 Book 4, Chapter 11 of On War. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Timothy Ferguson. On War by Carl von Klausowitz, translated by Colonel J. J. Graham. Book 4, Chapter 11. The use of the battle. Continue. Whatever form the conduct of war may take in particular cases, and whatever we may have to admit in the sequel as necessary respecting it, we have only to refer to the conception of war to be convinced of what follows. 1. The destruction of the enemy's military force is the leading principle of war, and for the whole chapter of positive action the direct way to the object. 2. This destruction of the enemy's force must be principally affected by means of battle. 3. Only great and general battles can produce great results. 4. The results will be greatest when combats unite themselves in one great battle. 5. It is only in a great battle that the general-in-chief commands in person, and it is in the nature of things that he should place more confidence in himself than in his subordinates. From these truths a double law follows, the parts of which mutually support each other, namely that the destruction of the enemy's military force is to be sought for principally by great battles, and their results, and that the chief object of great battles must be the destruction of the enemy's military force. No doubt the annihilation principle is to be found more or less in other means. Granted, there are instances in which through favorable circumstances in a minor combat the destruction of the enemy's force has been disproportionately great, Bracket Maxon in Bracket, and on the other hand in a battle, the taking or holding of a single post may be predominant in importance as an object, but as a general rule it remains a paramount truth that battles are only fought with a view to the destruction of the enemy's army, and that this destruction can only be affected by their means. The battle may therefore be regarded as war concentrated, as the centre of effort of the whole war or campaign, as the suns rays unite in the focus of the concave mirror in a perfect image, and in the fullness of their heat to the forces and circumstances of war unite in a focus in the great battle for one concentrated utmost effort. The very assemblage of forces in one great whole, which takes place more or less in all wars, indicates an intention to strike a decisive blow with this whole, either voluntarily as a salient or constrained by the opposite party as defender. When this great blow does not follow, then some modifying and retarding motives have attached themselves to the original motive of hostility, and have weakened, altered or completely checked the movement, but also even in this condition of mutual in action, which has been the key note in so many wars, the idea of a possible battle serves always for both parties as a point of direction, a distant focus in the construction of their plans. The more war is war in earnest, the more it is a venting of animosity and hostility, a mutual struggle to overpower, so much the more will all activities join deadly contests, and also the more prominent in importance becomes the battle. In general, when the object aimed at is of great and positive nature, one therefore in which the interests of the enemy are deeply concerned, the battle offers itself as the most natural means. It is therefore also the best, as we shall show more plainly hereafter, and as a rule when it is evaded from aversion to the great decision, punishment follows. The positive object belonged to the offensive, and therefore the battle is also more particularly his means. But without examining the conception of offensive and defensive more minutely here, we must still observe that, even for the defender in most cases, there is no other effectual means with which to meet the extinguishes of his situation to solve the problems presented to him. The battle is the bloodiest way of solution. True, it is not merely reciprocal slaughter, and its effect is more a killing of the courage than of the enemy soldiers, as we shall see more plainly in the next chapter, but still blood is always its price, and slaughter its character as well as name. From this, the humanity in the general's mind recoils with horror. But the soul of the man trembles still more at the thought of the decision to be given with one single blow. In one point of space and time, all action is here, pressed together. And at such a moment, there is stirred up within us a dim feeling, as if, in this narrow space, all our forces could not develop themselves and come into activity, as if we had already gained much by mere time, although this time owes us nothing at all. This is all mere illusion, but even as illusion it is something, and the same weakness which seizes upon the man in every other momentous decision may well be felt more powerfully by the general, when he must stake interests of such enormous weight upon one venture. Thus, then, statesmen and generals have at all times endeavored to avoid the decisive battle, seeking either to attain their aim without it, or dropping that aim unperceived. Writers on history and theory have busied themselves to discover in some other feature in these campaigns not only an equivalent for the decision by battle, which has been avoided, but even a higher art. In this way, in the present age, it came very near to this, that a battle in the economy of war was looked upon as an evil, rendered necessary through some error committed, a morbid paroxysm to which a regular prudent system of war would never lead, only those generals were to deserve laurels who knew how to carry on war without spilling blood, and the theory of war, a real business for Brahmans, was to be specially directed to teaching this. History has destroyed this illusion, but no one can guarantee that it will not sooner or later reproduce itself, and lead those at the head of affairs to perversities which please man's weakness, and therefore have the greater affinity for his nature. Perhaps by and by, Burnaparte's campaigns and battles will be looked upon as mere acts of barbarism and stupidity, and we shall once more turn with satisfaction and confidence to the dress-sword of obsolete and musty institutions and forms. If theory gives a caution against this, then it renders a real service to those who listen to its warning voice. May we succeed in lending a hand to those who, in our dear native land, are called upon to speak with authority on these matters, that we may be their guide into this field of inquiry, and excite them to make a candid examination of the subject, not only the conception of war, but experience, also leads us to look for a great decision only in a great battle. From time immemorial, only