Full Spring 2004 Issue
Full Spring 2004 Issue
Volume 57
Article 1
Number 2 Spring
2004
Recommended Citation
Naval War College, The U.S. (2004) "Full Spring 2004 Issue," Naval War College Review: Vol. 57 : No. 2 , Article 1.
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Naval War College: Full Spring 2004 Issue
Spring 2004
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Cover
A Landsat-7 image (taken on 27 July
2000) of the Lena Delta on the Russian
Arctic coast, where the Lena River emp-
ties into the Laptev Sea. The Lena,
which flows northward some 2,800 miles
through Siberia, is one of the largest
rivers in the world; the delta is a pro-
tected wilderness area, the largest in Rus-
sia. Russia is the subject of a “cluster” of
articles in this issue, including a striking
proposal for disposing of Russia’s re-
maining tactical nuclear weapons, and
two historical studies—of a particularly
dangerous incident involving the U.S.
Sixth Fleet during the 1973 Arab-Israeli
War, and of Stalin’s puzzling program
for a battleship navy.
For a full-color version of this duotone
treatment, visit the “Images in the Re-
view” page of the Naval War College
Press website. Image courtesy of the U.S.
Geological Survey; further data available
from the USGS, EROS Data Center,
Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
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Spring 2004
Volume LVII, Number 2
The Naval War College Review was established in 1948 as a forum for discus-
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CONTENTS
President’s Forum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Space Wei Qi
The Launch of Shenzhou V . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Joan Johnson-Freese
Whether the United States chooses to return to the moon, go on to Mars, or something in between
or beyond, it is not just where that is important, but how. To a large extent, how will involve
implicitly or explicitly responding to the first Chinese manned space flight, on 15–16 October
2003. The United States can continue to exclude China from cooperative space efforts, commence
a new manned-space-flight race, or initiate an incremental program of space cooperation
including the Chinese. The interests of the space program and of the nation would be best served
by cooperation.
Commentary
The Naval Historical Collection: Recent Acquisitions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159
Evelyn M. Cherpak
Review Essay
There Is No Substitute for Prudence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
The Modern Prince: What Leaders Need to Know Now,
by Carnes Lord
reviewed by Vickie B. Sullivan
In My View . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Book Reviews
America Unbound: The Bush Revolution in Foreign Policy,
by Ivo H. Daalder and James M. Lindsay
reviewed by David Marquet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
The Iraq War: A Military History, by Williamson Murray and Robert H. Scales, Jr.
reviewed by F. G. Hoffman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
The United States and Coercive Diplomacy,
edited by Robert J. Art and Patrick M. Cronin
reviewed by Richard Norton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
Transformation under Fire: Revolutionizing How America Fights,
by Douglas A. Macgregor
reviewed by Ronald Ratcliff . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176
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CONTENTS 3
Naval War College: Full Spring 2004 Issue
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PRESIDENT’S FORUM
Study the past if you would define the future.
CONFUCIUS
WE EXPECT A LOT FROM OUR FACULTY at the Naval War College. They
teach, conduct research, advise on issues of national security, and
contribute to their respective bodies of knowledge in their fields.
Some come to the College from a more traditional academic back-
ground; others bring with them the invaluable experience they have gained in
combat or in their service in the fleet, with the regional combatant command-
ers, or in the policy and resource planning environment of Washington, D.C. We
are very fortunate that a number of our superb faculty bring all of these capabili-
ties to bear in Newport, because of the diversity of their backgrounds.
We demand that our faculty know and appreciate the lessons of history, but
we also expect that they can translate these lessons into the context of future
events. History for history’s sake is of no value to us. What is of value is the abil-
ity of our faculty to use whatever is necessary to educate officers to solve com-
plex problems, manage change, and execute their decisions. This demands an
extraordinary degree of mental flexibility and intellectual agility on the part of
our faculty, whether they come from the world of practitioners or from the more
traditional academic environment. The readers of this issue of the Review will be
asked to exercise a similar degree of mental agility.
Within these pages you will find articles on the Soviet Navy of the 1970s and
on Stalin’s navy of earlier decades. These pieces are timely, in light of the “Cold
War at Sea” conference that the College will co-host in May 2004. Sponsored
jointly by the Naval War College, Brown University, and the USS Saratoga Foun-
dation, the conference will bring together Cold War adversaries who once oper-
ated in close proximity to each other on, above, and beneath the seas. The focal
point of this unique event will be an intensive three-day conference that will
commemorate the proud service of sailors from the former Soviet Union and
the United States. This series of meetings, to be held at both the Naval War
R. A. ROUTE
Rear Admiral, U.S. Navy
President, Naval War College
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The men and women of our Coast Guard are showing once again that
you are “always ready.” You’re always ready to serve with courage and
excellence. You are always ready to place your country’s safety above
your own. You shield your fellow Americans from the danger of this
world, and America is grateful.
PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH, 31 MARCH 2003
T he first anniversary of the U.S. Coast Guard’s realignment under the Depart-
ment of Homeland Security in March 2003 provides an appropriate oppor-
tunity to reflect on the extraordinary events that have transpired since that
transition and to consider their implications for tomorrow’s Coast Guard.
We are all well aware that the terrorist events of the last two years have sub-
stantially changed the national security environment in which our armed forces
serve our nation. In fact, these factors of change are elements of a new range of
transitional and nonstate cultural threats (drugs, illegal migrants, piracy, illegal
fishing, and organized crime, along with terrorism) that have been gathering
momentum over the last decade or so. The breadth of security threats directed at
our nation has grown not only more expansive but more complex—driving the
need for the armed services to make a “transformational” examination of the ca-
pabilities and capacity (force structure) needed to address them. We in the U.S.
Coast Guard, although aligned organizationally outside the Department of De-
fense, are no less impacted by these winds of change, especially in terms of mis-
sion relevance and our emphasis on the need for a transformational approach to
our capabilities and capacity so that we may deal effectively with evolving na-
tional security requirements.
The Coast Guard’s roles as a military service, as a federal law-enforcement
agency, as a regulatory authority of maritime transportation systems, and as a
member of the new Department of Homeland Security place it squarely at the
center of national initiatives to reduce security risks to our nation. Coast Guard
operations over the past year reflect these dynamics and were as challenging as
any in its 213-year history. These realities suggest that 2003 was a watershed for
today’s Coast Guard. I use the term advisedly, because the past year represents a
true dividing line between our past and our future with respect to our continued
role as a maritime, military, and multimission service.
Confronting new demands of homeland security and the global war on ter-
rorism, the Coast Guard supported Operation LIBERTY SHIELD to defend the na-
tion’s ports, waterways, coastlines, and critical infrastructure. Deployed Coast
Guard forces executed Operations ENDURING FREEDOM and IRAQI FREEDOM as
American and coalition forces liberated the people of Afghanistan and Iraq. At
the same time, we successfully met unabated and unrelenting demands in our
multiple mission areas of search and rescue (SAR), marine safety, environmen-
tal protection, drug and illegal migrant interdiction, fisheries enforcement, aids
to navigation, and domestic and polar icebreaking.
On 1 March 2003 the Coast Guard moved smoothly from the Department of
Transportation into the new Department of Homeland Security (DHS) as part
of the largest reorganization of the federal government in more than fifty years.
We used the largest budget increases in Coast Guard history to raise operational
readiness rates in our aging inventory of cutters and aircraft. We continued to
build tomorrow’s readiness by executing the two largest acquisition programs in
Coast Guard history, Rescue 21 and the Integrated Deepwater System. We led the
international effort to adopt a new comprehensive maritime-security code and
issued expansive domestic security regulations for ports and vessels in response
to the Maritime Transportation Security Act of 2002.
The dual threads of change and continuity are woven into the fabric of the
Coast Guard’s performance of today’s missions and its anticipation of tomor-
row’s. On the one hand, the changes that the Coast Guard is experiencing today
are of epic proportions by any measure. The Coast Guard must lead that
change—to seize its opportunities by transforming itself so as to be ready to ad-
dress tomorrow’s challenges. At the same time, we in the Coast Guard must im-
plement transformation initiatives within a framework that allows us to hold
fast to the core characteristics and values—honor, respect, and devotion to
duty—that have defined the very essence and success of our service to the nation
throughout our history and will continue to do so in the future.
Our steady strategic focus on people, readiness, and stewardship will sustain
the Coast Guard through today’s challenges, transform it to meet evolving de-
mands and the uncharted future that stretches ahead, and preserve its enduring
character.
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MULTIMISSION FLEXIBILITY
During the protracted legislative discussions and debate leading to the passage
of the Homeland Security Act of 2002, there was discussion of the Coast Guard’s
ability to sustain performance in all of its traditional missions after it was re-
aligned under the Department of Homeland Security. Fortunately, a critical in-
fusion of significantly increased funding, resources, and people over the past
two years has enabled the service to make tremendous progress improving
readiness and restoring its performance in non–homeland security mission
areas. The past year’s operational highlights tell the story.
