomplishments and potential of CEC, and have influenced the program development schedules and performance goals.

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6

Conclusion

Of all things required of public policies, none is more paramount than that they be subject to criticism. The cost of error runs high in this world, and it is manifestly more sensible to prevent error than to correct it. . . . That is why criticism is so important. Its object is to anticipate error; to detect it and, hopefully, to correct it—and to do so in advance of execution. —Martin Landau1

INTRODUCTION The advent of World War II heralded a vast expansion in the number and specialization of military administrative organizations—and the personnel to staff them—created to plan, organize, train, transport, equip, and supply personnel, and to develop new weapons and operational concepts. This increasing number of specialized organizations to conduct and support the war effort was often accompanied by inefficiencies, confusion, delay, and lack of coordination. It is no accident that the American military acronyms SNAFU, FUBAR, and TARFU date from 1941. The acronym SNAFU even provided the name of a character, “Private Snafu,” for animated Army training films.2 Postwar British and American administrative histories of the war effort described the manifold difficulties of building and coordinating new large organizations—the challenges of achieving agreement among competing interests, of communicating effectively, of coordinating actions, of ensuring appropriate and timely execution of plans, and of conducting suitable oversight.3 British and American national security communities approached these challenges in the

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context of democratic systems of government, and were thus subject to critical observation by politicians and the public. Contrary to the common assumption that democracy interferes with effective operation of the military, however, Germany and Japan were far worse at organization and coordination. Writing in 1941, noted British political scientist Herman Finer observes that democracy is rising to deal with the administrative and managerial challenges of waging world war.4 With hindsight, British historians W. K. Hancock and M. M. Gowing note, “the enduring advantages of efficiency did not lie with those nations which had government permanently immune from constitutional criticism.”5 Criticism inherent in democracy actually helps military organizations function more effectively. This observation is pertinent to discussions of how to organize to enhance the prospects of transformation. Improved military capabilities—and an enduring competitive advantage—will result from critical observation and from deliberately improving the ability of defense organizations to identify and correct errors and to apply knowledge and analysis in decision making. As stated in Chapter 1, the primary goal of this study has been to promote innovation in Department of Defense (DoD) by examining, comparing, and analyzing how several large-scale changes—or what we now call transformations— took place. The methodological key to unlocking the process of innovation and transformation is attention to levels of analysis. Most studies of innovation focus on the actions, choices, and problems faced by individuals in particular organizations. Few studies place the actions of individuals and organizations in the context of the multiorganizational milieu within which they work. Yet, the multiorganizational environment of individual and organizational decision making is the most powerful determinant of how actions are conceived, examined, and acted upon, and makes error identification and correction possible. The historical cases examined in these pages show how the interaction among sets of organizations with partially overlapping tasks and missions enhanced the application of evidence, sound inference, and logic to the problems of acquiring knowledge about new equipment and new operational concepts. The cases demonstrate that for senior leadership, participating in a multiorganizational system should be a strategic and deliberate choice that increases the chances that errors will be identified, analyzed, and excised from acquisition programs, operational concepts, concept development, and doctrine.6 A feature of all the cases, of course, is that no such deliberate choice was made and designed into the way senior leaders approached the problems of organizing for and conducting warfare. The interwar USN aviation community and the USMC amphibious operation community were lucky that in a time of rapid technological advance and strategic risk their decisions in framing and solving technological and operational problems were made within a functioning multiorganizational system. The Army Air Corps and the Royal Marines were not so lucky. The examples of the interwar operation of multiorganizational systems analyzed in

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these pages were not planned arrangements to mesh the operation of separate and independent organizations. No senior civilian or military leader decided that separate organizations with overlapping policy responsibilities, tasks, or missions should interact, guided by hearings before the General Board. Nor did any senior leader specify how interaction among separate agencies should proceed. Indeed, there was no conscious search during the interwar period to articulate and design bureaucratic relationships and administrative processes that would increase the likelihood of error correction. One might ask about individual post-World War II programs that prospered despite the apparent absence of intellectual competition, e.g., the Navy’s Special Projects Office that developed the fleet ballistic missile system. In this case, a more detailed examination of the project history reveals extensive internal duplication and competition and parallel research paths. As political scientist Harvey M. Sapolsky observes, “the existence of an integrated, uniquely effective management system is a myth originated by the Special Projects Office. The further removed it was from its source, the more embossed the myth tended to become.”7 In the present time, a great deal of thought is devoted to proper organizational design and the numbers of persons required to perform necessary functions, but the framework of a multiorganizational system is not guiding these designs, nor is the extensive literature on how successful innovating organizations often pursue multiple and parallel approaches to a technology development program.8 The personnel developing the USN’s Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC) for joint theater air and missile defense also may have been operating within an evolving multiorganizational system. In this case, as the technical capabilities of the data distribution system and software improved, people in more agencies, offices, and organizations saw the need to interact. This interaction, in turn, improved the testing methodology (through the use of distributed engineering plant), generated new ideas for operational concepts, increased operators and commanders’ knowledge about the equipment and capabilities, and paved the way for the Joint SIAP System Engineering Office, which promises to be a more effective approach to missile and air defense. In Chapter 1, five broad questions were posed to guide research: r

Toward what concepts of operation should we evolve? How should the United States compete in specific missions? r What organizational forms and arrangements may exploit U.S. technological and personnel advantages? r How should the national security community organize itself to develop new operational concepts, and new organizations appropriate to new technologies? r Is the use of knowledge and analysis in creating new operational concepts and organizations more or less effective today than it was in the period between World War I and World War II?

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Do today’s analytical tools, computer, information, and Internet technologies provide symbolic cover for a reduced application of knowledge and analysis to military problems?

With hindsight, it is evident that the answers to some of these questions overlap. What follows is a discussion of the core issues raised by these questions.

ORGANIZATIONAL FORMS AND ARRANGEMENTS: MULTIORGANIZATIONAL SYSTEMS As argued in preceding chapters, the concept of multiorganizational systems is central to dealing with organizational pathologies that are very difficult to manage in a single organization. It is important to review the properties of the concept and its application to understanding the innovation process. Briefly, two or more organizations acting together create a social system. Over time, organizations and people in this system assume particular roles and develop expectations of others’ behavior. The interaction of separate organizations produces a requirement for a different level of analysis to describe and explain their collective behaviors. The multiorganizational system has an identity separate from its members, and many activities of a multiorganizational system cannot be explained simply by examining the behavior of its members.9 The potential of a multiorganizational system to identify and correct error exceeds that of any single organization. A critical aspect of multiorganizational systems concerns how actions are coordinated. Coordination is, of course, also a problem for individual organizations. The general problem of coordination is that the many tasks and actions performed in any single organization are not specified in advance of action, except in a very general manner. Consequently, one of the most important of organizational processes is the elaboration of actions and tasks, and the determination of which tasks and activities are to be conducted at which places and times.10 The elaboration of tasks and actions is complicated by the degree to which performance of those tasks is contingent upon environmental stimuli—such as information or actions that originate outside the organization. A widely accepted tenet of public administration is that severe coordination difficulties always accompany activity that requires cooperation among multiple agencies or administrative entities. A plurality of agencies or organizations working on the same set of tasks is viewed negatively. In this view, each agency pursues its own interest or solutions to its own perceptions of a problem, and the aggregate of multiple agencies interacting on a common problem allows the evasion of responsibility, especially if errors or catastrophe should occur. Moreover, agency leaders assume that the difficulties of administrative coordination will be amplified by the cost of duplicative services. The common solution proposed to resolve

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inefficiencies of duplicative services and coordination difficulties is to combine separate agencies into an interlocking—tightly coupled—network, wherein the sequence of organizational routine works in a fixed order. The various components of such networks are arranged—on paper organizational charts—so that they perform reliably and efficiently, with no redundancy. Against this standard of organization, multiorganizational arrangements that evolve without the benefit of engineering design are viewed as chaotic, inefficient, and an irrational waste of public resources. The assumption behind all reorganization plans is that structural reforms to reduce the number of autonomous agencies—comprehensive and unitary coordination, merging functions, and centralizing jurisdiction and authority— will solve administrative shortfalls. The reality, nevertheless, is that consolidating independent agencies normally produces greater difficulty for the chief executive in conserving and managing his attention, a longer chain of command, a more tightly coupled and interdependent hierarchy, and a greater vulnerability to unanticipated and costly events.11 The interwar multiorganizational systems encompassing the naval aviation community and the marine amphibious operations community were loosely coupled—coordination was supplied by the discussion, argument, and analysis of problems before the General Board. In both the amphibious operations and the carrier aviation examples, professional standards of conduct, and rules of evidence and inference encouraged the formation of relationships within a system of organizations that was able to examine plans, programs, and policies critically, regardless of whether the individual organizations making up the system exhibited self-correcting or self-evaluating behavior. In the carrier aviation example, none of the participating naval agencies—the General Board, the Fleet, the Naval War College, or the Bureau of Aeronautics— acting on its own could have pursued carrier development to the detriment of battleships. But the system of the four organizations interacting together allowed the Navy to initiate and implement aviation innovation. There appears to be a parallel between the two interwar successes and the Navy’s CEC program. The number of agencies working on aspects of the CEC program was not set by design in the early 1970s when the idea for cooperative engagement emerged. Over time, as knowledge and experience accumulated and working models were tested, the relationships among the agencies working on CEC was reviewed, placed under jurisdiction of official acquisition rules, and altered in various ways. The roles and duties of Navy agencies and industry working on CEC— and the ways in which they interact—evolved in response to technical failures (e.g., poor interoperability of CEC with other combat systems discovered during testing), Congressional concerns, department of the Navy and DoD evaluations, and lobbying by industry participants or opponents. CEC program relationships evolved partly in response to the same types of chance factors that affect other acquisition programs (e.g., the presidential appointment of civilian officials, each of whom brings a set of interests, preferences,

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skills, and experiences to oversight and administration of programs) and changing institutional relationships. More importantly, CEC program relationships and organization structure also evolved and adapted in response to experience; the system “learned.” For example, the interoperability task force was created after it was clear that the technical problems were fairly well understood.12 The task force, thus, faced a bounded problem of acquiring information, designing solutions, and identifying personnel with relevant experience. Had the interoperability task force been created at the program start of CEC, identifying and solving tradeoffs would have proved a far larger and more diffuse intellectual problem. In a loosely coupled multiorganizational system—in which sequences of actions are not fixed—coordination is provided by the shared interest of each agency in creating evidence and justifying inferences in support of its own programs, budgets, and activities, that is, (1) the hardware that meets performance requirements, (2) the tactics, techniques, and procedures that improve U.S. operational capability or reduce the likelihood of successful attacks against U.S. forces, and (3) the doctrine about how battle groups should operate in various situations. A multiorganizational arrangement fosters technological progress and innovations, and improves doctrine and tactics. Organizational members are rationally competitive. As each agency in the system seeks to strengthen and advance its own arguments, positions, and priorities, agency players have strong incentives to develop supporting evidence.13 They design appropriate exercises and experiments and search for relevant analogous experience.14 This process trains personnel to think, plan, and argue rationally. Moreover, the interagency interaction subjects this evidence, thinking, and planning to rigorous criticism, exposing flaws early.

ORGANIZATION OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY COMMUNITY Much of the discussion about appropriate organizational arrangements to speed technology development projects, to spur innovation, and to transform military forces is, at root, constitutional criticism of the separation of powers and checks and balances—and the interaction among the many organizations that are created under such a constitutional system. Martin Landau describes these constitutional criticisms beginning with Woodrow Wilson’s 1885 Ph.D. dissertation, Congressional Government.15 In Landau’s analysis, the error-correcting and self-regulating properties of organizational arrangements set by the Constitution have been underappreciated and misunderstood. The design of self-regulating and error-correcting systems includes features that act under assorted time constants, levels of response, and positive and negative feedbacks. Since problems fluctuate and diverge in character, cost, duration, and intensity, self-regulating systems generate different responses to different types of problems or disturbances. Some problems require deliberate and thoughtful analysis; others demand quick response. Some problems address local levels— and must be addressed at those levels; other problems affect the system as a

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whole, and require systemic solutions. The authors of the Constitution placed decision and choice points at a variety of organizational levels to allow different responses in terms of calendars and schedules. The Federalist Papers reveal deep and thoughtful analysis of the relationship between means and ends, and problems and solutions. The three practical implications of this analysis for senior DoD officials are that (1) the logic of the long-standing effort to achieve a unitary decision structure through DoD reorganizations exacerbates, rather than solves, the problems of how to coordinate to achieve effective “unified” operations, (2) the individual organization is not the appropriate level of analysis to implement military transformation, and (3) tremendous opportunities exist for the exercise of leadership in multiorganizational systems. In short, the constitutional arrangement of federalism, separation of powers, and checks and balances puts a premium on leadership skills of negotiating, bargaining, and cajoling to coordinate actions across and between governmental levels. Needless to say, the premium placed on those social skills is quite frustrating to those who prefer simply to issue an order to dutiful and responsive subjects. The proponents of the 1986 DoD reorganization, like proponents of previous DoD reorganizations, promoted centralized authority as the way to avoid policy deadlocks, policy miscoordination and noncoordination, divided authority, and inability to fix responsibility for decision making. James R. Locher III, a Senate Armed Services Committee staffer in 1985, and principal author of the report on DoD organization supporting the Goldwater-Nichols legislation, argues that [The] principal organizational goal of DoD, both in 1949 and now, is the integration of the distinct military capabilities of the four Services to prepare for and conduct effective unified operations in fulfilling major U.S. military operations. . . . Effective integration is critical to U.S. national security because none of the major missions of DoD can be executed alone by forces of any single service. Without effective mission integration, unification of the four Services—as provided in the National Security Act of 1947—means little.16

Reviewing the impact of Goldwater-Nichols on the DoD from the vantage point of fifteen years later, Locher argues that Americans realized they needed “centralized authority” during the Spanish American War.17 While Locher identifies what he believes to be errors flowing from the absence of centralized authority, he neither balances that argument with an analysis of the relationship of centralized authority to other types of organizational errors nor evaluates the cost(s) of errors of each organizational authority relationship. In fact, the primary outcome of removing policy, jurisdictional, task, and mission overlap is to create public monopolies that disguise rather than expose their errors. Given continual calls for centralization, efficiency, and the elimination of redundancy, one must wonder, with Capt. Karl Hasslinger (USN, ret.), whether people in the national security community even recognize that the organization of their relationships is flawed.18

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The Organization of Experimentation The appropriate question to ask concerning the organization of national security community is not, “How can we have a more unified and ‘efficient’ structure?” but, “How can we organize to foster criticism and correct errors?” Of course, the DoD’s 2006 Quadrennial Defense Review Report focused on the former rather than the latter question. Yet, if one focuses on how to foster criticism and correct errors, the answer to questions about the organization of national security becomes obvious and simple: acknowledge the many difficulties in testing ideas about combat tactics, operations, and organization; adopt an experimental attitude; conduct experiments in the context of an experimental campaign (or a research program) created to accumulate, catalog, criticize, and access knowledge; integrate doctrine development with an extensive and rigorous program of simulation and field exercises guided by a growing body of knowledge; and devote senior leaders’ attention to interagency coordination. Senior military and civilian leaders, as they face an uncertain and unknowable future, must make decisions that anticipate consequences of current and past actions and events, wondering whether they are choosing the right option and subject to carping by critics who second-guess honest decisions. It is sobering enough to be in charge of large sums of public funds, but military leaders’ choices affect the physical well-being of airmen, sailors, soldiers, and marines who risk their lives in combat. Service leaders often find themselves in situations where there is broad agreement about goals (that is, to defeat the enemy) but a good deal of objective uncertainty and disagreement about how to reach the goals. The result is considerable heated debate about alternative courses of action implied by doctrinal abstractions. But there is no a priori way to determine which course of action is correct. In peacetime, the problem for the national security community is to find the technical knowledge that will help determine which alternative options are appropriate to which tasks during wartime. This perspective requires a research orientation—a commitment to test ideas through a combination of experiments, exercises, maneuvers, and analysis (including “armchair” historical analysis and games and simulations)—and the resources to create and accumulate the appropriate knowledge.19 How would a research orientation and experimental approach play out in the development of doctrine? First, we assume that doctrine, like plans and policies, is hypothetical; operations, like programs, are experimental. It is obvious that the object of doctrine is to direct, control, or influence future events and conditions. Doctrinal statements, therefore, are “if-then” propositions—they are unverified when formulated. The operations or activities that derive from doctrine are experiments, and provide real evidence of the power or inadequacy of the doctrine. It should be evidence, not belief, that allows doctrine to be established as a solution to a stated combat problem. On this matter, Nobel laureate Peter B. Medawar’s advice to scientists is equally applicable to military leaders and analysts: “I cannot