great victories have led to great successes on the offensive side in the absolute form, on the defensive side in a manner more or less satisfactory. Even Burnaparte would not have seen the day of Um, unique in its kind, if he had shrunk from shedding blood. It is rather to be regarded as only a second crop from the victorious events in his preceding campaigns. It is not only bold, rash and presumptuous generals who have sought to complete their work by the great venture of a decisive battle, but also fortunate ones as well, and we may rest satisfied with the answer which they have thus given to this vast question. Let us not hear of generals who conquer without bloodshed. If a bloody slaughter is a horrible sight, then that is a ground for paying more respect to war, but not for making the sword we wear blunter and blunter by degrees from feelings of humanity, until someone steps in with one that is sharp and lops off the arm from our body. We look upon a great battle as a principal decision, but certainly not as the only one necessary for a war or a campaign. Others of a great battle deciding a whole campaign have been frequent only in modern times. Those which have decided a whole war belong to a class of rare exceptions. A decision which is brought about by a great battle depends naturally not on the battle itself, that is, on the massive combatants engaged in it, and on the intensity of the victory, but also on a number of other relations between the military forces opposed to each other, and between the states to which these forces belong. But at the same time the principal mass of the force available is brought to the great duel. A great decision is also brought on, the extent of which may perhaps be foreseen in many respects, though not in all, and which although not the only one, still is the first decision, and as such has an influence on those which succeed. Therefore a deliberately planned great battle, according to its relations, is more or less, but always in some degree, to be regarded as the leading means and central point of the whole system. The more a general takes to the field in the true spirit of war, as well as of every contest, with the feeling and the idea, that is, the conviction, that he must and will conquer, the more he will strive to throw every weight into the scale in the first battle, hope and strive to win everything by it. Bonaparte hardly ever entered upon a war without thinking of conquering his enemy at once in the first battle, and Frederick the Great, though in a more limited sphere and with interests of less magnitude at stake, thought the same when, at the head of a small army, he sought to disengage his rear from the Russians or the Federal Imperial Army. The decision which is given by the great battle depends, we have said, partly on the battle itself, that is, on the number of troops engaged, and partly on the magnitude of the success. How the general may increase its importance in respect to the first point is evident in itself, and we shall merely observe that, according to the importance of the great battle, the number of cases which are decided along with it increases, and therefore generals who, confident in themselves, have been lovers of great decisions, have always managed to make use of the greater part of their troops in it, without neglecting on that account essential points elsewhere, as regards the consequences or, speaking more correctly, the effectiveness of a victory that depends chiefly on four points, one on the tactical form adopted as the order of battle, two on the nature of the country, three on the relative proportions of the three arms, four on the relative strength of the two armies. A battle with parallel fronts and without any action against a flank will seldom yield as great a success as one in which the defeated army has been turned, or compelled to change front more or less. In a broken or hilly country, the successes are likewise smaller because the power of the blow is everywhere less. If the cavalry of the vanquished is equal or superior to that of the victor, then the effects of the pursuit are diminished, and by that great part of the results of victory are lost. Finally, it's easy to understand that if superior numbers are on the side of the conqueror, and he uses his advantage in that respect to turn the flank of his adversary, or compel him to change front, greater results will follow than if the conqueror had been weaker in numbers than the vanquished. The battle of Luthon may certainly be quoted as a practical refutation of this principle, but we beg permission for once to say what we otherwise do not like. No rule without an exception. In all these ways, therefore, the commander has the means of giving his battle a decisive character. Finally he thus exposes himself to an increased amount of danger, but his whole line of action is subjected to that dynamic law of the moral world. There is then nothing in war which can be put in comparison with the great battle in point of importance, and the acme of strategic ability is displayed in the provision of means for this great event, in the skillful determination of place and time, and direction of troops, and it's the good use made of success. But it does not follow, from the importance of these things, that they must be of a very complicated and recondite nature. All is here rather simple. The art of combination by no means great. But there is great need of quickness in judging of circumstances, need of energy, steady resolution, a youthful spirit of enterprise, the rogue qualities to which we shall often have to refer. There is therefore but little wanted here of that which can be taught by books, and there is much that, if it can be taught at all, must come to the general through some other medium than the printer's type. The impulse towards a great battle, the voluntary sure progress to it, must proceed from a feeling of innate power and a clear sense of necessity. In other words, it must proceed from inborn courage, and from perceptions sharpened by contact with the higher interests of life. Great examples are the best teachers, but it is certainly misfortune if a cloud of theoretical prejudices comes between, for even the sunbeam is refracted and tinted by the clouds. To destroy such prejudices, which many a time rise and spread themselves like a miasma, is an imperative duty of theory, for the misbegotten offspring of human reason can also be, in turn, destroyed by pure reason. CHAPTER XII. Strategic Means of Utilizing Victory. The more difficult part is that of perfectly preparing the victory is a silent service of which the merit belongs to strategy, and yet for which it is hardly sufficiently commended. It appears brilliant and