In our national-defense mission during Operation IRAQI FREEDOM, we pro-
vided port security for all Defense Department “outload” operations, activated
68 percent of our reserve force to meet increased operating and personnel
tempo at the peak of mobilization, and deployed approximately 1,250 personnel
to support combatant commanders. During the final weeks of 2002, two
high-endurance cutters, eight patrol boats, a buoy tender, four port-security
teams, strike team personnel, and two maintenance-support units made prepa-
rations for short-notice deployment to the Persian Gulf and Mediterranean Sea.
On station early in 2003, these units participated capably in maritime intercep-
tion operations and coastal security patrols with U.S. Navy and coalition forces;
provided port-security resources in Bahrain, Kuwait, and Iraq; conducted
search-and-rescue missions; helped open Iraq’s main shipping channel to com-
mercial traffic and humanitarian support; and maintained security for Iraqi oil
terminals in the North Arabian Gulf.
The multimission capabilities, flexibility, and initiative of the crew of the
buoy tender USCGC Walnut (WLB 205)—performing the first out-of-
hemisphere deployment by a buoy tender in support of Department of Defense
operations—are instructive. The U.S. Fifth Fleet originally wanted Walnut on
station in the event Iraq resorted to environmental warfare and released a mas-
sive amount of oil into its coastal waters (the cutter can skim 420 gallons of oil
per minute with its modern oil-recovery gear). Immediately after arriving in
Bahrain in February, prior to combat operations, however, Walnut was pressed
into service conducting maritime interception of commercial shipping entering
and leaving Iraq, in support of United Nations Security Council Resolution 986.
When the coalition went to war, Walnut applied its multimission capabilities
in other ways, transporting Navy equipment on its large buoy deck and search-
ing for the crew of two Royal Navy helicopters that collided during the opening
days of hostilities. Walnut also made a critical contribution to coalition objec-
tives by resetting navigational markers and buoys in Iraq’s forty-one-mile
Khawr Abd Allah, making this strategic waterway safe for navigation. This im-
portant communication link leads from the Persian Gulf to Umm Qasr, Iraq’s
only deep-draft port. Using new buoys “liberated” from an Iraqi warehouse in
Umm Qasr, Walnut replaced thirty-five decrepit, nonfunctioning buoys and
then worked with a British hydrographic team and the National Imagery and
Mapping Agency to inform all mariners of the improvements to the aids to navi-
gation marking the channel—enabling the opening of the port for humanitar-
ian and commercial shipping at a critical stage in the coalition’s campaign.
Other Coast Guard units also made important contributions during combat
operations in Iraq. Vice Admiral Timothy J. Keating, U.S. Navy, then com-
mander of the U.S. Fifth Fleet and Naval Forces Central Command, awarded
Bronze Stars to the commanding officers of the patrol boats Adak, Aquidneck,
Baranof, and Wrangell.* I was proud to stand by Secretary of Homeland Security
Tom Ridge when he presented these combat decorations at Coast Guard Head-
quarters in Washington, D.C., last August. I was struck by a phrase in Admiral
Keating’s award citations. He described the boat crews as having been the “first
line of defense” for coalition naval forces during the amphibious assault of Iraq’s
Al Faw Peninsula and for naval mine-clearing forces operating in mine-danger
areas within Iraqi territorial waters. During this ceremony Secretary Ridge also
presented a Coast Guard Unit Commendation to the Coast Guard Patrol Forces,
Southwest Asia, for its collective work supporting U.S. combatant commanders
during IRAQI FREEDOM.
Our success in these historic events was due to five key factors. The first was
the hard work, integrity, professionalism, and adaptability of our people; the
second, the military character of our service; the third, the multimission capa-
bility embedded in our cutters, in our aircraft, in our boats, in our systems, and
in our people. The fourth was our close partnership with the Navy and our in-
vestment throughout the year in joint training opportunities and inter-
operability; and the fifth, our transfer to the Department of Homeland Security,
which strengthens both our relationships with other agencies within our de-
partment and our partnerships with the Department of Defense, as well as with
other federal, state, and local agencies.
A MULTIMISSION PORTFOLIO
From U.S. military operations overseas to vital homeland security missions in
the United States, to a host of significant operations in its full multimission
portfolio, the Coast Guard in 2003 proved repeatedly that it is semper paratus—
always ready to do whatever it takes to support the nation and the American
people. It is worth reviewing some of the past year’s operational highlights.
Working closely with its interagency and international law-enforcement
partners, for example, the Coast Guard had by the end of the fiscal year seized its
*All Island-class 110-foot patrol boats, respectively WPB 1333, 1309, 1318, and 1332.
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American scientists to continue their studies of the earth’s climate. Healy again
headed out to sea soon after returning from Antarctica—this time on a
four-month Arctic mission that included a circumnavigation of the North
American continent by way of the Northwest Passage. In mid-November, Polar
Sea left Seattle, Washington, for a return mission to Antarctica with the ice-
breaker Polar Star (WAGB 10) to escort resupply vessels participating in DEEP
FREEZE 2004.
In home waters, Coast Guard units conducted more than 41,500 SAR cases as
the year drew to a close, saving more than six thousand lives and assisting in safe-
guarding property. When several large tropical storms and hurricanes (includ-
ing, in September, Hurricane Isabel) lashed the East Coast and inflicted
extensive damage, Coast Guard personnel were at their stations, ready to re-
spond—which they did, with traditional resolve.
As the lead federal agency for maritime security, the Coast Guard also worked
closely with DHS directorates and other federal, state, and local agencies to im-
prove its presence and responsiveness in the nation’s ports, waterways, and
coastal regions as part of its homeland security mission.
In March, incident to the onset of combat operations in Iraq, Secretary Ridge
announced LIBERTY SHIELD, a comprehensive national plan to increase the
safety of U.S. citizens and security of infrastructure while maintaining the free
flow of commerce and people across the nation’s borders. To enhance security
along maritime borders and protect naval shipping and deployments en route to
Iraq, the Coast Guard increased the number of patrols by its aircraft, cutters, and
small boats. We also increased the number of escort vessels for commercial ferries
and cruise ships; every high-interest vessel arriving at or departing from U.S. ports
had an armed Coast Guard sea marshal on board to observe the crew and ensure
that the ship made port safely. New security zones were established and enforced
in and around critical infrastructure sites in many of the nation’s major ports.
The Department of Homeland Security, the Coast Guard, and the maritime
industry also implemented the far-reaching provisions of the Maritime Trans-
portation Security Act (MTSA) during 2003. Designed to protect the nation’s
ports and waterways from a terrorist attack, the law requires, among its many
measures, area maritime security committees and security plans for facilities
and vessels that may respond to a transportation security incident. The act sig-
nificantly strengthens and standardizes the security measures of the nation’s do-
mestic port security team of federal, state, local, and private authorities.
In October, as part of its implementation plan for MTSA, the Coast Guard
published new maritime security requirements mandating significant changes
in security practices within all segments of the maritime industry—including
cruise ships, container ships, and offshore oil platforms. The industry is now
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Guard and Navy personnel, and harbor police) began operations early in 2004 in
Norfolk, Virginia, and San Diego, California.
Fortunately, consistent with our strategy’s goals of increasing operational
presence and improving response posture, the Coast Guard’s capabilities and
capacity are now on the upswing following a prolonged period when the de-
mands for its services simply exceeded the supply of modern platforms and sys-
tems in the fleet.* We are now increasing our operational presence in ports,
domestic waterways, and coastal zones to deter and prevent terrorist incidents,
to be sure, but also to improve our overall responsiveness to any incident calling
for the Coast Guard’s services.
The key to our current and future readiness is obtaining the right capabilities
and the right capacity as we grow, modernize, and realign our force. In recent
years the Coast Guard’s budget has increased by more than $1.6 billion—a 30
percent increase between 2002 and 2004. This budget growth is allowing us to
improve our current readiness, balance better our full range of missions, mod-
ernize our aging fleet, build our homeland security capability, and sustain our
non–homeland security missions.
Near-term improvements to Coast Guard operational capabilities in 2003 in-
clude ongoing execution of the contract for our Rescue 21 maritime distress net-
work for coastal waters, seven hundred new maritime security boats (under a
$145 million contract, the Coast Guard’s largest single acquisition of identical
response craft), twelve new hundred-person maritime safety and security teams,
and additional sea marshals. Three Juniper-class 225-foot seagoing buoy tenders
were delivered to the fleet in 2003, and two more were launched. In addition,
contracts were awarded to Bollinger Shipyard for two eighty-seven-foot coastal
patrol boats, and negotiations were set in motion for an additional nine to be
awarded in fiscal year 2004, for a total of sixty-five boats in the class. We also ac-
cepted six C-130J Hercules maritime patrol aircraft in 2003.