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give any scientist of any age better advice than this: the intensity of the conviction that a hypothesis is true has no bearing on whether it is true or not.”20 But is it feasible to apply an experimental approach to doctrinal questions? We are all familiar with the various reasons to ignore the experimental character of doctrine, including partisan advantage, self-serving interest, ideological blindness, bias, ignorance, and power plays over turf, status, and position. All bureaucracies, not just military ones, refuse to acknowledge errors and try to hide them. They punish those who would identify errors. Such actions are taken because errors might reveal misfeasance and incompetence, or threaten coalitions within organizations, or open vital information to opponents, or weaken credibility before authorizing agencies, or lead to loss of power, promotion opportunities, and status. However, we must understand that solutions to problems of combat tactics, operations, and organization cannot be mandated from nothing; they must be discovered on the basis of experimentation, exercises, and analysis. Our doctrinal and concept development service organizations must be able to produce knowledge about operations against wily and resourceful foes. Experimentation, here, is not simply a matter of “learning by doing.” It is a matter of establishing a policy that makes possible the systematic accumulation and criticism of knowledge. In this respect, exercises also are an appropriate and useful source of information and knowledge. Exercises, experiments, wargames, and “armchair” analyses should be employed as mutually critiquing and reinforcing components of the experimental attitude. The policy of experimentation should allow several competing strategies to be pursued separately and simultaneously so that comparisons can be made. The strategies must be pursued separately, because as soon as they are put into effect, they become experiments. Good experimental technique dictates that we cannot learn effectively if we do not have independent “controls” so that we may determine the superior alternatives. A project not conceived as an experiment amounts to a waste of our time, money, and effort. Senior civilian and military leaders may point out that scarcity of resources does not permit the luxury of multiple experiments within the context of an experimental campaign (or research program); we can afford only one project at a time. Yet, the effort to compare several efforts is not an indulgence; it is a necessity and will save untold future resources. A research program through which experimental results are examined and interpreted will more clearly demarcate what we know about proposed operational concepts and associated tactics from what we do not know. In addition, some developing capabilities may enable the acquisition of knowledge from multiple experiments and exercises at reasonable cost.21 As described in Chapter 5, Distributed Engineering Plant is an innovation currently being developed in the Navy and the DoD that may permit multiple experiments.22 A good deal of the developmental and operational testing of CEC has involved Distributed Engineering Plant. In the Distributed Engineering Plant, high bandwidth channels link sensors and other equipment at multiple laboratories, and a few ships and

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aircraft. This set-up simulates the actual composition of various battle groups, and allows the testers to identify and correct errors such as software and interoperability conflicts. In the language of public administration, Distributed Engineering Plant is a “pre-audit”—a means to identify and prevent errors.23 In what should be a significant factor in overall DoD transformation, there is an effort to extend the Navy concept of Distributed Engineering Plant across the Defense Department. The Joint Distributed Engineering Plant program tests other military services’ large-scale and expensive projects earlier in their development cycle.24 Until the budgetary and scheduling advantages of conducting multiple experiments, for instance, by using Distributed Engineering Plant, are realized, our attention may continue to be focused on single experiments. Experiments, by definition, do not presume a valid relationship between causes and outcomes—they test the relationship. Experiments are different from commands or orders issued by political-military authorities, which do presume validity. Experiments precede commands and are required to establish the information and knowledge that legitimize commands. If a project is not treated experimentally it will be treated as if there were nothing to learn. Effectiveness is measured by the gap between actual outcome and expected outcome. When we can determine effectiveness we can learn, and we can evaluate efficiency. Such evaluation can be difficult to accomplish, because frequently we do not understand how to measure. Finding the appropriate means to evaluate is vital so we can learn whether our systems fulfill their tasks. No organization, process, or system can work with the zero expectation of error, as the components of each are risky actors who are subject to error. We have to expect and capitalize on error. Objectives are expectations; error is the violation of those expectations. Experiments test the expectations. Without experimentation, vague expectations cannot produce clear grounds for learning. A vague question can produce only a definite maybe.

FUTURE CONCEPTS OF OPERATION The question “to what operational concepts should we evolve?” has no a priori answer in the form of particular mixture of forces or procurement of particular equipment. Inventing operational concepts is an open-ended intellectual and experimental process as new issues arise and old issues disappear. The process of inquiry is self-destabilizing and cannot be limited, completed, or predicted.25 Yet, the case studies of CEC, the interwar naval aviation community, and the interwar development of amphibious landing doctrine illustrate that the existence of a multiorganizational system encourages the type of searching analysis and criticism that places a premium on creating knowledge and developing empirical evidence for (or against) various policy options. Indeed, replicating and diffusing the ability of some acquisition and doctrine development communities to identify and correct errors, to test and experiment, to accumulate knowledge, and to learn

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are the primary sources of an enduring advantage the United States has over allies and potential rivals. While we cannot make categorical statements about the future efficacy of operational concepts, we can assert that organizational attention to the identification and elimination of error will enhance the prospects for the creation and evolution of appropriate operational concepts. In each case of successful development described in this study, operational concepts (and technology) evolved in ways that were not—and could not have been—predicted.26 In 2002, Vice Admiral Balisle and Rear Admiral Bush noted that with CEC “we have transformed legacy systems in ways their designers could not have begun to imagine.”27 It should be added that operational advantages conferred by CEC to battle groups were not evident to then-Captain Balisle when he was preparing the cruiser Anzio for exercises and deployment with CEC. These advantages became clear through the predeployment exercises, subsequent thought, and discussions among colleagues.28 Similarly, determining how to devise the means to compete in specific missions involves not perfect prescience, but robust organizational means to identify and eliminate error. Multiplying these organizational means to analyze doctrine and combat experience generates an enormous combat advantage. For example, the wartime birth of operational analysis provided U.S. and British forces a significant combat advantage over their German and Japanese foes and raised the question of how the Germans and Japanese organized scientific support. Happily, neither Axis power organized its scientific personnel as effectively as the United States and Great Britain.29

THE USE OF KNOWLEDGE AND ANALYSIS: THE INTERWAR PERIOD AND TODAY The many studies lauding interwar innovation may have created an impression that analogous large-scale progress today is much more difficult and less likely. To be sure, the interwar organizational successes of naval aviation and amphibious operations recounted in earlier chapters are quite impressive. Nevertheless, during the interwar period there also were failures of strategic leadership to organize to learn. Bernard Brodie cites the Navy explanation for why battleships had so little antiaircraft defense during and after World War II: Congress was unwilling to appropriate sufficient funds for the purpose. Yet, Brodie asserts this explanation seems not to withstand the test of record. I can find little evidence that the navy as a whole—and particularly the Bureau of Ships—came anywhere near predicting the needs of the war in that category of weapons, or that any concerted effort was made to persuade Congress of the urgency of the problem. Certainly, one can find little to indicate that the navy was eager to sacrifice other, less necessary things accorded it by Congress in order to remedy this glaring deficiency.30

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Brodie’s description is equally applicable to the failure of the Army air leaders to organize the Air Corps to advance aviation equipment and doctrine as effectively as did the naval aviation community. In 1949, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Hanson W. Baldwin catalogued egregious prewar mistakes made by senior air leaders—all of which have their roots in the organizational failure to learn. Baldwin writes: Our 1941 appreciation of what air power meant, of what it could do and what it could not do, was deficient. We did not understand that air power included airfields, antiaircraft guns, and ground troops for the protection of those fields, all grossly deficient in the Philippines. Our judgments of what air power could do were also grossly exaggerated. The range of the B-17 was considerably overestimated. The Air Force ability to bomb shipping from high altitudes was greatly overestimated.31

Such failures of leadership are reminiscent of the post-Civil War period, as described in Chapter 2, in which senior military leaders did not tell Congress why resources were needed for experimentation.

Repealing Murphy’s Law Today, it seems that the organizational processes to develop new technology and doctrine are far more difficult to manage; former Secretary of Defense Donald H. Rumsfeld came into office determined to alter patterns of behavior and processes that contributed to bureaucratic failures. On September 10, 2001, he identified bureaucratic impediments to planning and management.32 His solutions were new administrative processes, procedures, roadmaps, metrics, and portfolio analysis.33 Unfortunately, these new processes have required personnel to perform comparisons and calculations that cannot be supported by available information or decision tools. Secretary Rumsfeld, in effect, believed he could repeal Murphy’s Law and ignore generic sources of organizational error in DoD planning, management, and resource allocation processes. For example, the DoD’s evolving joint capability portfolio analysis process is far more complex than the designers appreciate. The capability portfolio process appears to (1) require information and analyses about how, and how well, “capabilities” will generate particular military and political outcomes that DoD components may not be able to provide and (2) involve the interaction and coordination of an extraordinary number of activities, people, and offices, obscuring the relationship between the analysis process and its ultimate purposes. For some time after World War II, continuing the prewar practice, the defense acquisition process was a matter of organizing to develop and produce tangible commodities as cheaply and efficiently as possible—all the while supporting business enterprise, an administrative goal that frequently counteracted efforts to limit waste, fraud, and abuse.

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However, as the cold war continued, treating defense acquisition primarily as a problem of developing tangible commodities created politically untenable planning, political, and budgetary tradeoffs for senior DoD, Office of Management and Budget, and Congressional leaders. The impetus for Defense Secretary Robert S. McNamara’s reforms was the recognition that acquisition tradeoffs were the result of political bargains. McNamara and his aides disdained the bargaining among Service chiefs and others, and devised a formally rational system of analysis to replace it. In reality, however, the McNamara reforms (e.g., PPBS) did not make defense analysis substantively more rational.34 Nor did the reforms make defense analysis procedurally more rational. Instead, McNamara installed a set of management processes that hid bargaining under a veneer of analytic rigor, which made it ever more difficult to pose, negotiate, and carry out reasonable high-level tradeoffs—a problem that also was endemic in Rumsfeld’s DoD. In addition, the designers of the McNamara management reforms unintentionally exacerbated the technical difficulty of creating clear and authoritative data about internal functions and activities. McNamara’s “Whiz kids” underestimated the incentives for the manipulation of information in all organizations—public and private—and they deprived themselves of the information they needed to make smart decisions. In 2001, Secretary Rumsfeld recognized that the Office of the Secretary of Defense did not present management choices in a way to maximize his influence over options, plans, and choices. Seeking to exert greater influence over how highlevel tradeoffs are posed and risks are assigned, he proposed a set of organizational reforms, including the mandate to make planning rational through “capabilitiesbased planning.” The Foreword to the 2001 Quadrennial Defense Review Report (September 30, 2001) states that “Adopting this capabilities-based approach to planning . . . entails adapting existing military capabilities to new circumstances, while experimenting with the development of new military capabilities. In short, it requires the transformation of U.S. forces, capabilities, and institutions to extend America’s asymmetric advantages.” Continuing the core ideas of McNamara’s reforms, capabilities-based planning requires a higher degree of integrated planning, programming, and budgetary analysis—informed by analysis of capabilities across the services—than has been conducted in the past. Capabilities-based planning is a more complicated way to organize acquisition; one more akin to acquisition of services than of commodities. Organizations producing services pose different kinds of problems from organizations that produce commodities; the information and analytic requirements for the former are higher. For example, it is more difficult to define appropriate outcome and output measures for organizations that produce services than for those that produce commodities. The primary error made by proponents of applying capabilities-based planning to defense acquisition is that they confuse a method of making choices with a mode of presenting results. When a decision is made, the chosen alternative with the evidence in its favor is presented as if there were no analytical shortcuts, trial and error, or blind alleys. Similarly, this type of error is made by those who

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assume military innovation to be a linear process, which may be planned from start to finish. The incentive to produce a coherent narrative encourages authors to omit the messy chance and uncertainty that inevitably exists in any effort to make something new.35 In the 1970s, there was great enthusiasm for management information systems designed to provide comprehensive data on a variety of topics. These efforts were abandoned or moderated, because the designers underestimated the difficulties of data storage and data processing. More importantly, it became clear that no one knew (1) how the data were to enter the decision-making process, or (2) to what decisions the data were relevant. A second problem encountered by the 1970s designers of management information systems is that they assumed that internally prepared records were the starting point and the primary source of interest for senior management. The resulting databases were designed to give senior managers and leaders access to the data about internal processes. It certainly was easier to make data about internal processes machine-readable. However, senior management was more interested in data about the impact of their organization’s plans and actions in the environment, that is, whether their organizations were achieving their goals. These data were far harder to obtain and to process. The absence of clear, transparent, authoritative, and auditable data for major management functions has been a complaint of senior DoD and U.S. GAO leaders for years. It is difficult enough to understand what the DoD is doing when using internally prepared data. It is even harder to figure out the applicability of external data to capabilities (e.g., “lessons learned” and independently derived evaluations of combat outcomes). The use of computer-based models to match programs and capabilities only obscures the difficulty of conducting the analysis. Unfortunately, despite the grand intentions to plan better using capabilitybased planning or joint capability portfolio analysis, generic organizational errors have only become more intractable due to interactions among other features of DoD organizational life: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Information overload and attention deficits for senior leadership Numbers and the size of acquisition organization(s) Ubiquity of information manipulation Acquisition and budgeting rules and relationships Difficulty of creating the knowledge to resolve the physical “known unknowns” and to reveal the “unknown unknowns” 6. Greater complexity of hardware and software which increases interoperability failures 7. Political involvement of actors and organizations outside and in competition with the acquisition program. Unfortunately, Murphy’s Law has not been repealed in the Department of Defense. It is incredible that acquisition organizations accomplish any tasks at all given the ubiquity of the above contributors for failure and senior leaders’

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lack of understanding of how multiorganizational systems, consciously and properly employed, can combine the advantages of social interaction with intellectual guidance.

Informal Organization and Ad Hoc Organization Formal organization is the set of abstract, but stable relations that govern the behavior of each member of an organization. The organizational structure, illustrated by an organizational chart and encoded in authority relationships (e.g., hierarchy, division of work, lines of communication, rules, regulations, and standard operating procedures) is an inadequate description of what and how any organization conducts its tasks. The actual organization will operate through interpersonal relations that are not specified by the formal organization. Informal organization develops around the formal structure and entails the partially directed or undirected communications that develop between people and organizational components. Informal organization is essential to the effective operation of formal organization, as it compensates for “rigidities” and situations unanticipated by the organization’s hierarchy, division of work, lines of communication, and so on.36 Long-time Bureau of Budget (now the Office of Management and Budget) official, Harold Seidman, noted that without informal organization “the government probably would grind to a halt.”37 Ad hoc organization is the creation of entirely new authority relationships, hierarchy, division of work, lines of communication, rules, regulations, and standard operating procedures. While informal organization strengthens and supports existing formal organization, ad hoc organizations are created to accomplish tasks that existing formal (and its associated informal) organizations do not or have not performed. On this matter, Seidman remarked that ad hoc organizations become necessary “when coordination cannot be achieved by sound organization, good management, and informal cooperation among agencies in related and mutually supporting activities.”38 Studies of workplace practices show that the ways people actually work differ fundamentally from the ways that work is described in organizational charts, manuals, training programs, and job descriptions.39 Mid-level personnel understand the value of interaction to solve complicated problems that cannot be addressed by single individuals or personnel in individual offices.40 Such groups exist for various periods and have been of varying effectiveness. Nevertheless, ad hoc organizations, like informal organization, are—and have been—prominent components of formal organization. In 1960, DoD testimony provided to the Senate Government Operations’ Subcommittee on National Policy Machinery reported 733 committees and 179 subcommittees— not including classified committees or National Security Council interagency coordinating committees.41 More recently, members of one of the 2006 Quadrennial Defense Review DoD Organization Working Group counted 861 coordinating committees.42

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Senior military and civilian leaders implicitly recognize the weaknesses of their formal organizations because, when confronted with an unusual problem, they create ad hoc organizations (e.g., special commissions, integrated product teams [IPTs], or informal study teams) to solve them. Thus, for example, to deal with rising air-to-air losses during the Vietnam War, Capt. Frank W. Ault was called to a conference with Rear Adm. Bob Townsend (commander, Naval Aviation), and Vice Adm. Tom Connolly (deputy chief of Naval Operations for Aviation) and assigned to figure out how the Navy should reverse its unfavorable aircraft kill exchange ratio.43 Ault was surprised to discover that no one at the Center for Naval Analyses—the Navy’s operations research organization formally charged with examining such matters—had noticed that the Navy’s poor exchange ratio in air-to-air combat was a problem.44 The creation of ad hoc organizations to solve specific issues is only a shortterm and informal fix when the formal organization does not monitor its environment and the status and effectiveness of actions and programs created to achieve its goals and priorities. A crisis is not an ideal time to begin strategic planning. In such a situation, prompt action—prepared by deliberate thought and planning— is necessary. The value for strategic leadership of making time to think often is underestimated. Even more underestimated is the value of deliberately posturing organizations to learn by collecting, cataloging, criticizing, storing, and providing access to knowledge. On occasion, society’s lack of organized intellectual preparation to deal with pressing problems has been noted.45 It is remarkable and alarming that in the wake of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks in New York City and Washington, DC, no intelligence agency began to prepare databases about Muslim suicide murderers. Two nongovernment researchers seized upon the value of creating databases about suicide murderers; they subsequently received many requests from intelligence agency personnel for their databases.46 The most important implication of the cases described in this study is that knowledge and analysis may be generated consciously—and employed more effectively—by multiorganizational systems than by single organizations. The daily operation of multiorganizational systems creates incentives among personnel in separate agencies to be empiricists, that is, to produce and employ knowledge useful to frame and decide issues. The interaction of individuals and individual organizations acting against, as well as in cooperation with each other, creates the incentives for more rigorous use of evidence and inference inside each organization. The result of this interaction among agencies is what Jacob Bronowski referred to as an empirical outlook. Writing about the role of operational analysts during World War II, Bronowski noted they applied logical and quantitative skills to military problems, “but neither of these is really as important as the fact that they tried to act empirically . . . [that it is necessary to apply] . . . empirical evidence for the rightness or wrongness of the assumptions and underlying strategy by which war is to be made.”47 As this book’s cases have shown, multiorganizational systems foster an empirical outlook, regardless of time period or the substance of the technical problem.