full of renown by turning to good account a victory gained. What may be the special object of a battle, how it is connected with the whole system of a war, whether the career of victory may lead according to the nature of circumstances, where its culminating point lies? All these are things which we shall not enter upon until hereafter. But under any conceivable circumstances the fact holds good, that without a pursuit no victory can have a great effect, and that, however short the career of a victory may be, it must always lead beyond the first steps in pursuit. And in order to avoid the frequent repetition of this we shall now dwell for a moment on this necessary supplement of victory in general. The pursuit of a beaten army commences at the moment that army, giving up the combat, leaves its position. All previous movements in one direction and another belong not to that, but to the progress of the battle itself. Usually victory at the moment here described, even if it is certain, is still as yet small and weak in its proportions, and would not rank as an event of any great positive advantage if not completed by a pursuit on the first day. Then it is mostly, as we have before said, that the trophies which give substance to the victory begin to be gathered up. Of this pursuit we shall speak in the next place. Usually both sides come into action with their physical powers considerably deteriorated. For the movements immediately proceeding have generally the character of very urgent circumstances. The efforts which the forging out of a great combat costs complete the exhaustion. From this it follows that the victorious party is very little less disorganized and out of his original formation than the vanquished. And therefore requires time to reform, to collect stragglers, and issue fresh ammunition to those who are without. All these things place the conqueror himself in the state of crisis, of which we have already spoken. If now the defeated force is only a detached portion of the enemy's army, or if it has otherwise to expect considerable reinforcement, then the conqueror may easily run into the obvious danger of having to pay too dear for his victory. And this consideration, in such a case, very soon puts an end to pursuit, or at least restricts it materially. Even when a stronger session of force by the enemy is not to be feared, the conqueror finds in the above circumstances a powerful check to the vivacity of his pursuit. There is no reason to fear that the victory will be snatched away, but adverse combats are still possible and may diminish the advantages which up to the present have been gained. Moreover at this moment the whole weight of all that is sensuous in an army, its wants and weaknesses, are dependent on the will of the commander. All the thousands under his command require rest and refreshment, and long to see a stop put to toil and danger for the present. Only a few, forming an exception, can see and feel beyond the present moment. It is only amongst this little number that there is sufficient mental vigor to think after what is absolutely necessary at the moment has been done upon those results which, at such a moment, only appear to the rest as mere embellishments of victory. As a luxury of triumph. But all these thousands have a voice in the council of the general, for through the various steps of the military hierarchy, these interests of the sensuous creature have their sure conductor into the heart of the commander. He himself, through mental and bodily fatigue, is more or less weakened in his natural activity, and thus it happens then that, mostly from these causes, purely incidental to human nature, less is done, than might have been done, and that generally what is done is to be ascribed entirely to the first for glory, the energy indeed also the hard-heartedness of the general in chief. It is only thus we can explain the hesitating manner in which many generals follow up a victory which superior numbers have given them. The first pursuit of the enemy we limit in general to the extent of the first day, including the night following the victory. At the end of that period the necessity of rest ourselves prescribes a halt in any case. This first pursuit has different natural degrees. The first is if cavalry alone are employed. In that case it amounts usually more to alarming and watching than to pressing the enemy in reality, because the smallest obstacle of ground is generally sufficient to check the pursuit. Useful as cavalry may be against single bodies of broken demoralized troops, still when opposed to the bulk of the beaten army it becomes again only the auxiliary arm, because the troops in retreat can employ fresh reserves to cover the movement, and therefore at the next trifling obstacle of ground, by combining all arms, they can make a stand with success. The only exception to this is in the case of an army in actual flight in a complete state of dissolution. The second degree is if the pursuit is made by a strong advance guard composed of all arms, the greater part consisting naturally of cavalry. Such a pursuit generally drives the enemy as far as the nearest strong position for his rearguard, or the next position affording space for his army. Neither can usually be found at once, and therefore the pursuit can be carried further. Generally, however, it does not extend beyond the distance of one or at most a couple of leagues, because otherwise the advance guard would not feel itself sufficiently supported. The third and most vigorous degree is when the victorious army itself continues to advance as far as its physical powers can endure. In this case, the beaten army will generally quit such ordinary positions as a country usually offers on the mere show of an attack, or of an intention to turn its flank, and then the rearguard will be still less likely to engage in an obstinate resistance. In all three cases, the knight, if it sets in before the conclusion of the whole act, usually puts an end to it, and the few instances in which this has not taken place and the pursuit has been continued throughout the night must be regarded as pursuits in an exceptionally vigorous form. If we reflect that in fighting by night everything must be more or less abandoned to chance, and that at the conclusion of a battle the regular cohesion and order of things in an army must inevitably be disturbed, we may easily conceive the reluctance of both generals to carry on their business under such disadvantageous conditions. If a complete dissolution of the vanquished army or a rare superiority of the victorious army in military virtue does not ensure success, everything would be in a manner given up to fate, which can never be for the interest of