Well trained and properly equipped people constitute an all-essential ele-
ment in our response to today’s growing operational tempo. We are poised to
add thousands of new billets to our enlisted and officer force structure, which is
to grow to an expected authorized end strength of 45,500 personnel during fiscal
year 2004. Recruit training at Cape May, New Jersey, is operating at maximum
levels to meet this expected growth. Our Coast Guard Reserve component began
an incremental growth to nine thousand in 2003, and I expect it will grow to ten
thousand during the years ahead. A robust and well trained force of selected re-
servists is an integral part of our ability to provide critical infrastructure protec-
tion, coastal and port security, and defense readiness. Our Coast Guard
*For an assessment of Coast Guard capabilities in that period (and for background on the National
Fleet, discussed below), see Colin S. Gray, “The Coast Guard and Navy: It’s Time for a ‘National
Fleet,’ ” Naval War College Review 54, no. 3 (Summer 2001), pp. 112–38.
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tandem with other cutters, boats, and both manned aircraft and unmanned
aerial vehicles.*
The Deepwater program, backed strongly by the Department of Homeland
Security as the Coast Guard’s top acquisition priority, enjoys broad bipartisan
support in Congress. We must move forward to execute the program aggres-
sively so that its modern, more capable platforms and systems are delivered with
an appropriate urgency.
A SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP
In addition to the critical strategic relationships that we are forging within the
Department of Homeland Security, our battle-tested special relationship with
the U.S. Navy warrants emphasis. The two services have always enjoyed close re-
lations, but we are today working together more effectively than at any time
since World War II. This partnership is yielding important dividends in the
global war on terrorism at home and overseas. In today’s post-9/11 world, we
must forge even closer bonds.
It is worth recalling that one of the first telephone calls that Admiral Vern
Clark, Chief of Naval Operations, made on 9/11 was to my predecessor as Com-
mandant, Admiral James M. Loy. Admiral Clark, recognizing the Coast Guard’s
leading role in providing enhanced levels of maritime homeland security in the
wake of the terrorist attacks, asked how the Navy could assist the Coast Guard in
carrying out this responsibility. Consistent with this vision of partnership, thir-
teen Cyclone-class coastal patrol ships were quickly transferred by the Navy for
Coast Guard use in Operation NOBLE EAGLE.
Early in my own tour as commandant, Admiral Clark and I signed a revision
to the “National Fleet” policy agreement that guides our mutually supportive
policies, programs, and operations. This policy guarantees that the U.S. Coast
Guard will be steaming in close formation with the U.S. Navy during its transit
through the sea of change. Our National Fleet agreement commits us to shared
purpose and common effort focused on tailored operational integration of our
multimission platforms, infrastructure, and personnel. Full cooperation and in-
tegration of our nonredundant and complementary capabilities will be achieved
to ensure the highest level of maritime capabilities and readiness for the nation’s
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AN ENDURING CHARACTER
What of tomorrow? How, amid transformational changes of immense scope and
complexity, will the Coast Guard position itself to achieve even higher levels of
operational excellence in the decades ahead? I see two primary and connected
ways to achieve this vision.
Part of the answer rests in our ability to forge more robust capability, capac-
ity, and strategic partnerships through attention to the fundamental enablers
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*Available at www.uscg.mil/commandant/speeches_Collins/newcomdt_direction.pdf.
*Available at www.whitehouse.gov/omb/budget/fy2002/mgmt.pdf.
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This reorganization will more closely align the Coast Guard’s resource plan-
ning and execution structures, enhance our ability to integrate information
technology and allocate resources more effectively, and ensure that we have the
capabilities we need to perform all Coast Guard missions. There is more that we
must do.
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S lightly more than three decades have passed since the United States and the
Soviet Union confronted the most severe maritime crisis of the Cold War. Oc-
curring when the strategic focus of the U.S. Navy had been on the Vietnam War
for several years, this standoff witnessed the effective exploitation of American
political, strategic, and tactical vulnerabilities by an adversary that ten years
prior had had virtually no Mediterranean naval pres-
Dr. Goldstein is an associate professor in the Strategic ence whatsoever. Indeed, this substantial maritime
Research Department of the Naval War College’s challenge had emerged from a continental power that
Center for Naval Warfare Studies. He earned a Ph.D. in
had traditionally focused its naval strategy exclusively
politics at Princeton University in 2002. His first book,
Preventive Attack and Weapons of Mass Destruction: on coastal defense.
A Comparative Historical Study, is forthcoming from In an age when the many battles of the global war
Stanford University Press. His scholarly works include
(with William S. Murray) a study of the Chinese sub-
on terror could distract the U.S. Navy from its core
marine force in Jonathan D. Pollack, ed., Strategic Sur- mission of sea control, this often forgotten episode of
prise? U.S.-China Relations in the Early Twenty-first superpower brinksmanship is a timely reminder that
Century.
naval threats can emerge rapidly. The Mediterranean
Yuri Zhukov is a technical research adviser/translator
with Science Applications International Corporation. crisis demonstrates that America’s opponents could
Since earning a B.A. with honors in international rela- achieve local sea-denial capabilities in the face of se-
tions at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Is-
vere constraints, even in a theater of traditional U.S.
land, he has conducted research for the Naval War
College and the Watson Institute for International naval dominance.
Studies at Brown, among other organizations. In examining Soviet maritime strategy in the Medi-
The authors published a substantially shorter treatment terranean before and during the October 1973
of this material in Sea Power (October 2003).
Arab-Israeli War, this study draws on new evidence
Naval War College Review, Spring 2004, Vol. LVII, No. 2 from Russia made available through cooperation with
the Central Naval Museum in St. Petersburg, interviews with ex-Soviet naval of-
ficers, and newly available Russian memoirs and military journals. These new
sources—many of which have never before been exploited by Western ana-
lysts—include an unpublished personal journal of Captain First Rank Yevgenii
V. Semenov, one-time chief of staff of the Soviet Fifth Eskadra (the Mediterra-
nean squadron). It offers day-by-day accounts of ship movements and firsthand
1
insight into Soviet strategic thinking.
This new evidence paints a picture of a Fifth Eskadra on the verge of direct in-
tervention and much more willing to engage in hostilities than previously
thought. This work stands in contrast to scholarly works on the topic that have
tended to emphasize Soviet restraint and reluctance to exercise force in local
2
conflicts. In addition, this study has empirical value in that most previous un-
3
classified sources have relied almost exclusively on an American viewpoint.
Russian perspectives can help us understand the significant challenges faced by a
land power in creating and employing an oceangoing fleet.
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14
expanding operations beyond the Soviet littoral. The rapidly growing perma-
nent naval presence in the Mediterranean after 1964 was perhaps the most im-
portant consequence of this radical shift in Soviet naval policy.
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“Ships of the Russian Fleet have been here, on the Mediterranean Sea, since the times
of mommy Catherine [II, the Great]—said the senior torpedo crew member.—We
know how sailors under the command of Spiridov, Ushakov, Senyavin traversed and
fought here.”17
In a similar vein, Admiral Ivan Kapitanets, the Fifth Eskadra’s chief of staff
from 1970 to 1973, writes of the Mediterranean squadron’s development: “The
Russian fleet was again affirming itself in the Mediterranean Sea, as in centuries
18
past, making a stand for the interests of Russia.”
The first-ever deployment of Russian naval forces to the eastern Mediterra-
nean took place during the 1768–74 Russo-Turkish War, when Catherine II sent
an expeditionary force of the Russian fleet from the Baltic to the Aegean and
eastern Mediterranean Seas to support the land campaign against Turkey. Al-
though outnumbered almost two to one, the Russian force achieved significant
successes in battles off Chios and Chesme, devastating virtually the entire Turk-
ish fleet; fifteen battleships, six frigates, and over forty smaller vessels were sunk
in a matter of hours.19
The Russian Navy kept a permanent Mediterranean presence for several
years, maintaining a blockade of the Dardanelles and exercising total sea control
in the major Aegean choke points. The 1774 Treaty of Kuchuk Kainarji gave Russia
considerable territorial gains, as well as protectorship over the Ottoman Em-
pire’s Greek-Orthodox subjects. It also allowed Russian ships to navigate the
Black Sea and pass through the Turkish straits, although control of the straits
would remain a point of contention for some time.
The Montreux Restrictions
A century and a half and six Russo-Turkish wars later, the Montreux Conference
of 1936 turned control of the Dardanelles and Bosporus over to Turkey and
20
greatly restricted the movement of warships through them. Moscow was ini-
tially a supporter of the Montreux initiative—the conditions would protect the
Soviet Union from superior hostile fleets and greatly strengthen the potential
Soviet role in the Mediterranean, as long as Turkey remained friendly, or at least
21
neutral. However, Turkey signed a mutual assistance treaty with France and the
United Kingdom in 1939; after unsuccessful post–World War II Soviet attempts to
obtain greater control over the straits, the Soviet Union found that the Montreux
restrictions hindered its ambitions to become a Mediterranean naval power.