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FINAL THOUGHTS Cognitive psychologists have observed that people consistently exaggerate after an event what could have been anticipated with foresight; they also misremember their own predictions about future events to exaggerate in hindsight what they thought they knew in foresight.48 This characteristic of human thought is dangerous for historians, policymakers, and analysts. Knowledge of outcomes of events or processes and the desire to create a coherent narrative make it easy to exaggerate the foresight of historical actors. Such exaggeration limits the utility of historical analysis to the policymaker because it encourages (1) the view that participants in an historical situation were fully aware of its eventual importance or impact (Johannes Gutenberg, for instance, did not anticipate that his invention of movable type would begin a revolution in literacy that would lead to the industrial revolution), and (2) the myth of the critical experiment that instantly and unambiguously establishes the validity of one theory, technology, or operational concept. In the case studies of operational and technological innovation described in earlier chapters, no one had perfect foresight. Identifying and pursuing promising technologies or operational concepts, or failing to do so, was far less a matter of the intelligence of individuals than the way in which their organizations interacted. The presence of a multiorganizational system seems to be indispensable to creating and accumulating knowledge, and guiding and structuring learning. Multiorganizational systems, thus, offer a venue for the exercise of conscious and deliberate strategic leadership by those able to combine intellectual direction with social interaction. Barry Posen has argued that doctrinal reform most often has come about as a result of demands imposed by civilians acting in concert with “military mavericks.”49 The argument proposed in this study that organizational selfcorrection and self-evaluation most effectively occur during interaction among organizations explains why. Military organizations are less open to change when interaction is minimal or nonexistent among organizations tasked with national security responsibilities. Doing better at removing sources of organizational error would give the United States a tremendous and enduring advantage in acquiring capable equipment and inventing appropriate operational concepts. In this matter, Carl von Clausewitz offers useful advice, “The maximum use of force is in no way incompatible with the simultaneous use of the intellect.”50

SUMMARY OF KEY POINTS 1. Criticism inherent in democracy helps military organizations function more effectively. 2. Improved military capabilities—and an enduring competitive advantage— will result from critical observation and from deliberately improving the

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3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

ability of DoD components to identify and correct errors and to apply knowledge and analysis to their decisions. Two or more organizations acting together create a social system. Over time, organizations (and people) in this system assume particular roles and develop expectations of others’ behavior. The interaction of separate organizations produces a different level of analysis to describe and explain their collective behavior. The multiorganizational system has an identity separate from its members, and many activities of a multiorganizational system cannot be explained simply by examining the behavior of its members. The potential of a multiorganizational system to identify and correct error exceeds that of any single organization. The multiorganizational environment (of individual and organizational decision making) is the most powerful determinant of how actions are conceived, examined, and acted upon, and makes possible processes of error identification and correction. For senior leadership, participating in a multiorganizational system should be a strategic and deliberate choice that increases the likelihood that errors will be identified, analyzed, and excised from acquisition programs, operational concepts, or doctrine. An enduring advantage to the United States over potential rivals and allies will result from replicating and diffusing the interwar carrier aviation and amphibious operations multiorganizational experience to U.S. acquisition and doctrine development communities. The answer to devising means to compete in specific missions involves not perfect prescience, but robust organizational means to identify and eliminate error. Multiplying the organizational means to analyze doctrine and combat experience generates an enormous combat advantage.

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Acknowledgments 1. Thomas C. Hone, Norman Friedman, and Mark D. Mandeles, American and British Aircraft Carrier Development, 1919–1941 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999); Mark D. Mandeles, The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion: A Case Study in Organizational Innovation (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1998); Mark D. Mandeles, The Future of War: Organizations as Weapons (Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, 2005).

Chapter 1: Transformation and Learning in Military Organizations 1. James Madison, “Number 10,” in Clinton Rossiter, ed., The Federalist Papers (New York: A Mentor Book, 1961), 77. 2. Walter Millis, Arms and Men: A Study in American Military History (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1984), 90. 3. Mark D. Mandeles, The Future of War: Organizations as Weapons (Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, Inc., 2005). 4. The literature on operational implications of new weapons technologies is huge. Recent offerings include Bradley Graham, “Criticism of War Game Rejected: General Says Combat Experiment Was Not about Winning,” The Washington Post (September 18, 2002), A27; Michael Schrage, “Military Overkill Defeats Virtual War: And Real-World Soldiers Are the Losers,” The Washington Post (September 22, 2002), B05. See also Dan Moore and Jim Perkaus, “A Top Gun for Air-Ground Ops,” Proceedings 128 (October 2002), 42–44. 5. This work on transformation followed and complemented Office of Net Assessment (a component of the Office of the Secretary of Defense) analyses of the concept of military revolutions or revolutions in military affairs. The Office of Net Assessment research was partly inspired by Soviet military analyses, such as Col. Gen. N. A. Lomov, ed., Scientific-Technical Progress and the Revolution in Military Affairs (Moscow: Ministry

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of Defense, 1973). An early Office of Net Assessment-sponsored study of military innovation by Thomas C. Hone and Mark D. Mandeles (Innovation in Naval Aviation [1982]) was summarized—and made more widely available—in 1987 (Thomas C. Hone and Mark D. Mandeles, “Interwar Innovation in Three Navies: USN, RN, IJN,” Naval War College Review 40 [Spring 1987], 63–83). This research was reevaluated by Thomas C. Hone, Norman Friedman, and Mark D. Mandeles (The Introduction of Carrier Aviation into the U.S. Navy and Royal Navy: Military-Technical Revolutions, Organizations, and the Problem of Decision [1994]), and was published as American and British Aircraft Carrier Development, 1919–1941 [Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999]). To the corpus of this research sponsored by the Office of Net Assessment, Mandeles added a study of a post-World War II military revolution (Military Revolutions during Peacetime: Organizational Innovation and Emerging Weapons Technologies [1995], published as The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion: A Case Study in Organizational Innovation [Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1998]), and an examination of how future military organizations might employ new sensors, and computational, and command and control technologies (Organizational Structures to Exploit the Revolution in Military Affairs [2000], published as The Future of War: Organizations as Weapons [Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, 2005]). 6. U.S. Department of Defense, Report of the Defense Science Board Task Force on DoD Warfighting Transformation (September 1999). 7. Ronald O’Rourke, Defense Transformation: Background and Oversight Issues for Congress, RL32238 (February 17, 2006). 8. Public Law 105-261, Title IX—Department of Defense Organization and Management, Subtitle A—Department of Defense Officers and Organization, Section 903 Independent Task Force on Transformation and Department of Defense Organization. 9. Office of the Under Secretary of Defense for Acquisition and Technology, Report of the Defense Science Board Task Force on DoD Warfighting Transformation (September 1999). 10. George W. Bush, “A Period of Consequences,” speech delivered at The Citadel, September 23, 1999, http://citadel.edu/r3/pao/addresses/pres bush.html, accessed September 7, 2006. According to Michael R. Gordon and Bernard E. Trainor, Richard L. Armitage (who became deputy secretary of state) was the primary author of this speech. See Michael R. Gordon and Bernard E. Trainor, Cobra II: The Inside Story of the Invasion and Occupation of Iraq (New York: Pantheon Books, 2006), 513. 11. Donald H. Rumsfeld, “DoD Acquisition and Logistics Excellence Week Kickoff—Bureaucracy to Battlefield,” speech delivered at the Pentagon, September 10, 2001, http://www.defenselink.mil/Speeches/Speech.aspx?SpeechID=430, accessed June 1, 2006. 12. Vice Admiral Cebrowski led the Office of Force Transformation until a lingering illness forced him to retire at the end of January 2005. He died on November 12, 2005. 13. One reviewer was confused about the term “national security community.” I define the national security community as including the Department of Defense (DoD), Congressional committees and organizations overseeing the DoD, industry (including consulting groups and “think tanks”), university consultants, research institutes, and the press. 14. Unfortunately, for the purposes of this book, there is no clear definition of learning. Academics studying the broad phenomena of “organizational learning” admit that there is no clear definition of the topic. Studies of learning in organizations tend to focus on routines and adopting new ways of accomplishing existing tasks rather than on how people make explicit choices. Learning is a process that replaces present actions with new ones. See Michael D. Cohen and Lee S. Sproull, eds., Organizational Learning (Thousand Oaks,

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CA: SAGE Publications, 1996). Consequently, the lexical definition of learning will have to inform this book’s analysis. Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary defines “learn” as “to gain knowledge of (a subject); to acquire information concerning, as by instruction, study, observation, experience, etc.; to acquire skill in (anything).” 15. Some early analyses of intelligence coordination and interaction failures are described in the following news articles: Dan Eggen and Jim McGee, “FBI Rushes To Remake Its Mission: Counterterrorism Focus Replaces Crime Solving,” The Washington Post (November 12, 2001), A01; George Lardner, Jr., “Report Criticizes Stumbling Block Between FBI, Espionage Prosecutors,” The Washington Post (December 13, 2001), A03; James V. Grimaldi and John Mintz, “Agent Alleges FBI Ignored Hamas Activities: Chicagoan Sues, Saying Bureau Refused to File Charges, Disrupt Pre-Sept. 11 Crimes,” The Washington Post (May 11, 2002), A10; Dan Eggen, “FBI Pigeonholed Agent’s Request: Canvassing of Flight Schools For Al Qaeda Was Rejected,” The Washington Post (May 22, 2002), A01; Robert L. Bartley, “FBI Reform: Connect Anthrax Dots,” The Wall Street Journal (June 3, 2002); Walter Pincus and Dan Eggen, “CIA Gave FBI Warning On Hijacker: Agency Told That Almihdhar Attended Malaysia Meeting,” The Washington Post (June 4, 2002), A01; Judith Miller and Don van Natta, Jr., “In Years of Plots and Clues, Scope of Qaeda Eluded U.S.,” The New York Times (June 9, 2002); Walter Pincus, “Agency Teamwork, Bin Laden Aide’s Clues Led to Arrest,” The Washington Post (June 11, 2002), A09; Sherry Higgins, Project Management Executive for the Office of the Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation, “Statement For The Record on FBI Infrastructure,” Before the Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Administrative Oversight and the Courts, July 16, 2002, http://www.fbi.gov/congress/congress02/higgins071602.htm, accessed July 25, 2002. James Risen and David Johnston, “Not Much Has Changed in a System That Failed,” The New York Times (September 8, 2002), 8; Dana Priest and Dan Eggen, “FBI Faulted On Al Qaeda Assessment: Domestic Threat Was Underestimated, Panel Told,” The Washington Post (September 20, 2002), A01; Susan Schmidt, “Lawyers For FBI Faulted In Search: Panel Told Legal Staff Misunderstood FISA,” The Washington Post (September 25, 2002), A12; Jerry Seper, “IG Says FBI Never Compiled a Terrorist Threat Assessment,” The Washington Times (October 2, 2002); Bill Gertz, “Hill Prober Cites Clinton-era Failures Against al Qaeda,” The Washington Times (October 9, 2002); Judith Miller, “Sounding an Urgent Terrorism Alarm to Deaf Ears,” The New York Times (November 20, 2002); Eric Lichtblau, “F.B.I. Officials Say Some Agents Lack a Focus on Terror,” The New York Times (November 21, 2002); Vernon Loeb, “The Unique Failures of the FBI,” The Washington Post (December 16, 2002); Vernon Loeb, “From the Embattled FBI, an Insider’s Rebuttal,” The Washington Post (December 30, 2002); Vernon Loeb, “9/11 Failure No Obstacle to Intelligence Leaders’ Success,” The Washington Post (January 13, 2003). 16. Thomas C. Hone to Mark D. Mandeles, private correspondence, January 6, 2003. 17. As a member of the task force investigating the space shuttle Challenger disaster, the late Nobel Laureate in physics, Richard P. Feynman, argued that the way information was presented for decision obscured important differences of opinion, including a three-order of magnitude difference in risk assessment. See Feynman’s “What Do You Care What Other People Think?” Further Adventures of a Curious Character (New York: Bantam Books, 1989), 220. Political scientist Edward R. Tufte extends Feynman’s argument by charging that Microsoft’s PowerPoint presentation software reduces people’s ability to understand causal connections and correlations. See Tufte’s paper, “The Cognitive Style of PowerPoint” (Cheshire, CT: Graphics Press, 2003). 18. John S. Foster and Larry D. Welch, “The Evolving Battlefield,” Physics Today (December 2001), http://physicstoday.org/pt/vol-53/iss-12/p31.html, accessed February, 3

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2002. Dr. Foster, a member of the Defense Science Board, and General Welch, president of the Institute for Defense Analyses and former USAF chief of staff, appear to propose an approach to combat that increases the likelihood of errors. 19. For an explicit analysis of potential sources of organizational error and the cognitive effects of sleep deprivation, fear, stress, uncertainty, ambiguity, and information overload on decisions in combat, see Mandeles, The Future of War: Organizations as Weapons. 20. See also the comments of Lt. Gen. Paul K. Van Riper (USMC, ret.) in tracing the common goal under the successive terms: “military reform movement,” “military-technical revolution,” “revolution in military affairs,” and “transformation.” Paul K. Van Riper, “Preparing for War Takes Study and Open Debate,” Proceedings 128 (November 2002), 2. 21. Arthur K. Cebrowski, “What is Transformation?” white paper submitted to the Alidade Online Discussion group by Robert Holzer, Office of Force Transformation, October 16, 2002. See http://www.alidade.net. In an August 2002 interview with the Information Technology Association of America, Cebrowski also observed that transformation entails the “co-evolution of technology, organization, and concepts,” wherein changes in one of these three factors triggers adaptations in the others. See Arthur K. Cebrowski, “An Interview with the Director,” in Fateful Lightning: Perspectives on IT in Defense Transformation (ITAA, October 2002). The logic of Cebrowski’s argument about the interrelationship among organizations, technology, and operational concepts is that of social science “structural functionalism.” See Martin Landau, Political Theory and Political Science (New York: Macmillan Co., 1972), especially chapter 4. 22. Lt. Gen. Paul K. Van Riper expressed similar sentiments in “Preparing for War Takes Study and Open Debate,” Proceedings 128 (November 2002), 2. 23. Then-Secretary of the Air Force James G. Roche, for example, assumed an identity relationship between technology and capability. See James G. Roche, “Transforming the Air Force,” Joint Force Quarterly (Autumn/Winter 2001–2002), 9–14. 24. Dr. Cambone became Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence in 2003. 25. Thom Shanker, “Military Spending Proposals Envision Changing Battlefield,” The New York Times (November 22, 2002). 26. Mark D. Mandeles, The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion: A Case Study in Organizational Innovation (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 1998), 9. A recent example from the commercial world parallels the self-generating effects of military technological change. The use of nanotechnology by IBM scientists to devise very high capacity—and small—computer storage disks is disrupting entire industries, including disk makers, the music industry, film and camera industry, and the movie industry. IBM executives believe that all human manufactured artifacts eventually will depend on today’s laboratory discoveries: “The long-term consequences of [nanotechnology] are going to be truly transforming. The trouble is, you can’t predict the details of what that world will be like.” Justin Gillis and Jonathan Krim, “If It’s Nano, It’s BIG: Investors are Building Mountains Out of Tiny Tech,” The Washington Post (February 22, 2004), F01. 27. Richard McKenna, edited by Robert Shenk, The Left-Handed Monkey Wrench (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1984), 156–160. I thank Tom Hone for referring me to McKenna’s recollections. The process by which a transformation in operational capability was retarded in the interwar U.S. Navy is analogous to the “breakdown of modernization” process sociologist S. N. Eisenstadt describes, wherein the conscious application of knowledge and analysis