anyone, even of the most foolhardy general. As a rule, therefore, knight puts an end to pursuit, even when the battle has only been decided shortly before darkness sets in. This allows the conquered either time for rest and to rally immediately, or if he retreats during the night, it gives him a much in advance. After this break the conquered is decidedly in a better condition, much of that which had been thrown into confusion has been brought again into order, ammunition has been renewed, the whole has been put in a fresh formation. Whatever further encounter now takes place with the enemy is a new battle, not a continuation of the old, and although it may be far from promising absolute success, still it is a fresh combat and not merely a gathering up of the debris by the victor. When, therefore, the conqueror can continue the pursuit itself throughout the night, if only with a strong advance guard composed of all arms of the service, the effect of the victory is immensely increased. Of this the battles of Luthorne and Labelle Alliance are examples. The whole action of this pursuit is mainly tactical, and we only dwell upon it here in order to make plain the difference, which through it may be produced in the effect of a victory. This first pursuit, as far as the nearest stopping point, belongs as a right to every conqueror, and is hardly in any way connected with his further plans and combinations. These may considerably diminish the positive results of a victory gained with the main body of the army, but they cannot make the first use of it impossible. At least cases of this kind, if conceivable at all, must be so uncommon that they should have no appreciable influence on theory, and here certainly we must say that the example afforded by modern wars opens up quite a new field for energy. In preceding wars, resting on a narrower basis and altogether more circumscribed in their scope, there were many unnecessary conventional restrictions in various ways, but particularly in this point. The conception, honor, victory seems to generals so much by far the chief thing that they thought the less of the complete destruction of the enemy's military force, as in point of fact that destruction of force appeared to them only as one of the many means in war, not by any means as the principle, much less as the only means, so that they more readily put the sword into the sheath the moment the enemy had lowered his. Nothing seemed more natural to them than to stop the combat as soon as the decision was obtained, and to regard all further carnage as unnecessary cruelty. Even if this false philosophy did not determine their resolutions entirely, still it was a point of view which by representations of the exhaustion of all powers, and physical impossibility of continuing the struggle, obtained readyer evidence and greater weight. Certainly the sparing of one's own instrument of victory is a vital question, if we only possess this one, and foresee that soon the time may arrive when it will not be sufficient for all that remains to be done, for every continuation of the offensive must lead, ultimately, to complete exhaustion. But this calculation was still so far false, as the further loss of forces by a continuance of the pursuit could bear no proportion to that which the enemy must suffer. That view, therefore, again could only exist because the military forces were not considered the vital factor. And so we find that in former wars real heroes only, such as Charles XII, Marlborough, Eugene, Frederick the Great, added a vigorous pursuit to their victories when they were decisive enough, and that other generals usually contented themselves with the possession of the field of battle. In modern times the greater energy infused into the conduct of wars, through the greater importance of the circumstances from which they have proceeded, has thrown down these conventional barriers. The pursuit has become an all-important business for the conqueror. Trophies have, on that account, multiplied in extent, and if there are cases also in modern warfare in which this has not been the case, still they belong to the list of exceptions, and are to be accounted for by peculiar circumstances. At Gorshan and Belsen, nothing but the superiority of the Allied cavalry prevented a complete rout. At Grossberrin and Denevitz, the ill wind of Bernadotte, the crown prince of Sweden, at Leon the enfeebled personal condition of Blücher, who was then seventy years old and, at the moment, confined to a dark room, only to an injury of his eyes. But Borodino is also an illustration to the point here, and we cannot resist saying a few more words about it, partly because we do not consider the circumstances are explained simply by attaching blame to Bonaparte, partly because it might appear as if this, and with it a great number of similar cases, belonged to that class, which we have designated as so extremely rare, cases in which the general relations seize and fetter the general at the very beginning of the battle. French authors in particular, and great admirers of Bonaparte — Bracket, Val d'Ancourt, Chambret, Segur, Closed Bracket, have blamed him decidedly, because he did not drive the Russian army completely off the field and use his last reserves to scatter it, because then what was only a lost battle would have been a complete rout. We should be obliged to diverge too far to describe circumstantially the mutual situation of the two armies. But this much is evident, but when Bonaparte passed the Neiman with his army the same core, which afterwards fought at Borodino, numbered three hundred thousand men, of whom now only one hundred and twenty thousand remained, he might therefore well be apprehensive that he would not have enough left to march upon Moscow, the point on which everything seemed to depend. The victory which he had just gained gave him nearly a certainty of taking that capital, for that the Russians would be in a condition to fight a second battle within eight days seemed in the highest degree improbable, and in Moscow he hoped to find peace. No doubt the complete dispersion of the Russian army would have made this peace much more certain, but still the first consideration was to get to Moscow. That is, to get there with a force with which he should appear dictator over the capital, and through that over the empire and the government. The force which he bought with him to Moscow was no longer sufficient for that, as shown in the sequel, but it would have been still less so if, in scattering the Russian army, he had scattered his own at the same time. Russia was thoroughly alive to this, and in our eyes he stands completely justified, but on that account this case is still not to be reckoned amongst