The provisions of the Montreux Convention most pertinent to the Soviets
were the following: light surface vessels (smaller than ten thousand tons and
with guns not exceeding 203 millimeters), minor war vessels, and naval auxil-
iaries could pass, with few restrictions; all warship transits had to be declared
to Turkish authorities eight days prior; and foreign warships could pass only in
groups totaling fifteen thousand tons or less. Black Sea powers were granted
special privileges not permitted to other foreign powers: capital ships (surface
vessels of war, other than aircraft carriers, exceeding tonnage limits of light
surface vessels) and submarines (if en route to or from repair facilities) could
be sent singly through the straits. The above conditions could be suspended,
however, in the event of a war involving Turkey or if Turkey was otherwise un-
der threat; the Turkish government was permitted complete discretion in such
22
circumstances.
The Soviets found ways to circumvent some of the treaty’s restrictions. They
skirted the eight-day waiting period on warships through the use of contingency
declarations, which allowed Black Sea Fleet ships to augment rapidly the stand-
23
ing force in the Mediterranean during crisis situations. For example, on 11 Oc-
tober 1973, during the Arab-Israeli conflict, a group of Soviet warships passed
through the straits to make a port visit to Italy, its declared destination. Subse-
24
quently, however, the ships joined the other Soviet naval forces in the region.
On the foreign-policy front, the Soviets also effectively exploited tensions be-
tween Turkey and its NATO allies, particularly Greece and the United States. For
example, after Turkey dropped an alleged 340 kilograms of bombs and napalm
on Greek Cypriot strongholds in northwestern Cyrus in August 1964, the U.S.
president, Lyndon Johnson, and much of the international community publicly
condemned Turkish involvement in that local crisis. Ankara responded by relax-
ing restrictions on passage of Soviet ships through the straits; shortly afterward,
the Soviets moved a cruiser and two destroyers into the Mediterranean from the
25
Black Sea. Later, the Soviets further exploited Turkey’s easing of the regula-
tions, in response to U.S. support for Israel. This situation helped facilitate So-
viet operations during the October 1973 Arab-Israeli War, specifically the airlift
and sealift to Egypt and Syria, and the rapid reinforcement of the Fifth Eskadra
by Black Sea Fleet forces.
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submarine. The submarine, armed with Polaris missiles, was capable of deliver-
ing an explosive yield greater than the combined bomb tonnage dropped in
World War II by Allied and Axis powers (including the bombs dropped on Hiro-
27
shima and Nagasaki). The missile’s range (2,800 kilometers for A-2 missiles,
four thousand for A-3), underwater launch capability, and mobility made Po-
laris a milestone in the Cold War nuclear deterrence calculus. A ballistic missile
fired from the eastern Mediterranean could thus potentially hit Moscow or Le-
28
ningrad. Such a threat was not entirely new to Moscow—the first Polaris sub-
marine, USS George Washington (SSBN 598), had completed three patrols off
29
Russia’s northern coastline by mid-1961. However, Polaris submarines patrol-
ling in those waters, home to the Northern Fleet, were considerably more vul-
nerable to Soviet ASW operations than were those in the Mediterranean. In light
of its strategic weakness in the new area of U.S. ballistic missile deployment, the
Kremlin prioritized the creation of a permanent counterforce in the Mediterra-
nean. In the words of a former British defense intelligence officer,
The initial response was first to establish a 1500 nm [nautical mile] ASW defence
zone . . . which covered the Norwegian Sea, Arctic and the Eastern [Mediterranean],
followed, in due [course] by a 2,500 nm zone, a radius of threat that took in Arabian
Sea (deployments started in 1967–68) and (not coincidentally) reflected the range of
successive Polaris systems.30
Moscow’s singular focus on the emerging U.S. SSBN threat reflected the dom-
inance of the Soviet ground forces in making overall strategy. It was likely these
elements that initiated the deployment of often unprotected surface forces to
serve as “forward observation posts,” providing continuous target data on the
31
location of U.S. and NATO nuclear strike forces.
Soviet Support for Arab States
In its renewed quest for bases in the Mediterranean, Moscow turned to the Arab
states. Egypt’s aversion to European imperialism and to American support for
Israel made it especially susceptible. After economic difficulties in the early
1960s, and especially after the devastation wrought by the June 1967 Arab-
Israeli War, President Gamal Abdel Nasser had become increasingly open to So-
viet aid, receptive to the urgings of leftist political forces in his own country, and
permissive toward Soviet use of Egyptian ports, airfields, and shore support fa-
32
cilities. Egypt rapidly became Moscow’s principal client in the Mediterranean.
In general, Soviet wartime assistance to Egypt, as well as to Syria and other
Arab states, consisted of, variously: provision of military equipment and intelli-
gence prior to hostilities; delivery of supplies during the conflict; the demonstra-
tive use of military power in the vicinity of the war zone; transfer of military
advisers and specialists to the warring countries; and finally, engagement of Soviet
A NATO “LAKE”
The U.S. Sixth Fleet and NATO had long enjoyed such strategic advantages over
the Soviet Navy that the Mediterranean was described as a NATO “lake” during
the early phases of the Cold War. Most notably, NATO members controlled the
two primary choke points into the sea—the Gibraltar and Turkish straits.
U.S. Advantages
The Sixth Fleet benefited from an abundance of local naval bases and facilities—
among others Rota (Spain), La Maddalena (Italy), Naples (Italy), and Souda Bay,
Crete (Greece). Furthermore, due to well developed underway replenishment
techniques, the Sixth Fleet had generally been capable of operating for pro-
longed periods without shore access.
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The Western alliance could draw on its carrier air wings in addition to NATO
air bases in Spain, Italy, Greece, and Turkey. Carrier-based aircraft were capable
of dropping conventional or nuclear ordnance and had a range of more than a
thousand miles, bringing Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, and the southern USSR
36
well within reach. The deployment of even one extra carrier into the region (as
had occurred during the October 1973 war) added an additional ninety aircraft.
One notable disadvantage encountered by the U.S. Navy in the Mediterra-
nean, however, was the absence of a deep sound channel that could be exploited
by the Sound Surveillance System (SOSUS), a network of seabed listening arrays
37
deployed to detect submarines from great distances. These arrays of
hydrophones spaced along undersea cables had been installed in the Bahamas,
along the U.S. Atlantic and Pacific coasts, and most significantly in the North At-
38
lantic. The lack of SOSUS capabilities in the Mediterranean was somewhat al-
leviated by the deployment of surface ships equipped with towed-array
39
surveillance systems.
Soviet Disadvantages
The principal constraints on Soviet Mediterranean operations, aside from the
Montreux Treaty, included periodic restrictions on shore access, burdensome
deployment distances, and air inferiority. Such factors made the exploits the So-
viet Navy was able to achieve in the Mediterranean all the more remarkable.
Bases and Anchorages. The Soviets had never had permanent bases in the Medi-
terranean, and their access to local port facilities had always been tightly regu-
lated by often-erratic host governments. The brief, limited use of Albanian port
facilities ended in the Soviet Navy’s expulsion and confiscation of its military
equipment by Tirana in 1961. Moscow’s subsequent Arab hosts were no more
reliable. Captain First Rank Yevgenii Semenov, chief of staff of the Fifth Eskadra
on the eve of the October War, recalls an occasion when two Black Sea Fleet sub-
marines, having waited for two days to enter Annaba, Algeria, were finally, on 13
40
June 1973, forced to leave. In such an unpredictable atmosphere, the Fifth
Eskadra was compelled to diversify its points of contact along the Mediterra-
nean littoral, maintain a standing force of auxiliary vessels to reduce dependence
on local bases, limit on-station times, and request augmentation of Black Sea
Fleet elements by Northern and Baltic Fleet forces.41
As mentioned above, the USSR, as a relative newcomer to the region, bene-
42
fited from anti-imperialist sentiments endemic in the Arab world. The Soviets
were thus reluctant to undercut their propaganda by establishing permanent
bases of their own in Arab lands. Instead, they relied on twelve offshore anchor-
43
ages, which generally included floating dry docks and repair facilities. Most of
these anchorages were in international waters; the main ones were located off
the Greek island of Kithira and in the Gulf of Sidra, near the north-central coast
of Libya. Relatively underdeveloped underway replenishment techniques forced
Soviet vessels to detach periodically from their operating stations and return to
44
these anchorages to refuel.
Despite the inherent drawbacks, however, these anchorages lent the Soviet
forces a “mobile character,” facilitating regular active combat training. They also
45
simplified resupply duties, though only limited repairs were possible.