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to social decision making is reversed. As a result, such societies are less able to deal with “the problems generated by socio-demographic and structural changes.” See Eisenstadt, “Breakdowns of Modernization,” Economic Development and Cultural Change 12 (July 1964), 347. 28. Julius A. Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II (Washington, DC: Naval Historical Division, 1959), 356. 29. Headquarters U.S. Marine Corps, “A Concept for Distributed Operations,” April 25, 2005. 30. Mandeles, The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion, 7–11. 31. Russell F. Weigley, History of the United States Army, Enlarged Edition (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 585. 32. Wayne Thompson, To Hanoi and Back: The U.S. Air Force and North Vietnam, 1966–1973 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000). 33. Jim Garamone, “Translating Transformation into Capabilities,” American Forces Press Service, http://www.defenselink.mil/news/Feb2002/n02192002 200202191. html, accessed February 20, 2002. 34. Andrew May, Christine Grafton, and James Lasswell, The U.S. Marine Corps and Hunter Warrior: A Case Study in Experimentation (McLean, VA: SAIC/Strategic Assessment Center, August 30, 2001), i, 33–35. 35. Marine aviator Maj. Lawrence Roberts cites a December 1995 report prepared for Vice Adm. Robert Spane, Commander Naval Air Force Pacific, “An Operational Examination of Seabased Aerial Fire Support for Troops Engaged.” This report proposed a Hunter-Warrior-type mission for air crews operating from aircraft carriers with ground forces in a nonlinear battlefield. See Lawrence Roberts, “Flying in Hunter-Warrior,” Proceedings (September 1997), 46–50. 36. For an analysis of loosely coupled organization applied to military organization, see Mandeles, The Future of War. 37. Roberts, “Flying in Hunter-Warrior,” 46. 38. Ibid., 47–48. 39. May, et al., The U.S. Marine Corps and Hunter Warrior, 1, 29–33. 40. During Summer 2002, the author discussed the similarity of the operational concepts with personnel from Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense/Special Operations and Low Intensity Conflict and historians at the Air Force Special Operations Command (Hurlburt Field, Florida), but could find no one who referred to the Hunter Warrior experiment as an inspiration for the operational concept employed in Afghanistan. 41. The USMC and U.S. Special Operations Command are working to exploit the Afghanistan experience. In February 2002, the two organizations signed a memorandum of agreement to train more closely and to set up an integrated command structure during wartime deployments. Vernon Loeb, “Marines, Special Operations Command Increase Ties,” The Washington Post (February 27, 2002), 21. 42. See Magorah Maruyama, “The Second Cybernetics: Deviation-Amplifying Mutual Causal Processes,” American Scientist 51 (June 1963), 164–179. 43. Col. David A. Anhalt (USAF, ret.), “Why Bandwidth Matters: The Changing Nature of U.S. Military Advantage in the Information Age,” unpublished paper, October 11, 2002. I also am indebted to Capt. Dan Moore (USN) for reminding me about the important role of individuals in defense transformation. 44. Elting E. Morison, Men, Machines, and Modern Times (Cambridge, MA: The M. I. T. Press, 1966), 17–18.

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45. Andrew L. Ross, Mich`ele A. Flournoy, Cindy Williams, and David Mosher, “What Do We Mean by ‘Transformation’?” Naval War College Review 55 (Winter 2002), 31. 46. Cebrowski, “An Interview with the Director.” 47. John von Neumann, “Defense in Atomic War,” in A. H. Taub, ed., John von Neumann: Collected Works, Vol. VI: Theory of Games, Astrophysics, Hydrodynamics and Meteorology (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1963), 525. 48. For the relevance of von Neumann’s ideas to recent discussion of defense transformation, see President George W. Bush, “President Speaks on War Effort to Citadel Cadets,” The Citadel, Charleston, South Carolina, December 11, 2001, http:// www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/12/print/20011211-6.html, accessed January 14, 2002; Donald H. Rumsfeld, “Secretary Rumsfeld Speaks on 21st Century Transformation of U.S. Armed Forces (transcript of remarks and question and answer period),” remarks as delivered by Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, National Defense University, Fort McNair, Washington, DC, Thursday, January 31, 2002; Jim Garamone, “Flexibility, Adaptability at Heart of Military Transformation,” American Forces Press Service, http://www.defenselink.mil/news/Jan2002/n01312002 200201313.html, accessed January 14, 2002; Linda D. Kozaryn, “What’s Up at the Pentagon?” American Forces Press Service, http://www.defenselink.mil/news/Feb2002/n02062002 200202061.html, accessed February 7, 2002; Jim Garamone, “Myers Says Joint Capabilities, Transformation Key to 21st Century War,” American Forces Press Service, http://www.defenselink.mil/news/Feb2002/ n02052002 200202054.html, accessed February 6, 2002; Jim Garamone, “Budget Request Funds War on Terror, Military Transformation,” American Forces Press Service, http://www.defenselink.mil/news/Feb2002/n02042002 200202041.html, accessed February 5, 2002; Linda D. Kozaryn, “High-Tech Weapons, Resourceful Troops Will Keep Army Strong,” American Forces Press Service, http://www.defenselink.mil/news/ Feb2002/n02142002 200202143.html, accessed February 15, 2002; Jim Garamone, “Translating Transformation into Capabilities,” American Forces Press Service, http:// www.defenselink.mil/news/Feb2002/n02192002 200202191.html, accessed February 20, 2002. And, see Thomas G. Mahnken, “Transforming the U.S. Armed Forces: Rhetoric or Reality?” Naval War College Review 54 (Summer 2001), 85–99; Ross, et al. “What Do We Mean by ‘Transformation’?” 49. Elaine M. Grossman, “Day-to-Day Burdens Test Fortitude, Patience, Faith: Tensions Rise across Ranks in Iraq as Troops are told to Gut it Out,” Inside the Pentagon (November 4, 2004), 12. 50. Aaron Wildavsky, Speaking Truth to Power: The Art and Craft of Policy Analysis (Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Co., 1979), 113.

Chapter 2: Setting the Stage 1. John F. Guilmartin, Jr., “Changing the Guard,” Air University Review 34 (March/April 1983), i. 2. Bernard Brodie and Fawn Brodie, From Crossbow to H-Bomb (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1973), 134. 3. This section relies heavily on Perry D. Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground: United States Army Tactics, 1865–1899 (Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1994). 4. Ibid., 19–20.

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5. There are multiple estimates of the numbers of deaths caused by disease and poor camp hygiene. Allan R. Millett and Peter Maslowski observe that Civil War death and casualty figures are “educated estimates.” Nevertheless, the estimates show more deaths due to disease and poor camp hygiene than to enemy action. Figures compiled for a nineteenthcentury wargame found that of the 304,369 deaths during the Civil War, 111,394 were killed in battle or died later of gunshot and lacerations. In comparison, 142,623 deaths were due to various diseases and nonsanitary camp conditions (Charles A. L. Totten, Strategos Vol. I, Appendix E [New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1880], 132). Millett and Maslowski fix Civil War combat death figures at 112,000 Union deaths and 94,000 Confederate deaths, and they also show more deaths from disease than from combat—227,500 Union deaths and 164,000 Confederate deaths. (See Allan R. Millet and Peter Maslowski, For the Common Defense: A Military History of the United States of America [New York: The Free Press, 1984], 229.) Of course, during the Civil War the germ theory of disease had not yet been proposed and demonstrated. Yet, after the conclusion of the war, senior officers could have—but did not—direct research into the causes of disease. Senior army officers did not begin to pay attention to the impact of disease and sanitation on fighting ability until the weight of evidence forced them to pay attention. (See Dale C. Smith, “Edward Lyman Munson, M.D.: A Biographical Study in Military Medicine,” Military Medicine 164 (January 1999), 1–5; personal discussion on March 19, 2002 with Dr. Dale C. Smith, professor and chairman, Department of Medical History, Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences, Bethesda, Maryland, and Dr. Robert Joy, immediate-past Chairman, Department of Medical History, Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences, Bethesda, Maryland.) The 1891 Leavenworth board manuals were the first to counsel commanders about maintaining hygiene in the field and latrines (Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 111). Note, too, ignorance into the causes of disease afflicted other military services. David Harvie describes the nineteenth-century effort to treat, prevent, and eradicate scurvy. See David Harvie, Limeys: The True Story of One Man’s War against Ignorance, the Establishment, and the Deadly Scurvy (Stroud, UK: Sutton Publishing, 2002). 6. See the joint Senate and House committee to study Army reorganization (House and Senate Joint Committee Report, Senate Report 555, 45th Cong., Sess. 3, II [1879]) led by Rhode Island Senator Ambrose E. Burnside. As a general during the Civil War, Burnside commanded Union forces at Fredericksburg. Burnside’s committee sought the views of former Civil War commanders. Excerpts of testimony by William T. Sherman, James A. Garfield, Winfield Scott Hancock, and George B. McClellan appear in Walter Millis, ed., American Military Thought (Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc., 1966), 163–179. 7. Russell F. Weigley, History of the United States Army, Enlarged edition (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1984), 266. 8. Weigley, History of the United States Army, 285–288; Robert M. Utley, Frontier Regulars: The U.S. Army and the Indian, 1866–1891 (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1973), 30, 32. 9. Cited in Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 123. 10. Ibid., 1. 11. See, for example, Charles C. Fitzmorris, “Weapons of Destruction,” in Robert M. La Follette, ed., The Making of America, Vol. IX: Army and Navy (Chicago: The Making of America Co., 1906). 12. See for example, Lt. Col. Henry M. Lazelle, “Important Improvements in the Art of War During the Past Twenty Years and Their Probable Effect on Future Military

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Operations,” Journal of the Military Service Institution of the United States 3 (1882), 3307– 3373; Capt. Francis V. Greene, “The Important Improvements in the Art of War During the Past Twenty Years and Their Probable Effect on Future Military Operations,” Journal of the Military Service Institution of the United States 4 (1883), 1–54. 13. George B. McClellan, “Army Organization,” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 49 (1874), 409. 14. Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 84. 15. “Line Officer,” “A Tactical Necessity,” Army Navy Journal 23 (January 16, 1886), 488, cited in Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 10. 16. Weigley, History of the United States Army, 275; Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 4. 17. Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 9. 18. Ibid., 10–11, 97. 19. Ibid., 99–114. 20. For example, Capt. John G. Burke offers a first-hand description of campaigning against Apache Indians in On the Border with Crook (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1891). See also Robert M. Utley, Frontier Regulars: The United States Army and the Indian, 1866–1891 (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1973). 21. Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 119. 22. Ibid., 121; Barton C. Hacker, “The 400-Year War: Conquest and Acculturation in the Military Struggle for North America,” in John A. Lynn, ed., Coming to the Americas: The Eurasian Military Impact on the Development of the Western Hemisphere (Wheaton, IL: The Cantigny First Division Foundation, 2003). 23. Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 119–122. 24. Report on the Russian Army and its Campaign in Turkey in 1877–1878 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1879). 25. Cited in Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 62. 26. Ibid., 60–61. 27. Ibid., 62, 66, 123. 28. Ibid., 113, 126–127. 29. William T. Sherman was an intelligent man. He made significant contributions to, as Weigley put it, the “Army’s intellectual renaissance” in the late 1870s. Sherman established the School of Application for Infantry and Cavalry at Fort Leavenworth (Weigley, History of the United States Army, 287). Sherman’s successor, Philip Sheridan, also was quite bright. Yet, their understanding was poor of how to organize the Army to learn about the interplay among rapidly changing military technology, operational concepts, logistics, and organization. 30. Jamieson, Crossing the Deadly Ground, 79. 31. Ibid., 81. 32. Ibid., 16. 33. Frederick S. Harrod, “New Technology in the Old Navy: The United States Navy during the 1870s,” The American Neptune 53 (Winter 1993), 6. My thanks to Capt. Peter M. Swartz (USN, ret.) for referring me to this article. 34. See Frank J. Merli, Great Britain and the Confederate Navy, 1861–1865 (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2004). 35. Frank M. Bennett, The Steam Navy of the United States (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, Publishers, 1972), 572; Conway Maritime Editors, Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships, 1860–1905 (New York: Mayflower Books, 1979), 124.

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36. Benjamin Franklin Isherwood, “Report of Bureau of Steam Engineering,” in Report of the Secretary of the Navy (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1868); Bennett, The Steam Navy, 555; Edwin B. Hooper, “A Cause C´el`ebre: Wampanoag,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 112 (April 1986), 123. 37. Isherwood describes the Wampanoag in his 1868 “Report of Bureau of Steam Engineering.” In “Sloop-of-War “Wampanoag,” Cassier’s Magazine 18 (September 1900), 403–424, Isherwood describes the Wampanoag in great detail and also provides detailed figures on her sea trials. 38. “Report of Board on Steam Machinery Afloat,” in Report of the Secretary of the Navy Showing the Operations of the Department for the Year 1869 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1869), 142–154. 39. Hooper, “A Cause C´el`ebre: Wampanoag,” 123; Bennett, The Steam Navy, 564; Conway’s, 124. 40. Cited in Bennett, The Steam Navy, 564. 41. Ibid., 567. 42. Ibid., 570. 43. Ibid., 585; Conway’s, 124; James L. Mooney, ed., Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol. VIII (Washington, DC: Naval Historical Center, 1981), 87. 44. Elting E. Morison, Men, Machines, and Modern Times (Cambridge, MA: The M.I.T. Press, 1966), 112–113. 45. Alfred Thayer Mahan, From Sail to Steam: Recollections of Naval Life (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1907), 39. 46. Lance C. Buhl, “Mariners and Machines: Resistance to Technological Change in the American Navy, 1865–1969,” Journal of American History 61 (December 1974), 703–727. 47. Charles Oscar Paullin, Paullin’s History of Naval Administration (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1968), 319. 48. Edward L. Beach, The United States Navy, 200 Years (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1986), 323–328; Dean C. Allard, “Benjamin Franklin Isherwood: Father of the Modern Steam Navy,” in James C. Bradford, ed., Captains of the Old Steam Navy: Makers of the American Naval Tradition, 1840–1880 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1986). See also R. H. Thurston, “Benjamin F. Isherwood,” Cassier’s Magazine 18 (August 1900), 344–352. 49. Paul A. C. Koistinen, Mobilizing for Modern War: The Political Economy of American Warfare, 1865–1919 (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1997), 21. I thank Capt. Peter M. Swartz (USN, ret.) for referring me to Koistinen and other useful sources. 50. Letter, Jan M. van Tol to Mark D. Mandeles, November 5, 2003. 51. Peter M. Swartz, “Deployments, Innovation and Exercises,” in Sea Changes: Transforming U.S. Navy Deployment Strategy: 1775–2002 (Alexandria: Center for Naval Analyses, July 2002). My appreciation and thanks to Captain Swartz for correcting my misconceptions about this period. 52. Julius A. Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II (Washington, DC: Naval Historical Division, 1959), 107. 53. Paul Y. Hammond, Organizing for Defense: The American Military Establishment in the Twentieth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961), 55. 54. Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II, 108.

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Chapter 3: The Future of Military Aviation between the Wars 1. George C. Marshall, “Our Mission in the Army,” in H. A. DeWeerd, ed., Selected Speeches and Statements of General of the Army George C. Marshall (Washington, DC: The Infantry Journal, 1945), 169. This quotation complements the 1957 interview Marshall gave to historian Forrest C. Pogue in which Marshall recalled speaking with an unnamed senator who complained about the mistakes and money spent on maneuvers. Marshall reported that he responded: “My God, Senator, that’s the reason I do it. I want the mistake down in Louisiana, not over in Europe, and the only way to do this thing is to try it out, and if it doesn’t work, find out what we need to make it work.” Pogue, George C. Marshall: Ordeal and Hope, 1939–1942 (New York: Viking Press, 1966), 89. 2. Bernard Brodie and Fawn Brodie, From Crossbow to H-Bomb (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1973), 12. 3. Brodie and Brodie, From Crossbow to H-Bomb, 269. 4. The author was an observer in a “limited objective experiment” conducted at Joint Forces Command during the summer of 2001, and discussed the scheduling of events with Joint Forces Command personnel. 5. In December 2002, concept developers from each military service plus the commanding generals of Homeland Security and Special Operations Command met—for the first time—with Maj. Gen. James M. Dubik, then-director of Joint Forces Command’s Joint Experiment Directorate. Michelle Montfort, “Experimentation Leaders Hold First Meeting,” http://www.jfcom.mil/newslink/storyarchive/2002/pa121102.htm, accessed December 15, 2002. Yet, optimism about fruitful results flowing from Joint Forces Command experiments did not last long. The experimentation program remains one in which rhetoric about advances does not match accumulated and systematically organized knowledge. 6. U.S. JFCOM J9, Briefing, “Structure and Processes: A Blueprint for Change,” August 31, 2006. 7. Edward L. Beach, The United States Navy: 200 Years (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1986), xix–xx. My thanks to Thomas C. Hone, who pointed out this passage from Beach’s history. 8. Cited in Theodore von K´arm´an, “Some Significant Developments in Aerodynamics Since 1946,” Journal of the Aero/Space Sciences 26 (March 1959), 130. 9. James R. Hansen, “Parametric Variation and the Experimental Impasse,” paper presented at the Society for History of Technology, October 21, 1983; Alex Roland, Model Research (Washington, DC: NASA, 1985); Walter G. Vincenti, “The Air-Propeller Tests of W. F. Durand and E. P. Lesley: A Case Study in Technological Methodology,” Technology and Culture 20 (October 1979), 712–751. 10. For a fuller description of this period, see Thomas C. Hone, Norman Friedman, and Mark D. Mandeles, American and British Aircraft Carrier Development, 1919–1941 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999); see also Thomas C. Hone and Mark D. Mandeles, “Interwar Innovation in Three Navies: USN, RN, IJN,” Naval War College Review 40 (Spring 1987), 63–83. 11. Norman Polmar, Aircraft Carriers: A Graphic History of Carrier Aviation and Its Influence on World Events (Garden City: Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1969), 2. 12. July 16, 1910. 13. William F. Fullam, “Battleships and Air Power,” Sea Power 7 (December 1919), 276.