those in which, through the general relations, the general is interdicted from following up his victory, for there never was in his case any question of mere pursuit. The victory was decided at four o'clock in the afternoon, but the Russians still occupied the greater part of the field of battle. They were not yet disposed to give up the ground, and if the attack had been renewed, they would still have offered a most determined resistance, which would undoubtedly have ended in their complete defeat, but which would have cost the conqueror much further bloodshed. We must therefore reckon the Battle of Borodino as amongst battles like Bautzen, left unfinished. At Bautzen the vanquished preferred to quit the field sooner. At Borodino the conqueror preferred to continue himself with a half victory, not because the decision appeared doubtful, but because he was not rich enough to pay for the whole. Returning now to our subject, the deduction from our reflections in relation to the first stage of the pursuit is that the energy thrown into it chiefly determines the value of the victory. That this pursuit is a second act of the victory, in many cases more important also than the first, and that strategy whilst here approaching tactics to receive from it the harvest of success, exercises the first act of her authority by demanding this completion of the victory. But further the effects of victory are very seldom found to stop with this first pursuit. Now first begins the real career to which the victory lent velocity. This course is conditioned as we have already said by other relations of which it is not yet time to speak, but we must here mention what there is of a general character in the pursuit in order to avoid repetition when the subject occurs again. In the further stages of pursuit again we can distinguish three degrees. The simple pursuit, a hard pursuit, and a parallel march to intercept. The simple following or pursuing causes the enemy to continue his retreat until he thinks he can risk another battle. It will, therefore, in its effect, suffice to exhaust the advantages gained, and besides that, all that the enemy cannot carry with him, sick, wounded, and disabled from fatigue, quantities of baggage, and characters of all kinds, will fall into our hands. But this mere following does not tend to heighten the disorder in the enemy's army, an effect which is produced by the two following causes. If, for instance, instead of contending ourselves with taking up every day the camp the enemy has just vacated, occupying just as much of the country as he chooses to abandon, we make our own arrangements, so as every day to encroach further, and accordingly, with our advance guard organized for the purpose, attack his rearguard every time it attempts to halt, then such a course will hasten his retreat, and consequently, tend to increase his disorganization. This it will principally affect by the character of continuous flight, which his retreat will thus assume. Nothing has such a depressing influence on the soldier, as the sound of the enemy's cannon afresh at the moment when, after a forced march, he seeks some rest. If this excitement is continued from day to day for some time, it may lead to a complete rout. There lies in it a constant admission of being obliged to obey the law of the enemy, and of being unfit for any resistance, and the consciousness of this cannot do otherwise than weaken the moral of an army in a high degree. The effect of pressing the enemy in this way attains a maximum, when it drives the enemy to make night marches. If the conqueror scares away the discomforted opponent at sunset from a camp, which has just been taken up, either for the main body of the army, or for the rearguard, the conquered must either make a night march, or alter his position in the night, retreating further away, which is much the same thing. The victorious party can, on the other hand, pass the night in quiet. The arrangement of marches and the choice of positions depend in this case also upon many other things, especially on the supply of the army, on strong natural obstacles in the country, on large towns, and such, and such, that it would be ridiculous pedantry to attempt to show by a geometrical analysis how the pursuer, being able to impose his laws on the retreating enemy, can compel him to march at night while he takes his rest, but nevertheless it is true and practicable that marches in pursuit may be so planned as to have this tendency, and that the efficacy of the pursuit is very much enhanced thereby. If this is seldom attended to in the execution, it is because such a procedure is more difficult for the pursuing army than a regular adherence to ordinary marches in the daytime. To start in good time in the morning, to encamp at midday, to occupy the rest of the day in providing for the ordinary wants of the army, and to use the night for a pose is a much more convenient method than to regulate one's movements exactly according to those of the enemy, therefore to determine nothing till the last moment, to start on the march, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening, to be always for several hours in the presence of the enemy, and exchanging cannon shots with him and keeping up skirmishing fire, to plan maneuvers to turn him in short, to make the whole outlay of tactical means which such a course renders necessary. All that naturally bears with a heavy weight on the pursuing army, and in war, where there are so many burdens to be borne, men are always inclined to strip off those which do not seem absolutely necessary. These observations are true, whether applied to a whole army, or as in the more usual case, to a strong advance guard, for the reasons just mentioned, this second method of pursuit, this continued pressing of the enemy pursuit, is rather a rare occurrence. Even Bonaparte, in his Russian campaign, 1812, practised it but little, for the reasons here apparent, that the difficulties and hardships of this campaign already threatened his army with destruction before it could reach its object. On the other hand, the French in their other campaigns have distinguished themselves by their energy in this point also. Lastly, the third and most effectual form of pursuit is the parallel march to the immediate object of the retreat. Every defeated army will naturally have behind it, at a greater or less distance, some point, the attainment of which is the first purpose in view, whether it be that, failing in this, its further retreat might be compromised, as in the case of a defile, or that it is important for the point itself to reach it before the enemy, as in the case of a great city, magazines and such, or lastly that the army at this point will