Deployment Distances. The Montreux restrictions on submarine transits meant
that submarines could be deployed to the region almost exclusively from the
Northern and Baltic Fleets, through the Strait of Gibraltar. A former Soviet sub-
marine officer recalls one method of passing through this NATO choke point:
Every ship had a special method for a forced crossing underwater. The diving depths,
speeds, . . . and the course were all predetermined. . . . A submarine, having come
abeam the Sao Vicente cape, went south, confirming its location via the depth of the
sea. Coming up to Cape Spartel (Morocco), the sub came up to periscope depth, and
in literally one or two minutes used its radio-location system to determine the dis-
tance to the shore, while the navigator took a visual bearing through the periscope on
a Spartel lighthouse. . . . After determining the location, the submarine crossed the
strait at a high speed, . . . since strong currents could impede a slow crossing. After
one of the Soviet boats hit the bottom near the banks of Phoenix, we were required
to cross the strait with the fathometer on, so as to have constant control over the
depth under the keel. We understood that this compromised stealth, although it was
understood that in peacetime safety was more important.46
Sending submarines from the remote northern Soviet fleets both limited the
strength of the local undersea force and slowed deployment or reinforcement in
47
crisis situations. Part of the Soviet solution was to extend the ships’ stays in
the region.
After 1967, access to Egyptian ports extended the time diesel submarines
48
could remain in the Mediterranean from two months to six. Facilities in Alex-
andria were set up to repair diesel submarines (a floating dry dock was towed to
Tartus, Syria, for the same purpose). Port Said was the most heavily used of the
Egyptian ports. Groups of two to three ships docked there (to curb Israeli ambi-
tions in the Suez region) for two or three-month shifts, always in a high state of
49
operational readiness. Nonetheless, submarines were relieved much more fre-
quently than were surface ships—if not due to the condition of the submarines
then for the sake of the worn-out crews. By 1973, however, Northern Fleet SSGNs
(nuclear-powered cruise-missile submarines) were being deployed to the Medi-
terranean for up to thirteen months at a time. The only permanent deployments
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Although on the eve of the coup Washington did not see the existence of
Wheelus Air Base, just east of Tripoli, as creating a de facto commitment, to the
Libyan state—the United States, unlike the United Kingdom, had no defense
61
pact with the Libyan monarchy—a British intervention was a serious possibility.
King Idris indeed appealed for U.S. and British assistance during the crisis, but any
62
commitments notwithstanding, no Anglo-American intervention took place.
Semenov recalls that in July 1969 the SSM-equipped cruiser Groznyi (Kynda
class/pr. 58) and the surface-to-air missile (SAM) destroyer Bedovyi (Kildin
class/pr. 56E) left Sevastopol for a port visit to Cuba. In early August the group
was returning to the Mediterranean with the tanker Lena. Meanwhile, several
groups of Black Sea Fleet ships from Sevastopol had entered the Mediterranean:
the Moskva, the SAM light cruiser Dzerzhinskii (Sverdlov class/pr. 70E), four
large submarine chasers, four destroyers, three escort vessels, three large am-
phibious ships, and three medium amphibious ships with naval infantry
63
onboard.
On 13 August the Dzerzhinskii, flying the flag of Admiral V. S. Sysoev, led the
SAM destroyers Reshitel’nyi (Kashin class/pr. 61) and Nakhodchivyi (Kotlin
class/pr. 56) out of Varna, Bulgaria, where they had helped commemorate Bul-
garian Navy Day. The group proceeded into the Mediterranean to participate in
64
a training exercise code-named BRONYA.
In early September, a series of Soviet-Egyptian-Syrian naval exercises com-
menced, involving an amphibious landing on the Egyptian coast twenty miles
southwest of Alexandria. During the mock assault over a hundred warships
from the three states formed a 210-mile protective screen from the Gulf of
Sollum (seventy miles east of British tank bases at Tobruk and Al Adem) to east-
65
ern Crete. By the end of the month, over forty Soviet vessels had concentrated
in the extreme southern part of the Ionian Sea off the coast of Libya; they in-
66
cluded the group that had returned from the Caribbean. Many of the units out-
side the screen were concentrated between Sicily and Tripoli.
The British bases at Tobruk (which was also the site of an airfield) and Al
Adem were of most concern to the Libyan coup plotters, since the British kept
the tanks in a state of operational readiness, needing only to fly in crews from
Cyprus. It is plausible that the need to overfly Soviet SAM-equipped ships to
reach Tobruk made any decisive move against Qaddafi’s men unattractive to
Britain. London announced on 5 September—after the old regime had col-
lapsed—that the United Kingdom had no intention of intervening.67
American freedom of action may also have been affected by the Soviet pres-
ence. After 1 September, Semenov asserts, the USS John F. Kennedy (CVA 67) car-
rier battle group left port at Cannes and began a passage through the Tyrrhenian
Sea at high speed to the Straits of Messina. The Sixth Fleet flagship, the cruiser
USS Little Rock (CLG 4), and its escorts departed from the Italian port of Gaeta
around the same time and on 5 September entered the Ionian Sea on a course
68
to Tripoli.
The U.S. carrier groups were met by four cruisers (Moskva, Dzerzhinskii,
Groznyi, the gun-armed light cruiser Mikhail Kutuzov [Sverdlov class/pr. 68-A]),
three SAM destroyers (Bravyi [converted Kotlin class], Bedovyi, Boikii [Krupnyi
class/pr. 57bis]), three SAM destroyers (Reshitel’nyi, Soobrazitel’nyi, and Krasnyi
Kavkaz [all Kashin class]), four gun destroyers (Nakhodchivyi, Blagorodnyi
[both Kotlin class], Sereznyi, and Sovershennyi [both Skoryi class/pr. 30bis]), six
escort vessels, six SSGs (conventionally powered cruise-missile submarines of
the Juliett class/pr. 651), and
one SSN (nuclear-powered at-
tack submarine of the Novem-
ber class/pr. 627A). To the east
of these forces was the am-
phibious force, which now in-
cluded two large amphibious
ships, five medium amphibi-
ous ships with naval infantry
and their equipment on board,
minesweepers, and support
69
vessels. According to a Center
for Naval Analyses study, “The
exercise schedule thus put the
Soviets into a good position to
A November-class submarine during Soviet naval exercises
counter . . . the Sixth Fleet com-
70
ing from the west.”
This is not to suggest that the Soviets planned the exercises to coincide with
the coup; the contrary is generally believed to have been the case. However, the
episode revealed much about the developing operations of the Fifth Eskadra. In
this case, the force may have effectively, though perhaps inadvertently, neutral-
71
ized British and American options for intervention.
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exercise caution, Fifth Eskadra warships positioned themselves among the U.S.
72
carrier task forces as well as between the American ships and the coast.
On 17 September, Jordan’s King Hussein ordered his army to move against
Palestinian terrorist camps throughout the country. Two more U.S. carrier
groups were then ordered to the region to support the Jordanian army—USS
Saratoga (CVA 60) headed east from Malta, and the John F. Kennedy set sail
across the Atlantic—while the Sixth Fleet’s amphibious element, Task Force 61
(consisting of a helicopter carrier and landing ships), left Crete for the Lebanese
73
littoral.
Disregarding a direct warning from Nixon against such an action, Syria began
moving forces into Jordan on 20 September in support of the Palestinians. As
preparations for U.S. intervention appeared to be under way, the Soviets took a
more aggressive approach to naval diplomacy. The Fifth Eskadra, increased from
forty-seven to sixty ships, took up battle positions and ran missiles onto
74
launcher rails in plain view of U.S. forces; its fire-control radars began tracking
75
American aircraft. At one point, seven SSM-equipped Soviet ships were within
76
striking range of the U.S. carriers. In response, Sixth Fleet escorts armed with
rapid-fire guns were given orders to trail the Soviet ships so as to, if need be, de-
77
stroy most of the cruise missiles before they could be launched. Fortunately,
developments on the ground obviated the need for superpower intervention; in
two days’ time, the Syrians lost 120 tanks to Jordanian artillery and to mechani-
78
cal malfunction and were forced to withdraw.
The ability of the Fifth Eskadra to maintain a deterrent capability during the
Jordanian crisis was relatively modest, however, compared to the October 1973
Arab-Israeli War. There were several debilitating factors at play, from the
Kremlin’s point of view. The crisis coincided with the death, on 20 September, of
Nasser, Moscow’s main patron in the region. Although Egyptian-Soviet rela-
tions remained essentially unaffected at first, this event introduced a degree of
79
uncertainty concerning the effect Soviet action could have on the region. Fur-
thermore, the Soviets were undoubtedly shocked at the rapid losses of Soviet-
supplied tanks and at the failure of the Syrian army (trained by Soviet advisers)
to mount a substantial challenge to Jordanian forces. Under such conditions, it is
likely that Moscow simply preferred a quick, clean end to the conflict, without
superpower entanglement.