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14. John H. Morrow, Jr., The Great War in the Air: Military Aviation from 1909 to 1921 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993). 15. As historian Wayne Biddle observed, “a long history of bitter litigation between the Wright and Curtiss interests made a friendly wartime union of their businesses [to produce higher-performing military aircraft] out of the question.” Biddle, Barons of the Sky (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1991), 89. Bernard C. Nalty also notes the origin of the litigation between Curtiss and the Wright brothers. Nalty, ed., Winged Shield, Winged Sword: A History of the United States Air Force, Vol. I: 1907–1950 (Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 1997), 18. 16. Lee Kennett, The First Air War 1914–1918 (New York: The Free Press, 1991); Morrow, The Great War in the Air. 17. Polmar, Aircraft Carriers, 8–34. 18. Hone, Friedman, and Mandeles, American and British Aircraft Carrier Development, 24. 19. For a theoretical description of the operation of a multiorganizational system, see Martin Landau, “On Multi-Organizational Systems in Public Administration,” Journal of Public Administration Research and Theory 1 (1991); Mark D. Mandeles, The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion: A Case Study in Organizational Innovation (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1998), 41–42, 170–174. 20. I do not include the office of the Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) in this multiorganizational system. The CNOs, from Adm. William S. Benson (1915–1919) through Adm. William V. Pratt (1930–1933), dealt primarily with issues related to the operations of the Fleet and preparation of plans for the use of the Fleet in peace and war. Although the CNOs were ex officio members of the General Board—until Adm. William V. Pratt removed himself from the board—they did not independently involve themselves in evaluating arguments about aviation technology or future operations. See David F. Trask, “William Shepherd Benson,” in Robert William Love, Jr., ed., The Chiefs of Naval Operations (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1980); Lawrence H. Douglas, “Robert Edward Coontz,” in Love, The Chiefs of Naval Operations; Richard W. Turk, “Edward Walter Eberle,” in Love, The Chiefs of Naval Operations; William R. Braisted, “Charles Frederick Hughes,” in Love, The Chiefs of Naval Operations; Craig L. Symonds, “William Veazie Pratt,” in Love, The Chiefs of Naval Operations. 21. “The Battleship is Still Paramount” [the General Board’s Report to Navy Secretary Daniels], Sea Power 10 (April 1921), 188. 22. Ashbrook Lincoln, “The United States Navy and the Rise of the Doctrine of Air Power,” Military Affairs (Fall 1951), 145. 23. Ibid., 146. 24. For example, LT Clifford A. Tinker, “Separate Air Service Unwise,” Sea Power 8 (May 1920), 219. 25. Fiorello H. La Guardia, The Making of an Insurgent, An Autobiography: 18821919 (Philadelphia, PA: J. B. Lippincott, 1948), 159. 26. Julius Augustus Furer (Rear Adm., ret.), Administration of the Navy Department in World War II (Washington, DC: Naval Historical Division, 1959), 359. 27. “Moves for Study of Future Warship,” The New York Times (January 26, 1921), 4; Congressional Record—Senate, Proceedings and Debates of the Third Session of the 66th Congress, 2987–2995, 1921. 28. “Daniels Has Ordered Navy Board Report,” The New York Times (January 26, 1921), 4; Lincoln, “The United States Navy and the Rise of the Doctrine of Air Power,” 148.

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29. “The Battleship is Still Paramount,” 187; “Says Navy’s Power is in Battleships,” The New York Times (February 4, 1921), 7; Lincoln, “The United States Navy and the Rise of the Doctrine of Air Power,” 148 30. “The Battleship is Still Paramount,” 187. 31. Ibid., 188. 32. Ibid., 187. 33. Ibid., 188–189. 34. “Battleships Won War, Says Tirpitz,” The New York Times (February 18, 1921), 18; “Jellicoe for Capital Ship,” The New York Times (March 6, 1921), 7; “Lacaze Favors Big Battleships,” The New York Times (March 30, 1921), 3; Capitaine de Vaisseau Gabriel Voitoux, “Airplanes vs. Battleships in the World War,” Sea Power 10 (May 1921), 233; “The Next War at Sea” [editorial], The New York Times (March 31, 1921), 12. 35. Lincoln, “The United States Navy and the Rise of the Doctrine of Air Power,” 149. 36. “Harding Will Call Arms Conference,” The New York Times (February 5, 1921), 1–2. 37. Cited in Lincoln, “The United States Navy and the Rise of the Doctrine of Air Power,” 150. 38. “Urges Suspension of Naval Program,” The New York Times (February 20, 1921), 19. 39. “Battleship Doomed, Says Admiral Sims,” The New York Times (February 20, 1921), 19. 40. For example, “Torpedoplane and Battleship,” The New York Times (February 9, 1921), 8. In the meantime, the British also were conducting bombing tests on battleships. “Bombs Sink Old Baden,” The New York Times (February 9, 1921), 2. 41. “Airmen Challenge Test with Big Ships,” The New York Times (February 7, 1921), 1. 42. Members of the Board included Chief of Staff Major General Peyton C. March, Major General William G. Haan (director of Army Operations Division), Brigadier General Henry Jervey (director of War Plans Division), Chief of Naval Operations Adm. R. E. Coontz, Rear Adm. J. H. Oliver (director of Naval Plans Division), and Capt. Benjamin F. Hutchison (assistant Chief of Naval Operations). 43. “To Sink Ex-German Warships in Tests,” The New York Times (March 1, 1921), 17. 44. “Army Fliers Eager to Fight Warships,” The New York Times (March 13, 1921), 16. 45. Lincoln, “The United States Navy and the Rise of the Doctrine of Air Power,” 151. On February 12, a joint resolution was introduced into the Senate directing the Navy to provide ships for bombing tests to the Army. “Asks Naval Ships for ‘Plane Targets,” The New York Times (February 13, 1921), 9. 46. William M. Gavin, “Second Thoughts on Bombing,” Sea Power 11 (July 1921), 27–32. 47. “The Battleship is Still Paramount,” 188–189. 48. Lincoln, “The United States Navy and the Rise of the Doctrine of Air Power,” 155–156. 49. The other significant justification for establishing the Bureau of Aeronautics was to reduce the time and negotiation costs encountered by the director of Naval Aviation seeking to get “anything done,” having to make requests through official channels to the

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other bureaus. Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II, 359–362; William M. McBride, “Challenging a Strategic Paradigm: Aviation and the US Special Policy Board of 1924,” The Journal of Strategic Studies 14 (1991), 74–75. 50. Distinguished historian Albert A. Nofi is writing a history of naval fleet exercises conducted during the interwar period. He observes that the interchange and interaction among the Fleet, the NWC, Bureau of Aeronautics were sometimes difficult; at times, “people behaved badly.” However, the twenty-one fleet problems examined between 1923 and 1940 showed an increasing sophistication in the production of knowledge about the operational complexity of waging war against Japan. See Albert A. Nofi, Briefing: “The Fleet Problems, 1923–1940: Naval Experimentation the Old Fashioned Way,” November 26, 2002. 51. Burke Davis, The Billy Mitchell Affair (New York: Random House, 1967), 90. 52. McBride, “Challenging a Strategic Paradigm,” 73; Jan M. van Tol, “Military Innovation and Carrier Aviation—The Relevant History,” Joint Force Quarterly (Summer 1997), 81. 53. McBride, “Challenging a Strategic Paradigm,” 79. 54. Ibid., 82. 55. Ibid., 76. 56. Ibid., 78–79. 57. H. H. Arnold, Global Mission (New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, 1949), 122. 58. Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II, 338–339. 59. Thomas H. Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm 1917– 1941 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1985), 55–56. 60. Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking in the United States Air Force 1907–1960, Vol. I (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 1989), 62–65, 68–69, 72, 77–79; William A. Jacobs, “Tactical Air Doctrine and AAF Close Support in the European Theater, 1944–1945,” Aerospace Historian (Spring 1980), 35–49; Michael S. Sherry, The Rise of American Air Power: The Creation of Armageddon (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987), 50. 61. Similarly, Army leaders during the interwar period did not apply an experimental approach to the development of doctrine to exploit tanks and mechanization for maneuver. See Mandeles, The Development of the B-52, 34–37. There also is a growing literature examining the validity of the assumptions underlying the theory that long-range aerial bombardment of economic infrastructure could defeat modern industrial societies. See Tami Davis Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002). 62. Jeffrey S. Underwood, The Wings of Democracy: The Influence of Air Power on the Roosevelt Administration, 1933–1941 (College Station, TX: Texas A & M University Press, 1991), chapter 2. 63. John F. Shiner, Foulois and the U.S. Army Air Corps, 1931–1935 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1983), 34–35, 40. 64. Claire Chennault, Way of a Fighter: The Memoirs of Claire Lee Chennault (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1949), 22. 65. John Ferris, “Fighter Defence before Fighter Command: The Rise of Strategic Air Defence in Great Britain, 1917–1934,” Journal of Military History 63 (October 1999), 883–884. 66. Arnold, Global Mission, 140–141.

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67. Wesley Frank Craven and James Lea Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. I: Plans and Early Operations January 1939 to August 1942 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1983), 64–65; Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm 1917–1941, 58–60; Underwood, The Wings of Democracy, 35–36, 187. 68. William L. Riordan, Plunkitt of Tammany Hall (New York: E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1963), ix. The exact quotation is, “I seen my opportunities and I took ‘em.” 69. Chennault, Way of a Fighter, 23. 70. Underwood, The Wings of Democracy, chapter 1. 71. Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine, 80. 72. James S. Corum, “The Spanish Civil War: Lessons Learned and Not Learned by the Great Powers,” Journal of Military History 62 (April 1998), 313–334. 73. Sherry, Rise of American Air Power, 34–37, 48; Walter Millis, Arms and Men: A Study in American Military History (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1984), 255–256; Nalty, Winged Shield, Winged Sword, 96–100. 74. Underwood, The Wings of Democracy, 88–91. 75. James P. Tate, The Army and Its Air Corps: Army Policy Toward Aviation, 1919– 1941 (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 1998). 76. Edgar F. Raines, Jr., “Disaster off Casablanca: Air Outposts in Operation Torch and the Role of Failure in Institutional Innovation,” Air Power History 49 (Fall 2002), 23. 77. Note that Brig. Gen. William Mitchell lobbied against the establishment of the Bureau of Aeronautics. 78. See Jacob A. Stockfisch, Innovation and Anglo-American Air Power: A CostEffectiveness Approach, unpublished manuscript, n.d.; Underwood, The Wings of Democracy, 36; Jacobs, “Tactical Air Doctrine and AAF Close Support,” 37–38. 79. Craven and Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. I: Plans and Early Operations January 1939 to August 1942, 17–71; see also Maurer Maurer, Aviation in the U.S. Army 1919–1939 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1987); Raines, “Disaster off Casablanca”; Christopher R. Gabel, The U.S. Army GHQ Maneuvers of 1941 (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1992). 80. Lee Kennett, “Developments to 1939,” in B. F. Cooling, ed., Case Studies in the Development of Close Air Support (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1990), 42–56, especially 46; Daniel R. Mortensen, A Pattern for Joint Operations: World War II Close Air Support, North Africa (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History & U.S. Army Center of Military History, 1987), 6–9; Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm; Raines, “Disaster off Casablanca.” 81. Kent R. Greenfield, Robert R. Palmer, and Bell I. Wiley, The Organization of Ground Combat Troops (Washington, DC: US GPO, 1947), 101–104. 82. Greenfield, Palmer, and Wiley, Organization of Ground Combat Troops, 271–276. 83. Kent Robert Greenfield, American Strategy in World War II: A Reconsideration (Malabar, FL: Robert E. Krieger Publishing Co., 1982), 103; Stockfisch, Innovation and Anglo-American Air Power. 84. Kent Roberts Greenfield, Army Ground Forces and the Air-Ground Battle Team Including Organic Light Aviation (Washington, DC: Historical Section, Army Ground Forces, 1948). 85. Greenfield, American Strategy in World War II, 102. 86. Greenfield, American Strategy in World War II, 105–06; Stockfisch, Innovation and Anglo-American Air Power. 87. Cited in Walter Millis, Arms and Men, 257.

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88. Chennault, Way of a Fighter, 24. 89. Greenfield, Army Ground Forces and the Air-Ground Battle Team.

Chapter 4: Learning to Conduct Amphibious Landings 1. John Masefield, Gallipoli (New York: Macmillan Company, 1917), 23–24. 2. Robert H. Dunlap (Col., USMC), “Lessons for Marines from the Gallipoli Campaign,” The Marine Corps Gazette 6 (September 1921), 238. 3. Historian Adrian R. Lewis dissects and exposes the many doctrinal and planning flaws in the Normandy invasion, which was successful—at great cost in blood—primarily because of improvisation by sailors and soldiers in combat. Lewis, Omaha Beach: A Flawed Victory (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001). 4. Holland M. Smith, “The Development of Amphibious Tactics in the U.S. Navy,” Marine Corps Gazette 30 (June 1946), 14. 5. Holland M. Smith and Percy Finch, Coral and Brass (New York: Ace Books, 1949), 21. It is well known that Coral and Brass was reviewed by Col. Robert Heinl and Robert Sherrod before publication. Heinl and Sherrod found factual errors and some incendiary comments about Navy and Army military leaders. Smith refused to correct the errors or soften some of his harsh judgments. Nevertheless, Coral and Brass contains useful and correct historical information about the development of amphibious doctrine. Personal communication from Benis M. Frank, former USMC Chief Historian, January 13, 2006. 6. Norman Friedman, U.S. Amphibious Ships and Craft: An Illustrated Design History (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2002), 17. 7. Alfred Vagts, Landing Operations: Strategy, Psychology, Tactics, Politics, From Antiquity to 1945 (Harrisburg, PA: Military Service Publishing Co., 1952). 8. L. H. Landon, “The Bayeux Tapestry,” The Journal of the Royal Artillery (July 1949), 218–226. Executed between 1066 and 1077, the embroidery is 19 inches wide and more than 230 feet long. There are seventy-nine scenes, accompanied by Latin text, and arranged like a strip cartoon. The scenes tell the story of the Norman conquest and events preceding it. 9. Jeter A. Isely and Philip A. Crowl, The U.S. Marines and Amphibious War: Its Theory, and Its Practice in the Pacific (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1951), 4; Victor H. Krulak, First to Fight (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999), 72–73. 10. Krulak, First to Fight, 73. 11. The Treaty was signed on February 6, 1922. See Henry Steele Commager, ed., Documents of American History, 8th ed. (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1968), 181–183; Edward S. Miller, War Plan Orange: The U.S. Strategy to Defeat Japan, 1897– 1945 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1991), 75; Allan R. Millett, “Assault from the Sea, the Development of Amphibious Assault between the Wars,” in Allan R. Millett and Williamson Murray, eds., Innovation in the Interwar Period (Washington, DC: OSD/NA, June 1994), 68; Smith and Finch, Coral and Brass, 73. 12. Edward J. Erickson, “Strength against Weakness: Ottoman Military Effectiveness at Gallipoli, 1915,” The Journal of Military History 65 (October 2001), 982. Liman von Sanders, a German officer serving with the Turks, anticipated the approximate date of Allied landings on Gallipoli and the numbers and composition of troops. Timothy H. E. Travers, “Liman von Sanders, the Capture of Lieutenant Palmer, and Ottoman Anticipation of the Allied Landings at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915,” The Journal of Military History 65 (October 2001), 965–979.