gain new powers of defense, such as a strong position or junction with other cause. Now if the conqueror directs his march on this point by a lateral road, it is evident how that may quicken the retreat of the beaten army in a destructive manner, convert it into hurry, perhaps into flight. The conquered has only three ways to counteract this. The first is to throw himself in front of the enemy, in order by an unexpected attack, to gain that probability of success, which is lost to him in general from his position, this plainly supposes an enterprising bold general, and an excellent army, beaten but not utterly defeated, therefore it can only be employed by a beaten army in very few cases. The second way is hastening the retreat, but this is just what the conqueror wants, and it easily leads to immoderate efforts on the part of the troops, by which enormous losses are sustained, in stragglers, broken guns, and carriages of all kinds. The third way is to make a detour, and get round the nearest point of interception, to march with more ease at a greater distance from the enemy, and thus to render the haste required less damaging. This last way is the worst of all. It generally turns out like a new debt contracted by an insolvent debtor, and leads to greater embarrassment. There are cases in which this course is advisable. Others where there is nothing else left, also instances in which it has been successful, but upon the whole it is certainly true that its adoption is usually influenced, less by a clear persuasion of its being the surest way of attaining the aim, than by another inadmissible motive. This motive is the dread of encountering the enemy. Woe to the commander who gives in to this. However much the moral of his army may have deteriorated, and however well-founded may be his apprehension of being at a disadvantage in any conflict with the enemy, the evil will only be made worse by too anxiously avoiding every possible risk of collision. Bonaparte in 1813 would never have brought over the Rhine with him the 30 or 40,000 men who remained after the Battle of Hanau, if he had avoided that battle, and tried to pass the Rhine at Mannheim or Koblen's. It is just by means of small combats, carefully prepared and executed, and in which the defeated army being on the defensive has always the assistance of the ground, it is just by these that the moral strength of the army can first be resuscitated. The beneficial effect of the smallest successes is incredible, but with most generals the adoption of this plan implies great self-command. The other way that of evading all encounter appears at first so much easier, that there is a natural preference for its adoption. It is therefore usually just this system of evasion which best promotes the view of the pursuer, and often ends with the complete downfall of the pursued. We must, however, recollect here that we are speaking of a whole army, not of a single division which, having been cut off, is seeking to join the main army by making a detour. In such a case circumstances are different, and success is not uncommon, but there is one condition requisite to the success of this race of two core for an object, which is that the division of the pursuing army should follow by the same road which the pursuit has taken in order to pick up stragglers, and keep up the impression which the presence of the enemy never fails to make. Blucher neglected to do this in his, in other respects, unexceptionable, pursuit after La Belle Alliance. Such marches tell upon the pursuer as well as the pursued, and they are not advisable if the enemy's army rallies itself upon another considerable one, if it has a distinguished general at its head, and if its destruction is not already well prepared. But when this means can be adopted, it acts also like a great mechanical power. The losses of the beaten army from sickness and fatigue are on such a disproportionate scale. The spirit of the army is so weakened and lowered by the constant solicitude about impending ruin, that at last anything like a well-organized stand is well out of the question. Every day thousands of prisoners fall into the enemy's hands, without striking a blow. In such a season of complete good fortune, the conqueror need not hesitate about dividing his forces in order to draw into the vortex of destruction everything within the reach of his army, to cut off detachments, to take fortresses unprepared for defense, to occupy large towns and such and such. He may do anything until a new state of things arises, and the more he ventures in this way, the longer will it be before that change will take place. There is no want of examples of brilliant results from grand decisive victories, and of great and vigorous pursuits in the wars of Bonaparte. We need only, quote Jenner 1806, Ratisbon 1809, Leipzig 1813, and Bel-Alliance 1815. End of Book 4, Chapter 12, recording by Timothy Ferguson Gold Coast Australia. Book 4, Chapter 13, of On War. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Timothy Ferguson On War by Carl von Klausowitz, translated by Colonel J. J. Graham, Book 4, Chapter 13, Retreat after a Lost Battle. In a Lost Battle the power of an army is broken, the moral to a greater degree than the physical. A second battle, unless fresh favorable circumstances come into play, would lead to a complete defeat, perhaps to destruction. This is a military axiom. According to the usual course, the retreat is continued up to that point where the equilibrium of forces is restored, either by reinforcements or by the protection of strong fortresses, or by great defensive positions afforded by the country, or by a separation of the enemy's force. The magnitude of the losses sustained, the extent of the defeat, but still more the character of the enemy, will bring nearer or put off the instant of this equilibrium. How many instances may be found of a beaten army rallied again at a short distance, without its circumstances having altered in any way since the battle? The cause of this may be traced to the moral weakness of the adversary, or to the preponderance gained in the battle, not having been sufficient to make lasting impression. To profit by this weakness, or mistake of the enemy, not to yield one inch breadth more than the pressure of circumstance demands, but above all things, in order to keep up the moral forces to, as advantageous a point as possible, a slow retreat, offering incessant resistance, and bold courageous counter-strokes, whenever the enemy seeks to gain any excessive advantages, are absolutely necessary. Retreats of great generals, and of armies anewed to war, have always resembled the retreat of a wounded lion, such as, undoubtedly, also the best theory. It is true