Washington, for its part, had its own reasons for shock. U.S. forces had proved,
in the later recollection of the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Elmo Zumwalt,
“so far from [formidable] that the [Joint] Chiefs [of Staff (JCS)] and [Deputy]
Secretary [of Defense David] Packard expressed repeated concern about the in-
80
adequacy of U.S. naval capability in the Eastern Mediterranean.” The chairman
of the JCS, Admiral Thomas Moorer, had reported on 9 September that in their
current state of readiness, U.S. forces would have very little staying power in the
Middle East. He argued that in view of the difficulty of reinforcing from South-
east Asia, where most American forces were then concentrated, “the United
States should make every effort not to become involved in large-scale military
81
action.” The Jordanian crisis thus afforded Moscow a key lesson—that the U.S.
military was stretched thin in the Middle East.
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WAR
Egypt’s decision to go to war with Israel was made by President Anwar Sadat and his
Syrian counterpart Hafez al-Assad in the summer of 1973. The planned date of
attack was kept from the Kremlin until 4 October, two days before the outbreak of
97
hostilities. On that day Leonid Brezhnev sent a message to Sadat stating that the
decision to fight must be the Arabs’ alone, although Egypt could rely on Soviet sup-
98
port. Brezhnev’s only request was that Soviet civilians be allowed to evacuate.
At this time, the Fifth Eskadra consisted of fifty-two ships, including eleven
submarines (at least two of them equipped with nuclear-tipped cruise missiles),
three cruisers (two with guided missiles), six guided-missile and conventional
99
destroyers, five frigates, two minesweepers, and two amphibious ships. The
flagship Volga (an Ugra-class submarine tender, project 1886) was in the vicinity
of the Balearic Islands east of Spain, when Admiral Volobuyev learned of the im-
minence of war. Around 0100 (1 AM local time) on 4 October, he ordered a mass
redeployment to the Egyptian and Syrian coasts to evacuate Soviet families from
the war zone to a point south of Crete, where they would be transferred to trans-
port vessels. Although efficient, the evacuation effort was somewhat draining
for the Fifth Eskadra; its captains were eager to be relieved of their passengers so
100
as to concentrate on raising their level of battle readiness.
Other Soviet combatants were redirected to the war zone. A former subma-
rine officer recalls the revision of his ship’s orders:
In October 1973, when we were already preparing to leave our area of operations . . .
in the Ionian Sea, we received a radio transmission, saying that the sub, in connec-
tion with the deteriorating situation in the Middle East, must extend its tour of duty
in the Mediterranean by ten days. After this, our boat was redirected east, near the
coast of Egypt. Of course, we were very disappointed, and no one hid this. To us,
these “unplanned” ten days would last longer than all other active duty combined.
However, no one lost their heart. We were all young.101
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105
61. Task Group (TG) 60.1 consisted of the Independence and its group, then in
Athens; the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt (CVA 42) group, then in various Spanish
ports, made up TG 60.2. TF 61, the amphibious force, at this point included the
helicopter carrier USS Guadalcanal (LPH 7) and nine other amphibious ships,
106
carrying a Marine battalion landing team (about three thousand men).
The Fifth Eskadra then included eleven submarines, one SSM cruiser (Kynda
class/pr. 58), one gun cruiser (Sverdlov class), five SAM destroyers (three Kashin
class and two converted Kotlin class), two gun destroyers (Kotlin class), nine frigates
and corvettes (Petya class/pr. 159, Mirka class/pr. 35, and Riga class/pr. 50), two
medium landing ships (Polnocny B class/pr. 771), two minesweepers, and several
auxiliary vessels. Altogether, the Soviet forces were then capable of launching
107
twenty SSMs in their first salvo.
The staff aboard the flagship Volga was already on edge. Many of its officers were
standing watches “port and starboard”—even the chief of staff, Aleksandr Ushakov,
who was relieved by Semenov at night. Semenov’s diary notes that the life of the staff
became one of “wild, frantic work! Aleksandr Petrovich Ushakov turned out to be a
very emotional person, like the commander [Volobuyev]. They go berserk in con-
cert. What’s good for the ship (emotion), is not what suits the staff. . . . The mind of a
108
staff officer works better under calm circumstances.”
Although the October war has been typically characterized as one initiated by
a surprise attack by Egypt and Syria, Semenov contends that the element of sur-
prise was in fact lacking. According to his account, Israeli forces in the Suez
Canal area were placed on alert as early as 1 October, and a partial Israeli mobili-
109
zation began on 4 October. Full mobilization of Israeli forces took place at
110
1000 (10 AM) on 6 October in anticipation of imminent attack. Semenov
argues that this apparent Israeli foreknowledge forced the Arabs to launch their
111
attack earlier than intended. Egyptian and Syrian forces began their respective
advances over the Suez Canal and into the Golan Heights at 1430 (2:30 PM), after
112
bombarding Israeli airfields and communications facilities. The Independence
group left Athens the following day for an area south of Crete, trailed by a Soviet
113
destroyer.
By 8 October Egyptian forces had captured two beachheads eight to ten kilo-
meters deep on the east bank of the Suez Canal; the Syrians halted their advance
114
after moving seven to ten kilometers forward on the Golan Heights. Subse-
quently, Israel counterattacked on both fronts. Meanwhile, Independence joined
Mount Whitney south of Crete, while TF 61 was ordered to Souda Bay (on the
115
northern coast of Crete), where it would remain at anchor until 25 October.
On 9 October, thanks to extended deployments, the Fifth Eskadra’s subma-
rine force numbered sixteen boats, including at least four SSNs (probably No-
116 117
vember class). By this date, the evacuation effort was all but complete. On 10
October, the Soviet surface combatant force strength in the region was
twenty-one ships, including three cruisers and nine destroyers, many equipped
with missiles, and two amphibious ships. The combatants were positioning
themselves near Sixth Fleet ships in the eastern Mediterranean, where the Soviet
118
Navy was already well on its way to achieving effective sea denial.
Moscow began sending equipment and supplies to Syria and Egypt on 9 Oc-
119
tober. Soviet and Eastern European merchant ships and Soviet amphibious
ships conducted the sealift, while the airlift—Turkey having granted Moscow
permission to overfly its territory for resupply, in protest against U.S. support
120
for Israel—was taken on by Soviet military transports and civilian aircraft.
The transports were loaded in Black Sea ports with up to ninety tanks each, as
well as armored vehicles, and other heavy equipment. The need to guard these
transports accounted for much of the Soviet naval buildup in the Mediterra-
nean. For that mission a special group of up to ten destroyers was formed, under
Captain First Rank N. Ya. Yasakov
October 1973 (commander of the 70th Warship
Egypt and Syria launch offensives in Sinai Peninsula and
6th
Golan Heights, respectively. The Yom Kippur War begins.
Brigade in the Black Sea Fleet). The
Egyptian forces capture two beachheads on east bank of magnitude of the escort forces was
Suez Canal. Syrian forces halt advance after having moved dictated by reports of recent attacks
8th
10 km into Golan Heights. Israel counterattacks on both
fronts. on Syrian ports by Israeli jets and
121
9th Soviet Union resupply effort to Egypt and Syria begins. missile boats.
Israel drives Syrian forces from Golan Heights but suffers As resupply efforts began, the
10th
defeat in Sinai.
Israeli missile boats sink Soviet merchant vessel Ilya
flagship Volga, the SSM cruiser
11th Mechnikov during raid on Syrian port of Tartus. Moscow Groznyi, and the SAM destroyers
responds by deploying pair of destroyers off Syrian coast.
Krasnyi Kavkaz, Provornyi, and
13th U.S. airlift to Israel begins.
17th Israeli armored units cross Suez Canal.
Skoryi (all Kashin class) began tail-
United Nations Security Council Resolution 388 passes, ing the U.S. carrier groups south of
stipulating end to hostilities within 12 hours. Commander 122
22d Crete. In response, three more es-
of encircled Egyptian 3d Army disobeys cease-fire and
tries to break free. Israel advances on Suez City. cort ships joined the Independence
123
Brezhnev sends direct message to Nixon, threatening uni- carrier task group. Almost simul-
24th lateral intervention to enforce cease-fire. Washington
moves to DefCon 3.
taneously, Soviet intelligence collec-
Israel halts advance on Egyptian front, putting an end to tion ships (AGIs) began monitoring
25th
ground hostilities. the U.S. amphibious task group at
Soviet Union launches intense anticarrier exercises against
26th
Sixth Fleet carrier and amphibious task groups.
Souda Bay, remaining there until the
124
Washington grants freedom of maneuver to Sixth Fleet 25th. In effect, Moscow was send-
30th
task groups. ing Washington a signal that inter-
November 1973
ference with its resupply operations
Sixth Fleet taken off alert and returns to “normal training
19th would be met with force.
condition” status.
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At this time, and until the very end of the episode, the American task groups
were especially vulnerable to Soviet cruise-missile attack because Washington
had denied them freedom of maneuver. The carriers were to stay in a defined
area south of Crete, in order to signal U.S. concern and interdict a potential air-
lift of Soviet troops to Egypt. However, this strategy backfired to some extent, by
125
greatly simplifying the targeting problem for the Fifth Eskadra. “So far we’ve
been in luck—good weather . . . and the Americans are maneuvering in one re-
126
gion at slow speeds,” writes Semenov in one journal entry.