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13. David Lloyd George, War Memoirs, Vol. I (London: Oldhams Press, Ltd., 1938), v–vi. 14. Timothy H. E. Travers, “When Technology and Tactics Fail: Gallipoli 1915,” in Stephen D. Chiabotti, ed., Tooling for War: Military Transformation in the Industrial Age (Chicago, IL: Imprint Publications, 1996), 116. 15. Travers, “When Technology and Tactics Fail,” 97–98. 16. The shell shortage was not peculiar to the Gallipoli campaign. It is one example of a general failure of analysis conducted at senior levels of the British government. There are numerous discussions of this period. See, for example, A. J. P. Taylor, The First World War (New York: Perigee Books, 1980), 84–87. See also Lloyd George, War Memoirs, 83–85. 17. Millett, “Assault from the Sea, the Development of Amphibious Assault between the Wars,” 71. 18. Richard Harding, “Learning from the War: The Development of British Amphibious Capability, 1919–1929,” The Mariner’s Mirror 86 (May 2000), 173–174. The contemporary explanation for the loss of British 1/5 Norfolk Battalion is “disorganization,” that is, “poor staff work, inefficient commanders, and communication problems.” Tim Travers and Birten Celik, “‘Not one of them ever came back’: What Happened to the 1/5 Norfolk Battalion on 12 August 1915 at Gallipoli?” The Journal of Military History 66 (April 2002), 406. These organizational factors also explain earlier British debacles in amphibious assault. See, for example, Thomas M. Barker, “A Debacle of the Peninsular War: The British-Led Amphibious Assault against Fort Fuengirola,” The Journal of Military History 64 (January 2000), 9–52. 19. Travers, “When Technology and Tactics Fail,” 114. 20. Jean de Bloch, “The Transvaal War: Its Lessons in Regard to Militarism and Army Re-organization. I” Journal of the Royal United Service Institute 45 (November 1901), 1316–1344; Jean de Bloch, “The Transvaal War: Its Lessons in Regard to Militarism and Army Re-organization. II” Journal of the Royal United Service Institute 45 (December 1901), 1141–1451; see also Mark D. Mandeles, The Future of War: Organizations as Weapons (Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, Inc., 2005), chapter 3. 21. Franklyn A. Johnson, “The British Committee of Imperial Defence: Prototype of U.S. Security Organization,” Journal of Politics 23 (May 1961), 238–239. 22. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 72. Millett does not cite any official British military analyses of the campaign. The Gallipoli campaign analyses he cites include: Masefield, Gallipoli; C. E. W. Bean, The Story of Anzac, 2 vols. (St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 1981, originally1921, 1924); and William D. Puleston, The Dardanelles Expedition (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1927). 23. Isely and Crowl, The U.S. Marines and Amphibious War, 5. 24. My thanks to Thomas C. Hone for this insight. 25. Harding, “Learning from the War,” 174; David MacGregor, “The Use, Misuse, and Non-Use of History: The Royal Navy and the Operational Lessons of the First World War,” The Journal of Military History 56 (October 1992), 606. 26. MacGregor, “The Use, Misuse, and Non-Use of History,” 608. 27. Donald F. Bittner, “Britannia’s Sheathed Sword: The Royal Marines and Amphibious Warfare in the Interwar Years—A Passive Response,” Journal of Military History 55 (July 1991), 348. 28. Johnson, “The British Committee of Imperial Defence,” 233–235. 29. Right Honourable Lord [Maurice Pascal Alers] Hankey, Government Control in War (Cambridge: The University Press, 1945), 55–57.

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30. Sir Ivor Jennings, Cabinet Government, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951), chapter 10; Sir David Lindsay Keir, The Constitutional History of Modern Britain Since 1945 (Princeton, NJ: D. Van Nostrand Co., 1960), 501–505. 31. Sometimes a novelist captures a social situation better than any survey or sociological tract. British writer C. S. Forester described the Duke, his protagonist Herbert Curzon’s father-in-law, as someone who wore medals and awards “no mere general could ever hope to attain, and possessed the further recommendation (as had frequently been pointed out) that there was no ‘damned nonsense about merit’ attached to them. The Duke’s ribbons and stars were given him, if a reason must be assigned, because his great-great-great-grandfather had come over in the train of William of Orange.” Forester, The General (New York: Bantam, 1967), 64. 32. Hugh Heclo and Aaron Wildavsky, The Private Government of Public Money: Community and Policy inside British Politics (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1974), xvi. 33. Herman Finer, “The British Cabinet, The House of Commons and the War,” Political Science Quarterly 56 (September 1941), 327. 34. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 83. 35. For a discussion of the bureaucratic interplay between the military services and the Treasury between 1919 and 1924, see John Ferris, “Treasury Control, the Ten Year Rule and British Service Policies, 1919–1924,” The Historical Journal 30 (December 1987), 859–883. 36. Johnson, “The British Committee of Imperial Defence,” 249, 244. 37. Kenneth J. Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America from 1920–1940 (Laurens, NY: Edgewood, Inc., 1983), 1. 38. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 83, 74–75. 39. Ibid., 84; Harding, “Learning from the War,” 176. 40. Bittner, “Britannia’s Sheathed Sword,” 355. 41. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 85–86; MacGregor, “The Use, Misuse, and NonUse of History,” 606; Harding, “Learning From the War,” 178. 42. Cited in Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America, 11. 43. Ibid., 16; Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 86–87. 44. Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America, 4. 45. Harding, “Learning From the War,” 184. 46. Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America, 57. 47. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 88–89; Harding, “Learning From the War,” 173. 48. Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America, 46–84; Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 90. 49. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 91; MacGregor, “The Use, Misuse, and Non-Use of History,” 614; Bittner, “Britannia’s Sheathed Sword,” 351. 50. MacGregor, “The Use, Misuse, and Non-Use of History,” 607–608, 611, 613. MacGregor’s “suspect assumptions” played a large role in planning for the Normandy invasion and were key factors in what could have been a colossal failure. See Lewis, Omaha Beach. 51. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 91. 52. Correlli Barnett, Engage the Enemy More Closely (New York: W. W. Norton, 1991), 542. My thanks to Thomas C. Hone for pointing out this passage. 53. Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America, 72–84; Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 91.

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54. Bittner, “Britannia’s Sheathed Sword,” 362. 55. Smith and Finch, Coral and Brass, 58. 56. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 129. 57. George C. Marshall, “We Know What We Are Doing,” Selected Speeches and Statements of General of the Army George C. Marshall (Washington, DC: The Infantry Journal, 1945), 221. 58. Jack Shulimson, The Marine Corps’ Search for a Mission (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1993), 204; Smith and Finch, Coral and Brass, 17. 59. Shulimson, The Marine Corps’ Search for a Mission, 89, 206–207. 60. Ibid., 207. 61. Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America, 27. 62. Julius Augustus Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II (Washington, DC: U.S. GPO, 1959), 548–550. 63. Shulimson, The Marine Corps’ Search for a Mission, 208; Allan R. Millett, Semper Fidelis: The History of the United States Marine Corps (New York: The Free Press, 1991), 270–71. 64. Raymond G. O’Connor, “The U.S. Marines in the 20 [sic] Century: Amphibious Warfare ad Doctrinal Debates,” Military Affairs 38 (October 1974), 97–103; Friedman, U.S. Amphibious Ships and Craft, 3. 65. The Marine Corps was not alone in analyzing the Gallipoli debacle and seeking to develop the means and doctrine to avoid the British errors. The Spanish military explicitly sought to avoid British errors at Gallipoli in its campaign against Moroccan rebels. The successful 1925 amphibious assault at Alhucemas Bay, in cooperation with the French fleet, showed attention to planning, combined arms coordination and organization, appropriate training and suitable landing craft, and competent military leadership. Jos´e E. Alvarez, “Between Gallipoli and D-Day: Alhucemas, 1925,” The Journal of Military History 63 (January 1999), 75–98. 66. Millett, Semper Fidelis, 285. 67. Personal communication with Dr. Donald F. Bittner, 10 October 2001; Millett, Semper Fidelis, 270–286; Edward S. Miller, War Plan Orange: The U.S. Strategy to Defeat Japan, 1897–1945 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1991). 68. Paragraph (7), Section 1—General Instructions Part 552, Chapter 16—Marine Corps, U.S. Navy Regulations (Washington, DC: GPO, 1920), 174, lists five duties performed by the Marine Corps, when so directed by the Secretary of the Navy: (a) to furnish organizations for duty afloat, (b) to garrison the different Navy yards and naval stations, (c) to furnish the front line of the mobile defenses of naval bases and naval stations beyond the continental limits of the united States, (d) to man such naval defenses . . . as may be erected for the defense of naval bases and naval stations beyond the continental limits of the United States, and (e) to furnish such garrisons and expeditionary forces for duties beyond the seas as may be necessary in time of peace. My thanks to Thomas C. Hone for pointing out this reference. 69. Smith and Finch, Coral and Brass, 57. 70. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 104. 71. Millett, Semper Fidelis, 284–285. 72. Cited in A. A. Vandegrift, as told to Robert B. Asprey, Once a Marine (New York: Ballantine Books, 1964), 60; Isely and Crowl, The U.S. Marines and Amphibious Warfare, 26. 73. John J. Reber, “Pete Ellis: Amphibious Warfare Prophet,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 103 (November 1977); Krulak, First to Fight, 76–77.

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74. Reber, “Pete Ellis: Amphibious Warfare Prophet,” 54; Vandegrift, Once a Marine, 61. 75. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 105; Krulak, First to Fight, 75. 76. Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II, 549. 77. Dunlap, “Lessons for Marines from the Gallipoli Campaign,” 238. 78. Ibid., 241, 242, 244, 246, 249, 252. 79. O’Connor, “The U.S. Marines in the 20 [sic] Century,” 100. 80. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 108. 81. Cited in O’Connor, “The U.S. Marines in the 20 [sic] Century,” 100. 82. For example, John A. Lejeune, “The United States Marine Corps,” Marine Corps Gazette 8 (December 1924), 243–255; John A. Lejeune, “The United States Marine Corps,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 51 (October 1925), 1,858–1,870; John A. Lejeune, “The Marine Corps, 1926,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 52 (October 1926), 1,961–1,969; John A. Lejeune, “The U.S. Marine Corps, Present and Future,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 54 (October 1928), 859–861. 83. Dion Williams, “The Winter Manœuvres of 1924, Problem No. 4,” Marine Corps Gazette 9 (March 1924), 1–27. 84. Lejeune, “The United States Marine Corps,” (December 1924), 251–252. 85. Cited in Raymond G. O’Connor, “The U.S. Marines in the 20 [sic] Century,” 100. 86. E. W. Broadbent, “The Fleet and the Marines,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 57 (March 1931), 370. 87. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 108–109. 88. Millett, Semper Fidelis, 326. 89. This work on amphibious operations was paralleled by an effort to develop a doctrine of small wars. Much of the doctrine development process between 1910 and the early 1920s was informal; the musings and arguments were spread through professional literature (e.g., in the Marine Corps Gazette). In the 1930s, small wars doctrine was formalized at the Marine Corps Schools—in much the same way as amphibious operations doctrine—in the creation of the Manual of Small Wars Operations. See Keith B. Bickel, Mars Learning: The Marine Corps’ Development of Small Wars Doctrine, 1915–1940 (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2001). 90. Smith and Finch, Coral and Brass, 69. 91. Broadbent, “The Fleet and the Marines,” 370. 92. Cited in Millett, Semper Fidelis, 328. 93. Millett, Semper Fidelis, 329–330. 94. Jeter A. Isley and Philip A. Crowl, The U.S. Marines and Amphibious War in the Pacific (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1951), 36. My thanks to Brian McCue for directing me to this passage. 95. Eli K. Cole, “Joint Overseas Operations,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 55 (November 1929), 927. 96. Broadbent, “The Fleet and the Marines,” 372. 97. Krulak, First to Fight, 80. 98. Cited in O’Connor, “The U.S. Marines in the 20 [sic] Century,” 100. 99. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 110; Krulak, First to Fight, 81. 100. O’Connor, “The U.S. Marines in the 20 [sic] Century,” 100–101. 101. John J. Russell, “The Birth of the FMF,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 72 (January 1946), 51; Krulak, First to Fight, 82. 102. Russell, “The Birth of the FMF,” 51. 103. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 112.

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104. Furer, Administration of the Navy Department in World War II, 549–550. 105. Isely and Crowl, The U.S. Marines and Amphibious War, 36. 106. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 112–113. 107. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 111; Smith and Finch, Coral and Brass, 75. 108. Clifford, Amphibious Warfare Development in Britain and America, 144–159; Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 135; Millett, Semper Fidelis, 332–333; Krulak, First to Fight, 84. 109. Smith, “The Development of Amphibious Tactics in the U.S. Navy,” 15. 110. Krulak, First to Fight, 86–87. 111. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 82–83. 112. O’Connor, “The U.S. Marines in the 20 [sic] Century,” 101. 113. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 107. 114. The major organizational successes of World War II administration reiterate this conclusion; problems and solutions became clearer over time through interaction. See, for example, William H. Newman, “Government-Industry Cooperation That Works,” Public Administration Review 6 (Summer 1946), 240–246; Chester C. Wardlow, “Wartime Cooperation between the Army and the Railroads,” Public Administration Review 6 (Summer 1946), 249–260; Ray Miller. “Evolution of a Wartime Procedure Manual,” Public Administration Review 6 (Summer 1946), 228–234. 115. Aaron Wildavsky, “The Self-Evaluating Organization,” Public Administration Review 32 (September/October 1972), 509–520; Martin Landau, “On the Concept of a Self-Correcting Organization,” Public Administration Review 33 (November/December 1973), 533–542; Mark D. Mandeles, The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion: A Case Study in Organization Innovation (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 1998), 41. 116. Keith B. Bickel describes the complex political relationship between proponents of expeditionary duty (i.e., those conducting “small wars”) and the proponents of amphibious assault during the mid-1930s. Although Bickel does not use the term, it appears that the small wars community also was enabled by a multi-organizational system. See Chapter 6 of Mars Learning. 117. Millett, “Assault from the Sea,” 114. 118. Smith, “The Development of Amphibious Tactics in the U.S. Navy,” 16. 119. Cited in Isely and Crowl, The U.S. Marines and Amphibious War, 4.

Chapter 5: Cooperative Engagement Capability 1. T. R. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War: A Study of Unpreparedness (New York: Pocket Books, Inc., 1964), 472. I am indebted to Daniel Jacobowitz for referring me to this passage. 2. Raizo Tanaka (Vice Admiral, ret.), “Japan’s Losing Struggle for Guadalcanal, Part II,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 82 (August 1956), 831. My thanks to Cdr. John T. Kuehn (USN, ret.) for this citation. 3. Herbert A. Simon, “Strategy and Organizational Evolution,” Strategic Management Journal 14 (Special Winter Issue, 1993), 134. 4. A bibliographic search for CEC of 238,782 CNA records conducted on February 14, 2003 found only eleven items. Of these items, two were cost and operational effectiveness analyses, and one was a program life-cycle cost estimate. Six studies focused on other weapons or technologies, e.g., AEW surveillance command and control, budgets for

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UAV communications, naval strategy for C4 I interoperability with allies, Aegis detection and tracking performance. I thank Capt. Peter M. Swartz (USN, ret.) for supplying this information. 5. Personal communications between the author and various Naval Historical Center historians in February and March 2003. 6. Searches of the U.S. GAO internet site (www.gao.gov) were conducted various times, most recently in January 2007. Key search words included “cooperative engagement capability,” “Navy,” and “air defense.” CEC received a two-page review in the March 2005 report, “Defense Acquisitions: Assessments of Selected Major Weapon Programs,” GAO-05-301. 7. See www.cbo.gov. 8. See www.fas.org. 9. See www.house.gov/markgreen/crs.htm. 10. See fpc.state.gov/c4763.htm. 11. Ronald O’Rourke, “Navy Network-Centric Warfare Concept: Key Programs and Issues for Congress,” RS20557 (Washington, DC: CRS, May 31, 2005); Ronald O’Rourke, “Navy DDG-1000 (DD[X], CG(X), and LCS Ship Acquisition Programs: Oversight Issues and Options for Congress,” RL32109 (Washington, DC: CRS, July 26, 2006); Ronald O’Rourke, “Naval Transformation: Background and issues for Congress,” RS20851 (Washington, DC: CRS, January 17, 2006). 12. U.S. Navy, Program Executive Office, PMS 465 (Theater Surface Combatants), Cooperative Engagement Capability: Leading the Revolution in Joint Theater Air and Missile Defense, n.d; Daniel E. Busch, “A True Single Integrated Air Picture: The Navy’s Cooperative Engagement Capability Program,” Sea Power (March 2002). 13. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with Lt. Cdr. Doug Kunzman, Office of Commander, NAVSEA, March 9, 2003. For a discussion of the impact of command, control, computers, communications, intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance equipment on the ability of individuals to calculate and compute options, see Mark D. Mandeles, The Future of War: Organizations as Weapons (Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, Inc., 2005). 14. Anon., “The Cooperative Engagement Capability,” Johns Hopkins APL Technical Digest 16 (October–December 1995), 377–396; Conrad J. Grant, “CEC: Sensor Netting with Integrated Fire Control,” Johns Hopkins APL Technical Digest 23 (April–September 2002), 149–161; W. G. Bath, “Trade-Offs in Sensor Networking,” Johns Hopkins APL Technical Digest 23 (April–September 2002), 162–171; C. J. Duhon, “Tactical Decision Aid for CEC Engage on Remote,” Johns Hopkins APL Technical Digest 23 (April–September 2002), 202–208. 15. John von Neumann, “Probabilistic Logics and the Synthesis of Reliable Organisms from Unreliable Components,” in Claude E. Shannon and John McCarthy, eds., Automata Studies (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1956). 16. U.S. Department of Defense, Director, Operational Test and Evaluation, FY 2002 Annual Report (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, n.d.), 153. 17. Thomas C. Hone, “The Program Manager as Entrepreneur: Aegis and Rear Adm. Wayne Meyer,” Defense Analysis 3 (1987), 197. 18. Edward P. Lee, Robert T. Lundy, and Jerry A. Krill, “History of BGAAWC/FACT: Knitting the Battle Force for Air Defense,” Johns Hopkins APL Technical Digest 23 (April– September 2002), 117. 19. See Hone, “The Program Manager as Entrepreneur,” for an analysis of the origin of the Aegis program.