that, at the moment of quitting a dangerous position, we have often seen trifling formalities observed, which caused a waste of time, and were, therefore, attended with danger, whilst in such cases everything depends on getting out of the place speedily. Practice generals reckon this maxim a very important one, but such cases must not be confounded with the general retreat after a lost battle. Whoever then thinks buy a few rapid marches to gain a start, and more easily to recover a firm standing, commits a great error. The first movements should be as small as possible, and it is a maxim in general, not to suffer ourselves to be dictated to by the enemy. This maxim cannot be followed without bloody fighting with the enemy at our heels, but the gain is worth the sacrifice. Without it we get into an accelerated pace, which soon turns into a headlong rush, and costs merely in stragglers more men than rearguard combats, and besides that extinguishes the last remnants of the spirit of resistance. A strong rearguard composed of pick troops commanded by the bravest general, and supported by the whole army at critical moments, a careful utilization of ground, strong ambuscades, wherever the boldness of the enemy's advanced guard, and the ground afford opportunity, in short the preparation and system of a regular small battles. These are the means of following this principle. The difficulties of a retreat are naturally greater or less according as the battle has been fought under more or less favorable circumstances, and according as it has been more or less obstinately contested. The battle of Jenner and Labelle Alliance show how impossible anything like a regular retreat may become if the last man is used up against a powerful enemy. Now and again it has been suggested to divide for the purpose of retreating, therefore to retreat in separate divisions, or even eccentrically. Such a separation is made merely for convenience, and along with which concentrated action continues possible, and is kept in view, is not what we now refer to. Any other kind is extremely dangerous, contrary to the nature of the thing, and therefore a great error. Every lost battle is a principle of weakness and disorganization, and the first and immediate deseratim is to concentrate, and in concentration to recover order, courage and confidence. The idea of harassing the enemy by separate core on both flanks, at the moment when he is following up his victory, is a perfect anomaly. A faint hearted pedant might be overrode by his enemy in that manner, and for such a case it may answer. But where we are not sure of this failing in our opponent, it is better let alone. If the strategic relations after a battle require that we should cover ourselves right and left by detachment, so much must be done, as from circumstances is unavoidable. But this fractioning must always be regarded as an evil, and we are seldom in a state to convince it the day after the battle itself. If Frederick the Great, after the Battle of Cullen, and the raising of the siege at Prague, retreated in three columns, that was not done out of choice, but because the position of his forces, and the necessity of covering Saxony, left him no alternative. Bonaparte, after the Battle of Brienne, sent Marmont back to the Albe, whilst he himself passed the Sain, and turned toward Troyes. But that this did not end in disaster, was solely owing to the circumstance that the allies, instead of pursuing, divided their forces in like manner. Turning with the one part, Lucha, toward the Marne, while with the other, Schwarzenberg, from fear of being too weak, they advanced with exaggerated caution. Chapter 14. Night Fighting. The manner of conducting a combat at night, and what concerns the details of its course, is a tactical subject. We only examine it here, so far as in its totality it appears as a special strategic means. Fundamentally every night attack is only a more vehement form of surprise. Now at the first look of the thing, such an attack appears quite preeminently advantageous, for we suppose the enemy to be taken by surprise. The assailant naturally to be prepared for everything which can happen. What an inequality. Imagination paints to itself a picture of the most complete confusion on the one side, and on the other side the assailant only occupied in reaping the fruits of his advantage. Hence the constant creation of schemes for night attacks by those who have not led them, and have no responsibility, seldom take place in reality. These ideal schemes are all based on the hypothesis that the assailant knows the arrangements of the defender, because they have been made and announced beforehand, and could not escape notice in his reconnaissance and inquiries. That on the other hand the measures of the assailant, being only taken at the moment of execution, cannot be known to the enemy. But the last of these is not always quite the case, and still this is the first. If we are not so near the enemy as to have him completely under our eye, as the Austrians had Frederick the Great before the Battle of Hocker, then all that we know of his position must always be imperfect, as it is obtained by reconnaissance, patrols, information from prisoners, and spies. Sources on which no firm reliance can be placed, because intelligence thus obtained, is always more or less of an old date, and the position of the enemy may have been altered in the meantime. Moreover, with the tactics and mode of encampment of former times it was much easier than it is now to examine the position of the enemy. A line of tents is much easier to distinguish than a line of huts or a bivouac, and an encampment on a line of front, fully and irregularly drawn out, also easier than one of divisions formed in columns, the mode often used at present. We may have the ground on which a division bivouacs, in that manner completely under our eye, and yet not be able to arrive at any accurate idea. But the position again is not all that we want to know. The measures which the defender may take in the course of the combat are just as important, and do not by any means consist in mere random shots. These measures also make night stacks more difficult in modern wars than formerly, because they have in these campaigns an advantage over those already taken. In our combats the position of the defender is more temporary than definitive, and on that again the defender is better able to surprise his adversary with unexpected blows than he could formally. Therefore, what the assailant knows of the defensive, previous to a night attack, is seldom or never sufficient to supply the want of direct observation. But the defender has on his side another small advantage as well, which is that he is more