Volobuyev very much wanted to keep the Sixth Fleet uneasy as the two forces
became more tightly coupled. One of his methods was to convey an exaggerated
impression of the Soviet submarine threat to the carriers. Semenov recalls an in-
teresting ruse: “[U.S.] Airplanes and helicopters are flying nonstop, looking for
our subs. We dropped a grenade, as if for communication with our sub, and
127
again the intensity of the flights rose.” “Let them be nervous,” said
128
Volobuyev.
The Soviet submarine forces were, in part, actually deployed as follows. An
Echo II SSGN (pr. 675) and a Juliett SSG were maneuvering west and south of
the Sixth Fleet task groups near Crete, while a November SSN was to the east.
More Soviet submarines were being sent to the region from the Atlantic and the
129
western Mediterranean. One Soviet submarine officer aboard a Charlie-class
SSGN (pr. 670) in the October crisis, recalls:
During the events of 1973, our submarine carried out its service for some time in the
vicinity of the Sidra Gulf, by the Libyan coast. Here, a group of U.S. Navy antisubma-
rine ships, evidently acting on some intelligence, or maybe simply presuming that
there might be a Soviet submarine about, was vigorously carrying out a search opera-
tion for two days. However, we gathered the impression that the ships achieved no
success. Nothing suggested that our boat had been discovered, even though we were
thoroughly listening to their hydroacoustic transmissions and sometimes the hum of
the ships’ propellers.130
happened the previous day at the Syrian port of Latakia, where Israeli antiship
missiles sank a Japanese and a Greek freighter during a strike against Syrian mis-
133
sile ships maneuvering among civilian vessels. Nevertheless, Moscow was re-
luctant to accept the Israeli apology. The Soviet ambassador to Washington,
Anatolii Dobrynin, delivered a message from the Kremlin protesting the attack,
as well as recent deployments of U.S. ships to the eastern Mediterranean. The lat-
ter complaint was likely a reference to the John F. Kennedy task group, which had
been ordered by the Joint Chiefs of Staff on 11 October to leave Scotland, and
which, as Henry Kissinger had hinted to the Israeli ambassador on the 12th,
134
would shortly arrive in the Mediterranean.
For its part, on 11 October Moscow placed three Soviet airborne divisions on
135
alert. Two days later it also stationed a destroyer off the Syrian coast to guard
136
supply transports. By that time Israel had halted its counteroffensive on the
137
Syrian front and had consolidated defensive positions. On 14 October, the So-
viet Navy authorized captains of individual warships in the Mediterranean to
open fire as necessary on Israeli and other planes and naval combatants should
138
they threaten Soviet convoys and transports.
Phase 2
The second phase of the conflict—which was to end with the cessation of major
ground hostilities on 25 October—began on 13 October, when the U.S. Military
139
Airlift Command initiated the delivery of high-priority munitions to Israel.
The resupply mission was not an easy one; virtually all NATO nations had re-
fused to allow the jets to refuel at their bases, with the exception of Portugal,
140
which permitted the United States to use the Azores. The Sixth Fleet was or-
dered to support the C-5 and C-141 transports flying to Israel with navigation,
surveillance, air defense, and search and rescue. The carrier groups south of
Crete lost many of their escorts to that effort, leaving them even more vulnerable
141
to Soviet antiship missiles. The John F. Kennedy group’s passage into the Medi-
terranean was also delayed; the carrier was sent instead to a point west of Gibral-
142
tar to support the airlift. At the same time, the Joint Chiefs of Staff ordered the
helicopter carrier Iwo Jima (LPH 2), carrying a two-thousand-man battalion
143
landing team, to deploy to the Mediterranean. This last decision was a precau-
tion against a potential Soviet troop landing, which the growing Fifth Eskadra
force—sixty-nine ships as of 14 October—seemed increasingly capable of sup-
porting. Soviet submarines deployed to the Atlantic were ordered to the vicinity
144
of the Gibraltar Strait to await the U.S. reinforcements.
On 15 October, Israel launched a full-scale counterattack in the Sinai, having
on the previous day crushed an Egyptian offensive aimed at relieving Israeli
145
pressure on Syria. Meanwhile, Soviet involvement in the crisis had begun to
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intensify, as a second destroyer was deployed just off the Syrian coast and Soviet
146
submarines began to monitor activities near Israeli ports.
There were several recorded instances in which Soviet surface ships engaged
in limited combat operations against Israeli forces. In one such case, the Black
Sea Fleet minesweeper Rulevoi (Natya class/pr. 266), under Senior Lieutenant
P. Kozitsyn, and the medium landing ship SDK-137 (Polnocny B class/pr. 771),
under Lieutenant Captain L. Lisitsyn, guarding Soviet civilian transport ships at
147
Latakia, fired upon approaching Israeli jets on 16 October.
While the Israeli jets had certainly been fired upon in self-defense, Soviet
commanders were undoubtedly aware of the risks involved. The restraint with
which Soviets traditionally approached direct involvement in local conflicts in
148
the détente era seems to have been at least partially suspended. The root of the
danger was that the tactical situation on the ground and at sea was beyond the
control of the superpowers—the Soviets were responding to threats to their own
ships posed by warring third parties, not by American forces. The imperative to
avoid conflict with the United States, however keenly appreciated by Soviet
strategists, may have been a remote concern to individual ship captains threat-
ened by imminent strikes from Israeli missiles. The pace was intensifying, as
Semenov’s 19 October journal entry makes clear: “Over the last few days, the sit-
uation has become so complicated, that it seemed we were just on the verge of
149
becoming engaged in war.”
On 16 October, the cruiser Murmansk (Sverdlov class) and the destroyer
Naporistyi (Kotlin class/pr. 56PLO), both armed with guns only, replaced the
SSM-equipped cruiser Groznyi and a Kashin-class SAM destroyer trailing the
150
Independence south of Crete. Although the effect was to reduce the immediate
threat to the carrier, the rotation was conducted more for logistical reasons than
for diplomacy. Unable to replenish under way, the Groznyi and its escort had
been forced to proceed to an anchorage at “Point 15” (east of Crete) to refuel
151
from five support vessels. Semenov complained to his diary, “American ships
are all supplied by the giant Sacramento [AOE 1, first of the world’s largest class
of combat logistics ship]. Our planning is the apex of inventiveness and an over-
load of communications. Our vessels are not fit for the transfer of cargo at sea—
they are transporters of cargo from port to port! With envy I look upon the
152
[Americans’] giant floating warehouse!”
As Israeli armored units crossed the Suez Canal on 17 October, preliminary
plans for a limited “demonstration” landing of Soviet naval infantry on the west
153
bank of the canal were drafted. Such an operation would not have been en-
tirely unprecedented—Captain First Rank V. I. Popov recalls that such a landing
had occurred in January 1968, in response to an Israeli attempt to secure the en-
154
trance to the Suez Canal.
A landing operation now would have been the same kind of a muscle-flexing
show of force as had occurred in the War of Attrition, but Moscow was probably
not contemplating direct intervention in the Yom Kippur War at this particular
point. Captain First Rank Vladimir Zaborskii, writing in 1999, notes that in
1973 logistics stood in the way of an amphibious landing. The bulk of the naval
infantry force was still in Sevastopol preparing for deployment into the Mediter-
ranean. One large and six medium landing ships were already in the region, but
155
they were all being used for equipment transport. Subsequently, the com-
mander in chief of the Soviet Navy, Admiral Sergei Gorshkov, ordered the al-
ready deployed landing ships to be used for troop transport and a landing force
to be assembled of “volunteers” from the crews of all combatant and auxiliary
ships. According to Semenov, there was no shortage of volunteers; some thou-
sand men signed up to fight Israeli forces on the ground.156 However, this resort
to volunteers is a sign that the eskadra was to some extent in over its head.
On 19 October, a semaphore message was sent from the commander of the
Sixth Fleet, Admiral Daniel Murphy, to Admiral Volobuyev asking that the So-
viet forces comply with the 1972 Incidents at Sea Agreement and not aim their
157
guns and missiles at U.S. Navy ships. The Fifth Eskadra staff was convinced
that U.S. jets and helicopters were in equal breach of the accord, but the Soviet
Foreign Ministry had received an official complaint from the U.S. State Depart-
ment, and the Mediterranean squadron was given orders from the chief of the
158
General Naval Staff to comply more closely with the agreement. This readjust-
ment in Soviet disposition and tactics was, however, short-lived.