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20. Robert T. Lundy, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability Team,” APL Technical Review 4 (1993), 10. 21. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with APL staff, April 14, 2003. 22. William G. Bath, Jerry A. Krill, Robert T. Lundy, and William H. Zinger, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability—An Overview (U),” APL Technical Review 4 (1993), 24. [The information in this paragraph is unclassified.] 23. Lee, Lundy, and Krill, “History of BGAAWC/FACT: Knitting the Battle Force for Air Defense,” 118. 24. Lee, Lundy, and Krill, “History of BGAAWC/FACT: Knitting the Battle Force for Air Defense,” 118; Anon., “The Cooperative Engagement Capability,” 383; Grant, “CEC: Sensor Netting with Integrated Fire Control,” 161. 25. The role and duties of the “technical direction agent” are specified in Naval Sea Systems Command Instruction (NAVSEAINST) 5400.57 (dated June 28, 1978). NAVSEAINST 5400.57A was revised and approved on December 6, 1985, and a further revision was under consideration as recently as 1998. 26. APL also was the technical direction agent for the BGAAWC’s predecessor, the “Navy Air Defense Coordination Exploratory Development Program.” Anon., “The Cooperative Engagement Capability,” 383. 27. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with APL staff, April 14, 2003. 28. Bath, Krill, Lundy, and Zinger, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability—An Overview (U),” 41. [The information in this paragraph is unclassified.] 29. Michael J. O’Driscoll, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability Program Today,” APL Technical Review (1993), 8. 30. Grant, “CEC : Sensor Netting with Integrated Fire Control,” 161. 31. O’Driscoll, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability Program Today,” 8. 32. In July 1990, the Demo 90 was called Milestone 90. 33. Ronald E. Hall and Norbert E. White, “The Systems Engineering Process for the Cooperative Engagement Capability,” APL Technical Review 4 (1993), 14. 34. Busch, “A True Single Integrated Air Picture”; Hall and White, “The Systems Engineering Process for the Cooperative Engagement Capability,” 14. 35. O’Driscoll, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability Program Today,” 8; Anon, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability,” 383. 36. O’Driscoll, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability Program Today,” 8. 37. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with APL staff, April 14, 2003. 38. Hall and White, “The Systems Engineering Process for the Cooperative Engagement Capability,” 14; Busch, “A True Single Integrated Air Picture.” 39. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with Vice Adm. Phillip M. Balisle, commander, Naval Sea Systems Command, May 9, 2003. 40. Grant, “Sensor Netting with Integrated Fire Control,” 157. 41. Thomas C. Hone, Norman Friedman, and Mark D. Mandeles, American and British Aircraft Carrier Development, 1919–1941 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999), 178. 42. U.S. Department of Defense, Director, Operational Test & Evaluation, “Cooperative Engagement Capability,” in FY98 Annual Report. 43. U.S. Department of Defense Directive 5000.1, The Defense Acquisition System, May 12, 2003; U.S. Department of Defense Instruction 5000.2, Operation of the Defense Acquisition System, May 12, 2003.

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44. Michael J. O’Driscoll and William H. Zinger, “The Cooperative Engagement Capability: A Recent Mountain Top Experiment,” May 1996, unpublished paper; D. Smith and Laurel Curley, “Battle Force Interoperability: From the ‘Mountain’ to the Fleet,” Surface Warfare (November/December 1999). 45. Daniel Busch and Conrad J. Grant, “Changing the Face of War,” Sea Power 43 (March 2000), 39. 46. U.S. Department of Defense, Director, Operational Test and Evaluation, FY 2002 Annual Report (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, n.d.), 153. 47. Busch and Grant, “Changing the Face of War,” 39. 48. At the time, Navy officials combat system thought that the Advanced Combat Direction System Block 1 would be used on future aircraft carriers and amphibious assault ships. Busch and Grant, “Changing the Face of War,” 39. 49. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with APL staff, April 14, 2003. 50. The 1996 version of Department of Defense Directive (DoDD) 5000.1, Defense Acquisition, and Department of Defense Instruction (DoDI) 5000.2, Mandatory Procedures for Major Acquisition Programs (MDAPs) and Major Automated Information System Acquisition Programs (MAISAPs), provide criteria for designating an acquisition program into various acquisition categories. Selection criteria for an Acquisition Category 1D program include the expenditure of at least $355 million (in Fiscal Year 1996 constant dollars) on research, development, test and evaluation, or the expenditure of at least $2.135 billion (in Fiscal Year 1996 constant dollars) on procurement, or being designated as such by the Under Secretary of Defense for Acquisition and Technology. The current versions of DoDD 5000.1 and DoDI 5000.2, dated May 12, 2003, raise the dollar threshold for assignment to ACAT 1D, but the generic criteria remain unchanged for designating a particular program to the ACAT 1 category. 51. Briefing, David A. Goldberg, DEP Project Manager, NAVSEA, “The Distributed Engineering Plant,” to the Information Superiority Working Group, December 10, 2003; Briefing, George J. Rumford, JDEP Program Office, Defense Information Systems Agency, “Joint Distributed Engineering Plant (JDEP),” to the Information Superiority Working Group, January 7, 2004. 52. Busch and Grant, “Changing the Face of War,” 39; Busch, “A True Single Integrated Air Picture.” 53. See Martin Landau, “On the Concept of a Self-Correcting Organization,” Public Administration Review 33 (November/December 1973), 539–542. 54. Ann Roosevelt, “Army Testers Link Up for Future FCS Testing,” Defense Daily (January 24, 2006). 55. U.S. Department of Defense, Director, Office of Operational Test and Evaluation, “Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC),” in FY2001 Annual Report. 56. U.S. Department of Defense, Director, Office of Operational Test and Evaluation, “Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC),” in FY2002 Annual Report. 57. U.S. Department of Defense, Director, Operational Test and Evaluation, FY 2002 Annual Report (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, n.d.), 153; Sandra I. Erwin, “Stakes are High in Competition for Naval Air-Defense Program,” National Defense (May 2001). 58. APL Press Release, “APL-Developed DoD Capability Approved for Production and Deployment,” June 24, 2002. 59. O’Rourke, “Navy Network-Centric Warfare Concept,” (May 31, 2005), 1–2.

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60. U.S. GAO, “Defense Acquisitions: Assessments of Selected Major Weapon Programs,” GAO-055-301, March 2005, 39–40. 61. Ibid., 40. 62. O’Rourke, “Navy DDG-1000 (DD[X]). CG(X), and LCS Ship Acquisition,” 2–3. 63. U.S. Navy, Program Executive Office/Integrated Warfare Systems, “Cooperative Ebgagement Capability,” n.d. (circa 2006); Richard C. Barnard, “Single Integrated Air Picture Holds the Key to Navy’s Net Centric Plans,” Sea Power (March 2004), http://www.navyleague.org/sea power/mar 04 18.php, accessed July 12, 2006; SIAP System Engineering Task, “Single Integrated Air Picture (SIAP) Progress, Plans, and Recommendations,” Technical Report 2002-004, April 2004; Harry Dutchyshyn, Briefing: “Implementing the JBMC2 Roadmap, A JSSEO Perspective,” March 23, 2005. 64. O’Rourke, “Navy Network-Centric Warfare Concept,” (May 31, 2005), 2. 65. O’Rourke, “Navy Network-Centric Warfare Concept,” (June 3, 2002), 3–5; Terry C. Pierce, “Sunk Costs Sink Innovation,” Proceedings 128 (May 2002), 32–35. 66. U.S. Department of Defense, Director, Operational Test and Evaluation, “Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC),” in FY 2001 Annual Report. 67. William G. Bath and Jerry A. Krill, “Future Directions of the Cooperative Engagement Capability Program (U),” APL Technical Review 4 (1993), 238. [The information summarized in this paragraph is unclassified.] 68. Phil Balisle and Tom Bush, “CEC Provides Theater Air Dominance,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 128 (May 2002), 62; see also Brendan P. Rivers and Michael Puttr´e, “Victory at CEC,” Journal of Electronic Defense 24 (September 2001), 44. 69. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with Vice Adm. Phillip M. Balisle, May 9, 2003.

Chapter 6: Conclusion 1. Martin Landau, “Foreword,” in Edward Bryan Portis and Michael B. Levy, eds., Handbook of Political Theory and Policy Science (New York: Greenwood Press, 1988), viii, ix. 2. The title character for the “Private Snafu” animated shorts was created by director Frank Capra, chairman of the Armed Forces Motion Picture Unit; the Warner Brothers animation studio directed the films. Some of the shorts were written by Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel. The Private Snafu shorts are entertaining and educational; they demonstrate what not to do while at war, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Private Snafu, accessed October 6, 2006. 3. For example, W. K. Hancock and M. M. Gowing, British War Economy (London: HMSO, 1949); U.S. Department of Agriculture, What We Learned in Public Administration during the War (Washington, DC: Graduate School, U.S. Department of Agriculture, 1949); David B. Truman, “The Lessons of War Administration,” Public Administration Review 7 (Autumn 1947), 268–275; Harvey C. Mansfield, “The Uses of History,” Public Administration Review 11 (Winter 1951), 51–57; Ely Devons, Planning in Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1950). In addition, the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps histories contain descriptions of the difficulties of coordination. 4. Herman Finer, “The British Cabinet, the House of Commons and the War,” Political Science Quarterly 56 (September 1941), 321. 5. Hancock and Gowing, British War Economy, 88. 6. In this context, the view of philosophers about interaction is interesting. Regarding the recruitment of John Hawthorne, Ted Sider, and Dean Zimmerman—three promising

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philosophers—to Rutgers University from Syracuse University, Hawthorne explains, “Philosophy remains a field where the best work gets done by people interacting in person.” Robert McGarvey, “The Master Minds,” Rutgers Magazine 82 (Winter 2003), 43. 7. Harvey M. Sapolsky, The Polaris System Development: Bureaucratic and Programmatic Success in Government (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), 106. 8. Thomas K. Glennan, Jr., Policies for Military Research and Development, P-3253 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, November 1965); Albert O. Hirschman and Charles E. Lindblom, “Economic Development, Research and Development, Policy Making: Some Converging Views,” Behavioral Science 7 (April 1962), 211–222; Burton H. Klein, What’s Wrong with Military R and D?, P-1267 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1958); Klein, The Decision-Making Problem in Development, P-1916 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1960); Klein, Policy Issues Involved in the Conduct of Military Development Programs, P-2648 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, October 1962); Klein and William Meckling, “Applications of Operations Research to Development Decisions,” Operations Research 6 (May–June 1958), 352–363; Klein, Mecklng, and E. G. Mesthene, The Nature and Function of Military R&D, P-2147 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, November 1960); Klein, Thomas K. Glennan, Jr., and G. H. Shubert, The Role of Prototypes in Development, RM-3467/1-PR (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, April 1971); Thomas A. Marschak, “Strategy and Organization in a System Development Project,” in Universities-National Bureau Committee for Economic Research, The Rate and Direction of Inventive Activity: Economic and Social Factors (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1962); Andrew W. Marshall and William H. Meckling, Predictability of the Costs, Time, and Success of Development, P-1812 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, October 1959), reprinted in The Rate and Direction of Inventive Activity: Economic and Social Factors (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1962); Richard R. Nelson, “Uncertainty, Learning, and the Economics of Parallel Research and Development Efforts,” Review of Economics and Statistics 43 (1961), 351–364; Nelson and Richard Langlois, “Industrial Innovation Policy: Lessons from American History,” Science 219 (18 February 1983), 814–818; Robert L. Perry, The Mythography of Military R&D, P-3356 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, May 1966); Perry, Innovation and Military Requirements: A Comparative Study, RM-5182-PR (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, August 1967); Perry, Giles K. Smith, Alvin J. Harman, Susan Henrichsen, System Acquisition Strategies, R-733-PR/ARPA (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, June 1971); and Perry, American Styles of Military R&D, P-6326 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, June 1979). 9. Andrew H. Van de Ven, “On the Nature, Formation, and Maintenance of Relations among Organizations,” The Academy of Management Review 1 (October 1976), 24–36. 10. James G. March and Herbert A. Simon, Organizations (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1958), 26. 11. The creation of the Department of Homeland Security showed these features, but included additional problems. The reorganization’s designers were deeply ignorant of the roles and duties of agencies being combined into Homeland Security, President George W. Bush did not pay close attention to substantive issues nor did he arbitrate among competing executive departments. See Susan B. Glasser and Michael Grunwald, “Department’s Mission Was Undermined from Start,” The Washington Post 22 December 2005), A01, http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/12/21/ AR2005122102327.html, accessed December 22, 2005.

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12. In like manner, the creation of the Navy’s Combat Information Center was the result of the great expansion in the use of radar, sonar, and radio-detection equipment aboard ships. The vast expansion of information acquired by the then-new sensing equipment led to a new organizational arrangement to collect, interpret, and analyze information and issue commands. Lincoln Thiesmeyer and John E. Burchard, Combat Scientists (Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Co. 1947), 258. 13. People cannot probe ideas and positions well without group identifications. See Eleanor Singer, “Reference Groups and Social Evaluations,” in Morris Rosenberg and Ralph Turner, eds., Social Psychology (New York: Basic Books, 1980); Herbert A. Simon, “Strategy and Organizational Evolution,” Strategic Management Journal 14 (Winter 1993), 137. 14. See, for example, Charles E. Lindblom, Inquiry and Change: The Troubled Attempt to Understand and Shape Society (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990). 15. “A Self-Correcting System: The Constitution of the United States,” A Bicentennial Chronicle Number 11 (Summer 1986), 4–10; Woodrow Wilson, Congressional Government: A Study in American Politics (Cleveland: Meridian Books, 1969). 16. Committee on Armed Services, U.S. Senate, Defense Organization: The Need for Change, 99th Cong., 1st sess., S. Prt. 99–86, October 16, 1985, 2. James R. Locher III was the study director of this report. After leaving the staff of the Senate Armed Services Committee, Locher became the first assistant secretary of defense for special operations and low-intensity conflict. 17. James R. Locher III, “Has it Worked? The Goldwater-Nichols Reorganization Act,” Naval War College Review 54 (Autumn 2001), 95–116. 18. Personal communication, Capt. Karl Hasslinger to the author, February 25, 2003. 19. The following owes much to Martin Landau, “Catastrophic Errors and the Changing Shape of Bureaucracy,” in Larry B. Hill, ed., The State of Public Bureaucracy (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, Inc., 1992). 20. P. B. Medawar, Advice to a Young Scientist (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), 39. 21. See, for example, Stefan Thomke, “Enlightened Experimentation: The New Imperative for Innovation,” Harvard Business Review (February 2001), 67–75. 22. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with Vice Adm. Phillip M. Balisle, May 22, 2003; Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with Rear Adm. (S) Brad Hicks, July 7, 2003; “Joint Distributed Engineering Plant,” http://jitc.fhu.disa.mil/jdep/, accessed February 11, 2007; F. Edward Baker Jr. and Gregory E. Monteith, “The Distributed Engineering Plant: The Linchpin of Battle Force Interoperability,” Sea Power (2000), http://www.Navyleague.org/ seapower/distributed engineering plant.htm, accessed December 29, 2005. 23. See Martin Landau, “On the Concept of a Self-Correcting Organization,” Public Administration Review 33 (November/December 1973), 539. 24. Jerry A. Krill and Arthur F. Krummenoehl, “System Concept Development Laboratory: Tooling Up for the 21st Century,” Johns Hopkins APL Technical Digest 23 (April– September 2002), 287; see also the Web site for the Joint Distributed Engineering Plant referenced in note 22 above. 25. Nicholas Rescher, Inquiry Dynamics (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 2000), 101. See also the discussion of predicting the pace and direction of technological progress in Mark D. Mandeles, The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion: A Case Study in Organizational Innovation (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 1998), 9. 26. Mandeles, The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion, 9.