at home than the assailant on the ground which forms his position, and therefore, like the inhabitant of a room, will find his way about in the dark with more ease than a stranger. He knows better where to find each part of his force, and therefore can more readily get at it than is the case with his adversary. From this it follows that the assailant in a combat at night feels the want of his eyes just as much as the defender, and that therefore only particular reasons can make a night attack advisable. Now these reasons arise mostly in connection with subordinate parts of an army, rarely with the army itself. It follows that a night attack also as a rule can only take place with secondary combats, and seldom with great battles. We may attack a portion of the enemy's army with a very superior force, consequently enveloping it with a view either to take the whole, or to inflict very severe loss on it by an unequal combat, provided that other circumstances are in our favor. But such a scheme can never succeed except by a great surprise, because no fractional part of the enemy's army could engage in such an unequal combat, but would retire instead. But a surprise on an important scale, except in the rare instances in a very close country, can only be affected at night. Therefore if we wish to gain such an advantage as this, from the faulty disposition of a portion of the enemy's army, then we must make use of the night at all events to finish the preliminary part, even if the combat itself should not open till towards daybreak. This is therefore what takes place in all the little enterprises by night against outposts, and other small bodies, the main point being invariably through superior numbers, and getting round his position to engage him unexpectedly in such a disadvantageous combat that he cannot disengage himself without great loss. The larger the body attack, the more difficult the undertaking, because a strong force has greater resources within itself to maintain the fight long enough to help to arrive. On that account, a whole of the enemy's army can never, in ordinary cases, be the object of such an attack, for although it has no assistance to expect from any quarter outside itself, still it contains within itself sufficient means of repelling attacks from several sides, particularly in our day, when everyone from the commencement is prepared for this very usual form of attack. Whether the enemy can attack us on several sides with success depends generally on conditions quite different from that of its being done unexpectedly. Without entering here into the nature of these conditions, we can find ourselves too observing that with turning an enemy, great results as well as great dangers are connected, that therefore if we set aside special circumstances, nothing justifies it but a great superiority, just such as we should use against a fractional part of the enemy's army. But the turning and surrounding of a small fraction of the enemy, and particularly in the darkness of night, is also more practicable for this reason, that whatever we stake upon it, and however superior the force used may be, still probably it constitutes only a limited portion of our army, and we can soon stake that than the whole on the risk of a great venture. Besides the greater part, or perhaps the whole, serves a support and rallying point for the portion risked, which again very much diminishes the danger of the enterprise. Not only the risk, but the difficulty of execution as well can find night enterprises to small bodies. As surprise is the real essence of them, so also stealthy approach is the chief condition of execution, but this is more easily done with small bodies than with large, and for the columns of a whole army it is seldom practicable. For this reason such enterprises are in general only directed against single outposts, and can only be feasible against greater bodies if they are without sufficient outposts, like Frederick the Great at Hock Kirk. This will happen seldomer in future to armies themselves than to minor divisions. In recent times when war has been carried on with so much more rapidity and vigor it has in consequence often happened that armies have encamped very close to each other without having a very strong system of outposts, because these circumstances have generally occurred just at the crisis which precedes a great decision. But then at such times the readiness for battle on both sides is also more perfect. On the other hand in former wars it was a frequent practice for armies to take up camps in sight of each other when they had no other object but that of mutually holding each other in check consequently for a longer period. How often Frederick the Great stood for weeks so near to the Austrians that the two might have exchanged cannon shots with each other. But these practices certainly more favorable to night attacks have been discontinued in latter days, and armies being now no longer in regard to subsistence and requirements for encampment such independent bodies complete in themselves find it necessary to keep usually a days march between themselves and the enemy. If we now keep in view especially the night attack of an army it follows that sufficient motive spirits can seldom occur and that they fall under one or other of the following classes. One an unusual degree of carelessness or audacity which very rarely occurs and when it does is compensated for by a great superiority in moral force. Two a panic in the enemy's army or generally such a degree of superiority in moral force on our side that it is sufficient to supply the place of guidance in action. Three cutting through an enemy's army of superior force which keeps us enveloped because in this all depends on surprise and the object of merely making a passage by force also allows a much greater concentration of forces. Four finally in desperate cases when our forces have such a disproportion to the enemies that we see no possibility of success except through extraordinary daring but in all these cases there is still the condition that the enemy's army is under our eyes and protected by no advanced guard. As for the rest most night combats are so conducted as to end with daylight so that only the approach and the first attack are made under cover of darkness because the assailant in that manner can better profit by the consequences of the state of confusion into which he throws his adversary and combats of this description which do not commence until daybreak in which the night therefore is only made use of to approach are not to be counted as night combats. End of chapter 14 recording by Timothy Ferguson Gold Ghost Australia on war by Carl von Klausowitz translated by Colonel J. J. Graham