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27. Phil Balisle and Tom Bush, “CEC Provides Theater Air Dominance,” Proceedings 128 (May 2002), 62. 28. A high intellectual quality of discussion about operational matters should be expected, and has a long history in British and American militaries. Nobel Laureate P. M. S. Blackett, a World War II operational analyst, noted that the meetings between naval officers and operational analysts compared favorably with sessions of the Royal Society in England. Thiesmeyer and Burchard, Combat Scientists, 78. 29. Thiesmeyer and Burchard, Combat Scientists, 53, 167, 180. 30. “Strategy as a Science,” World Politics 1 (July 1949), 483. 31. Hanson W. Baldwin, Great Mistakes of the War (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 66. 32. Donald H. Rumsfeld, “DoD Acquisition and Logistics Excellence Week Kickoff—Bureaucracy to Battlefield,” speech delivered at the Pentagon, September 10, 2001, http://www.defenselink.mil/Speeches/Speech.aspx?SpeechID=430, accessed June 1, 2006. 33. The 2006 Quadrennial Defense Review Report, for example, proposes “joint capability portfolio” analysis as a tool to meet priorities established in the National Defense Strategy (see page 41). Yet, the goals-resources mismatch is hidden by the QDR’s rhetoric and loose presentation. 34. See, for example, Aaron Wildavsky, The New Politics of the Budgetary Process (Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1988), 350–362; Aaron Wildavsky, Speaking Truth of Power: The Art and Craft of Policy Analysis (Boston, MA: Little, Brown, and Co, 1979), 32; Arnold Kanter, Defense Politics: A Budgetary Perspective (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1979). 35. Thomas C. Hone, Norman Friedman, and Mark D. Mandeles, American and British Aircraft Carrier Development, 1919–1941 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999), 188. 36. Herbert A. Simon, Administrative Behavior, 3rd ed. (New York: The Free Press, 1976), 147–149; William M. Jones, “On Decisionmaking in Large Organizations,” Memorandum RM-3968-PR (Santa Monica, CA: The RAND Corporation, 1964), 4–6. 37. Harold Seidman, Politics, Position & Power: The Dynamics of Federal Organization, Second edition (New York: Oxford University Press, 1975), 175. 38. Seidman, Politics, Position & Power, 175. 39. John Seely Brown and Paul Duguid, “Organizational Learning and Communities of Practice: Toward a Unified View of Working, Learning, and Innovation,” in Michael D. Cohen and Lee S. Sproull, eds., Organizational Learning (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 1996), 58. 40. On January 17, 2007, at a workshop held at Quantico, VA, a lieutenant colonel told the author that when the Marines encounter an operational or technical problem, they create an “integrated product team”—an ad hoc organization of people from various offices—to solve the problem. The integrated product team dissolves with the completion of the task. 41. In discussion of the list of committees and subcommittees submitted to the Senate subcommittee, Senator Henry Jackson remarked that “it is an old American habit to refer a question to a committee, particularly if you don’t know quite what to do with the question at that particular time.” Over the course of the National Policy Machinery Subcommittee’s work, Senator Jackson discussed the number of ad hoc committees with many witnesses. For example, see U.S. Senate, Hearings before the Subcommittee on National Policy Machinery

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of the Committee on Government Operations, Organizing for National Security Volume 1 (Washington, DC: US GPO, 1961), 258, 387–388, 407, 670. 42. The author served on this working group. Briefing, “IPT 3: Roles, Missions and Organization, Working Group 5: DoD Organization,” draft working paper, September 7, 2005. 43. Frank W. Ault, “The Ault Report Revisited,” The Hook (Spring 1989), 36–39. 44. Interview, Mark D. Mandeles with Capt. Frank W. Ault (USN, ret.), December 23, 2002. 45. Harold L. Nieburg, for instance, in examining books on assassination notes, “it becomes clear how unprepared we have been and are as specialists of behavior and citizens of a troubled and disorderly time. The work of the Commission on the Causes and the Prevention of Violence and all of the literature which has been generated in recent years reveals the nakedness of the sciences as possessing any unique relevance or special skill in authoring concrete proposals and policy guidance to help us out of the mess. All the studies, whatever the methodology, are unsatisfying and question-begging.” “Book review: The Politics of Assassination; Assassination and Political Violence: A Staff Report to the National Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence,” Midwest Journal of Political Science 15 (August 1971), 601. 46. See Robert A. Pape, Dying to Win: The Strategic Logic of Suicide Terrorism (New York: Random House, 2005); and Marc Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). 47. Jacob Bronowski, “Operations Research as an Example of the Contemporary Evolution of Science,” Scientific American (October 1951), 75. 48. Baruch Fischhoff, “For Those Condemned to Study the Past: Heuristics and Biases in Hindsight,” in Daniel Kahneman, Paul Slovic, and Amos Tversky, eds., Judgment under Uncertainty: Heuristics and Biases (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 341. 49. Barry R. Posen, The Sources of Military Doctrine: France, Britain, and Germany Between the World Wars (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1984), 174–175. 50. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, eds. and trans. Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976), 75.

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Index

Air Corps Tactical School, 39, 41–42, 43 Aircraft Boeing P-12, 41 Douglas A-20 Havoc, 44 Grumman E-2C Hawkeye, 76, 80 Martin B-10, 41 Martin B-26 Marauder, 44 North American B-25 Mitchell, 44 Piper Cub, 44 Aircraft carriers. See Ships Dwight D. Eisenhower, 77, 78, 79, 82 Furious, 31 John F. Kennedy, 79, 80 Langley, 37 Aircraft performance Air Corps Board predictions, 41 General Board predictions, 32, 33 World War I, 42 Air defense aegis weapon system, 74–76, 78, 79–82 Battle Group Anti-Air Warfare Coordination, 75 Albert, J. S., 23 Amphibious assault Bayeux Tapestry, 49 history, 48–70 Anderson, W. H., 55

Andrews, Frank M., 43 Arnold, Henry H., 37–38, 44 Aspinall-Oglander, Cecil, 53 Ault, Frank W., 99 Baikie, Stephen, 52 Baker, Newton D., 34 Baldwin, Hanson W., 95 Balisle, Phillip M., 72, 77, 82, 94 Barnett, Correlli, 58 Beach, Edward L., 29 Benson, William S., 32 Bittner, Donald, 56 Blandy, William H. P., 38 Bloch, Jean de, 52 Board of Admiralty, 55, 58 Borah, William E., 32 Breckinridge, James C., 65 Broadbent, E. W., 65 Brodie, Bernard, 5, 28, 94–95 Brodie, Fawn, 28 Bronowski, Jacob, 99 Buhl, Lance C., 24 Bureau of Aeronautics, 31, 32, 35, 36, 38, 42, 46 Bureau of Ordnance, 38 Bush, George W., 3

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Bush, RADM Tom, 94 Butler, Thomas Stalker, 34 Cambone, Stephen A., 6 Capability Portfolio Analysis, 95, 97 Cebrowski, Arthur K., 3, 6 Chennault, Claire, 39, 40, 41, 44 Churchill, Winston S., 51, 52, 54–55, 58, 59 Civil War, American, 14, 24 Clausewitz, Carl von, 100 Cleveland, Grover, 19 Clifford, Kenneth J., 57 Coastal air defense, World War II, 9–10 Cole, Eli, 65 Committee of Imperial Defence, 54–55 Congress, 15, 16, 21, 22, 24, 26 Connolly, Tom, 99 Coontz, Robert E., 34–35, 64 Cooperative Engagement Capability, 72–83, 86, 88–89, 92 Coordination, 84–85, 87–89 air-ground, 43–44 amphibious, 48–49 Corbett, Julian, 53 Craven, T. T., 32 Crowl, Philip A., 49, 65 Curtiss, Glenn, 31 Daniels, Josephus, 6, 31, 32, 33, 34 Decision making democracy and military decision making, 91, 97 empirical outlook, 99 role of knowledge and analysis, 28, 85, 86 rules of evidence and inference, 91, 99 Delano, B. F., 22 Demo 90, 76–77 Dewey, George, 26 Distributed engineering plant, 79, 86, 92–93 Doctrine “Advanced Base Concept,” 60 air, 39, 43, 44 Dunlap, Robert H., 48, 62

Ellis, Earl H., 61–62 Endicott, William C., 18 E-Systems/ECI Division, 76 Exercise rules, post–Civil War, 20–22 Experimentation, 6, 8, 15, 16, 25, 29, 31, 91, 92 absence of, 58 Army Air Corps maneuvers, 40–41 bombing tests, interwar, 32, 34, 35 fleet landing exercises, 56 Gedanken, 37 Louisiana Maneuvers, 44 test realism, 35, 38, 40 U.S. Joint Forces Command, 29 Fˆechet, James E., 40 Fehrenbach, T. R., 71 Finer, Herman, 85 Fisher, John, 51 Fiske, Bradley A., 31, 33 Fleet Maneuvers, 56, 63, 64, 70 Foulois, Benjamin D., 40, 41 FUBAR. See SNAFU Fullam, William F., 32, 33–34, 49, 78 Fuller, Ben H., 64, 65, 66 Furer, Julius A., 7 Gallipoli Campaign, 51–53 failure of, 51–53, 60 Gatling gun, 17, 21, 22 General Board, 26, 27, 31–32, 33, 36–38, 42, 46, 60, 61, 64, 68–70, 86, 88 Giambastiani, Edmund P., Jr., 29 Global Positioning System, 8 Goldsborough, Louis M., 22 Goldwater-Nichols legislation, 90 Gowing, M. M., 85 Greene, Francis V., 20 Guilmartin, John F., Jr., 14 Hamilton, Ian, 52, 53 Hancock, W. K., 85 Harding, Warren G., 50 Harrod, Frederick S., 22 Hasslinger, Karl, 90 Hewitt, H. K., 65 Hone, Thomas C., 4

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index 155 Hoover, Herbert, 40 Hughes, Charles Evans, 50 Hunter Warrior experiment, 8–9 Inter-Department Committee on Combined Operations (UK), 55 Inter-Services Training and Development Centre, 57, 70 Isely, Jeter A., 49, 55, 65 Isherwood, Benjamin F., 22, 23, 34 Ismay, Hastings Lionel (Lord Ismay), 55, 57 Jamieson, Perry, 16, 17, 19, 20 Jellicoe, John Rushworth, 33 Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory, 72, 74–76 Joint Army and Navy Board, 43, 62 Joint Forces Command experimentation, 29 Joint Vision 2010, 5 Join Vision 2020, 5 Jomini, Antoine Henri, 49 K´arm´an, Theodore von, 30 Kiralfy, Alexander, 53 Kitchener, Horatio Herbert, 51–52 Koistinen, Paul A. C., 24 Krulak, Charles C., 4 Krulak, Victor H., 49 Lacaze, Lucien, 33 La Guardia, Fiorello, 33 Landau, Martin, 68 Leadership, 85, 87, 90, 94–95, 97 Leaf, Daniel “Fig,” 8 Learning, organizational, 15–16, 21, 22, 26 disappearance of Royal Naval Division lessons learned, 55 Spanish Civil War, impact of, 42 strategy to learn, 18, 35, 72 Lejeune, John A., 56, 61, 63 Lenthall, John, 22 Levels of analysis, 4, 5, 25, 85, 90 Liddell-Hart, Basil, 53 Link-11, 74, 75 Lloyd George, David, 51, 52, 53, 54

Locher, James R., III, 90 Lockheed Martin Corporation, 74, 76, 80, 81, 82 Long, John D., 26 Long, J. H., 23 Luce, Stephen B., 25, 26 MacArthur, Douglas, 40, 65 MacGregor, David, 58 Madden, Charles, 56 Madison, James, 1, 11 Mahan, Alfred Thayer, 24, 60 Marine Corps Schools, 64–68, 70 Marshall, George C., 28, 43, 46, 59 Masefield, John, 48, 53 Maund, L. E. H., 57 Mayo, Henry, 33 McClellan, George B., 17 McKenna, Richard, 6 McNair, Lesley J., 43 McNamara, Robert S., 96 McVay, Charles B., 33 Means–ends analysis, 26, 53 Medawar, P. B., 91–92 Military maverick, 100 Millett, Allan R., 54, 56, 62, 66, 67, 69 Millis, Walter, 1, 44 Mitchell, William, 32, 33–34, 42 Moffett, William A., 36 Montgomery, Bernard L., 58 Morison, Elting E., 9–10, 23, 24 “Mountain Top” Advanced Concept Technology Demonstration, 78 Multiorganization system, 2, 26, 86–100 absence of, 46, 47, 59, 86 Constitutional criticism, 85, 89 interaction among organizations, 85, 89 interwar, amphibious warfare, 50–51 interwar, naval aviation, 30, 35, 39 National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, 30, 37 Naval Academy, 26 Naval Institute, 26, 27 Naval War College 26, 27, 31, 33, 35–38, 46, 60–61, 67–68, 70

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index

Navy battleship construction program, 33 Nicholson, J. W. A., 23 Northrop Grumman Corporation, 76, 81 Operational analysis, WWII, 94 Operation Desert Storm, 73, 76 Operation Enduring Freedom, 8–9 Organization ad hoc, 98–99 centralization, 90 coordination, 84–85, 87–89. See also Coordination coupling, 88 goal setting, 39 outputs, 29 redundancy and duplication, 88, 90 self-correction, 68 self-evaluation, 29, 38–39, 46 Organizational error error-free design, 5 error identification and correction, 54, 63, 85, 87, 93 generic sources of, 95 goal displacement, 29 prevention, “pre-audit,” 79 sources of, 5 strategic, approach to learning, 4 O’Rourke, Ronald, 3, 82 Parrott gun, 23 Peirse, Richard, 58 Posen, Barry, 100 Pratt, William V., 65 Precision-guided munitions, 7–8, 9, 10 Private SNAFU. See SNAFU Proctor, Redfield, 19 Puleston, W. D., 62 Quadrennial Defense Review, 2006, 98 Raines, Edgar F., Jr., 42 Raytheon Systems Company, 76, 80, 81, 82 Redundancy and reliability, 73 Reeves, Joseph M., 37

Remington, Frederic, 16–17 Revolution, military, 1, 3, 5–6, 31, 33, 45 post–Civil War technology and tactics, 15, 17–18, 19, 20, 23 Ridgway, Matthew, 71 Roberts, Lawrence, 8 Rommel, Erwin, 71 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 36, 42 Rumsfeld, Donald H., 3, 4, 95–96 Russell, John J., 62, 65 Russo-Turkish War, 20 Sapolsky, Harvey M., 86 Schofield, John M., 19, 20 Sheridan, Philip H., 17, 25 Sherman, William T., 20, 25 Ships Alabama, 35 Anzio, 77, 78, 79, 94 Cape St. George, 77, 78, 79 Carney, 79 Frankfurt, 34 Hue City, 78, 79 Iowa, 34 Kentucky, 34 Kidd, 77 Ostfriesland, 34–35 Vicksburg, 78, 79 Wampanoag, 22–25 Wasp, 77, 78, 79 Shulimson, Jack, 60 Sims, William S., 32, 33–34, 35–36, 58, 62 Situational awareness, 76 Smith, Holland M., 48–49, 61, 64, 66, 67, 69 SNAFU, 84 Tactics, linear formation, 17, 18 Tanaka, Raizo, 71 TARFU. See SNAFU Taylor, David W., 33, 34 Tentative Manual for Landing Operations, 65–66 Ten-Year Rule, 54–55 Tirpitz, Alfred von, 33 Townsend, Bob, 99 Training, pre-WWII competition in, 29

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index 157 Transformation, military, 2, 3, 4, 6–7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 85, 93 Transformation Planning Guidance, 11 Travers, Timothy H. E., 52 Upton, Emory, 18 Vagts, Alfred, 49 Vandegrift, Alexander A., 61 Van Tol, Jan M., 61 Versailles Treaty, 61 Von Neumann, John, 11, 73 Wargamers and aircraft performance requirements, 36, 42

War Plan Orange, 60, 62 Washington Naval Treaties, 50 Watson, Bertram, 57 Weigley, Russell F., 7 Welles, Gideon, 23 Westover, Oscar, 41 Wildavsky, Aaron, 68 Williams, Dion, 63 Williston, Edward B., 21 Wilson, Woodrow, 6, 31, 84 Wounded Knee, Battle of, 19–20 Wright, Orville, 30, 31, 45 Wright, Wilber, 30, 31, 45 Zeller, T., 23

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About the Author MARK D. MANDELES has authored The Future of War: Organizations as Weapons (2005) and The Development of the B-52 and Jet Propulsion: A Case Study in Organizational Innovation (1998), and coauthored Managing “Command and Control” in the Persian Gulf War (Praeger, 1996) and American and British Aircraft Carrier Development, 1919–1941 (1999).

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