By this time, Arab defeat was a foregone conclusion. On 19 October and again
on the 21st, Sadat appealed to the USSR to take immediate measures to broker a
159
cease-fire. The UN Security Council passed Resolution 388 on 22 October,
160
stipulating an end to all military action within twelve hours. The cease-fire
was welcomed by the warring parties, and on the Syrian front it held. However,
fighting continued on the east bank of the Suez Canal, where the commander of
the Egyptian Third Army—completely encircled by Israeli forces—ignored or-
161
ders from Cairo and made repeated attempts to break free. Israel immediately
took advantage of the broken cease-fire to continue its operations against the
162
beleaguered units and advance on Suez City.
Phase 3
The third and perhaps the most dangerous phase of the war began during the
final hours of combat ashore and persisted, largely out of the public eye, for
another week. A second UN cease-fire went into effect on 24 October but also
failed to stop fighting on the Egyptian front, where Israel continued its assault
163
on the encircled Third Army.
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screen a potential Soviet airlift, as the Independence was then astride Soviet air
172
routes to Egypt.
The Soviet force around Crete now included two gun cruisers (Murmansk
and Admiral Ushakov), eight SAM Kashin and modified Kotlin destroyers
(Krasnyi Kavkaz, Krasnyi Krym, Provornyi, Reshitel’nyi, Smetlivyi, Obraztsovyi,
Nakhodchivyi, and Soznatelnyi), and two Kotlin gun destroyers (Plamennyi and
Speshnyi). The amphibious forces maneuvering north of Port Said included four
large Alligator-class landing ships, Voronezhskii Komsomolets, Krymskii
Komsomolets, Krasnaya Pesnya, and BDK-104, five medium landing ships with
naval infantry on board, the SAM destroyer Otvazhnyi, and several gun destroy-
ers, including Naporistyi. The escort ships Voron, Kunitsa, and SKR-77 (all Riga
173
class) were in the same zone, as were two minesweepers.
More ships were on their way. A large cruiser—most likely Moskva—and six
174
destroyers were declared through the Dardanelles. The Soviet airlift to the
Middle East had ceased, suggesting that the military transports (notably the
An-22, the largest Soviet transport plane) were being relieved to ferry the air-
175
borne troops. Two additional amphibious ships, together capable of carrying
a thousand fully equipped Soviet naval infantry, were expected to be deployed
from the Black Sea, and five additional Soviet submarines were en route to the
Mediterranean, which would make the Fifth Eskadra’s submarine force twenty-
176
eight strong.
Early on 25 October, after a late-night cabinet meeting, the White House re-
sponded to Brezhnev’s message with a worldwide alert, moving to Defense Con-
177
dition 3. The JCS ordered John F. Kennedy, still west of Gibraltar, and Franklin
178
D. Roosevelt to join Independence in the eastern Mediterranean. Orders were
then given to suspend Navy support for the airlift to Israel, allowing all but two
179
escort groups to return to Independence and Roosevelt.
Informed by Washington of the Soviets’ intentions and aggressively prodded
180
by the Americans to halt its military operations, Israel now did so. Plans for a
181
Soviet landing on the Suez Canal were called off, reportedly at the last minute.
During the afternoon of 25 October, the USSR agreed to a plan to man the
182
cease-fire lines with a UN peacekeeping force that excluded both superpowers.
On the following day Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger announced that
the United States had begun taking forces off of DefCon 3 status, but the Sixth
183
Fleet remained on highest alert. On that day, the Fifth Eskadra initiated inten-
sive anticarrier exercises against the carrier and amphibious task groups in the
eastern Mediterranean, using the actual U.S. ships as targets of simulated at-
tacks. A group shadowed the Independence, while two more ships joined the
anticarrier exercises and began trailing the Roosevelt task group. The anticarrier
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On a similar note, Admiral Murphy, the Sixth Fleet commander, writes that
the two fleets were “sitting in a pond in close proximity and the stage for the
hitherto unlikely ‘war-at-sea’ scenario was set. . . . Both fleets were obviously in a
high readiness posture for whatever might come next, although it appeared that
197
neither fleet knew exactly what to expect.”
Once it became clear that there would be no commitment of Soviet ground
troops to the war zone, and in accordance with a suggestion that Admiral
Murphy had made to the JCS several days earlier, Washington authorized the
Sixth Fleet carrier groups to leave their operating area south of Crete and move
198
westward. The movement was delayed until 1600 on 30 October by heavy
weather, but once it began, tension rapidly eased. From a tactical standpoint, the
decision gave the U.S. task groups room to maneuver and disrupted targeting for
the Fifth Eskadra. On a strategic level, the White House was unquestionably
sending the Kremlin a signal that its forces were returning to a more relaxed pos-
199
ture. Fifth Eskadra forces began to disperse on 3 November.
Nonetheless, both fleets remained at high readiness for the following two
200
weeks. The general belief in the Fifth Eskadra continued to be that war could
break out at any moment and that the superpower standoff persisted, albeit in a
201
more limited form. On 6 November, a port visit by Volobuyev to Algeria was
canceled, and anticarrier activities resumed against the Kennedy, Roosevelt, and
202
Iwo Jima west of Crete. On 9 November, the SSM anticarrier group trailing the
203
Kennedy was relieved by gun ships and was sent for rest to Alexandria. Two
more anticarrier groups were disbanded later in the day, leaving three. The
Groznyi subsequently left for Sevastopol, and the Murmansk proceeded back
through the Strait of Gibraltar, heading for the Northern Fleet base at
204
Severomorsk. Despite constant requests to return the worn-out ships to
base, however, Gorshkov did not permit a more significant reduction of forces
until the Kennedy, Independence, and Roosevelt groups headed to port on 15
205
November. Thereafter, the Fifth Eskadra operations returned to combat train-
206
ing, repairs, and some much-needed time off for crews.
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during the crisis seems not to have appeared crippling to them. In the words of
one participant:
It’s no secret that our ships had many flaws in their construction. Furthermore, we
were behind in the development of computer technology, in fact very seriously so, in
radio-location and in electronic warfare. The loudness of our nuclear submarines
was also no secret. We knew about all these drawbacks, and tried to solve the prob-
lem. . . . [However,] by the assessment of our commanders, all ships in the Fifth Op-
erational Eskadra performed with sufficient effectiveness during the Arab-Israeli
War. All the while, a certain level of expertise was accumulated with regard to trailing
and delivering blows onto aircraft carriers.209
Although the asymmetry in capabilities between the two fleets was unquestion-
ably acute, as it was for the duration of the Cold War, the Soviet strategy was
largely free of illusions to the contrary. In fact, it was oriented specifically to off-
setting this lack of parity.
The Mediterranean standoff contrasts strikingly with its more famous prede-
cessor, the 1962 Cuban missile crisis. Whereas the Soviets in 1962 lacked the le-
verage to use their navy as an effective instrument of diplomacy, this was not so
in the Mediterranean in 1973. In the Caribbean, the United States benefited
from superiority on all levels. The impressive display of U.S. deterrent power
fully reflected these advantages. Due to its ability to mount a blockade, the
United States was essentially able to control the direction and outcome of the
crisis. The Kremlin, having tried to establish a new status quo in the region, was
publicly forced to retreat from this gambit, with attendant humiliation. The
1973 crisis, however, saw a much greater degree of parity between the United
States and the Soviet Union. The United States had fewer options and failed to
seize the initiative. This failure enabled Moscow, through bold naval diplomacy,
to influence significantly the pace and outcome of the Mediterranean crisis, de-
spite the obvious inadequacies of its client states.
This research may be most applicable today to considering the rise of China.
The experience of confronting the Fifth Eskadra in 1973 might be reason for
Washington to approach the question of China’s maritime prospects with some-
what greater caution. Like Russia, China has historically been a continental
power. If Soviet sailors had to reach back to the days of Peter I and Catherine II to
find Russian naval heroes, the Chinese are forced to go still farther back into his-
tory—to the exploits of the early Ming. In the modern era, Chinese fleets have
borne humiliations comparable to the Tsushima Straits debacle of the Russian
Navy in the Russo-Japanese War. Like the Soviet Navy, the contemporary
People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) has been widely overshadowed by
ground forces. Despite an impressive collection of ex-Soviet carriers that are
now museums in various parts of China, the PLAN’s prospects for developing
210
carrier aviation remain bleak. Finally, it is generally agreed that the PLAN has
yet to find its own “Gorshkov.”
It is not surprising, therefore, that Washington takes China to be a naval up-
start and that few there take it seriously as a maritime power. That is a grave mis-
take. The Vietnam conflict distracted the U.S. Navy from its core competency
of sea control, and the global war on terror could offer the PLAN a similar
opportunity.
In some respects, China is a much more natural maritime power than the
USSR ever proved to be. Aside from its lengthy coastline, with its numerous shel-
tered anchorages, Beijing does not confront the ubiquitous ice, immense dis-
tances, isolated geographical outposts, and the narrowly confined straits that
always burdened Russian sea power. Chinese capitalism is full of vitality;
Beijing’s merchantmen increasingly dominate maritime commerce in a way to
which the Soviets could never have aspired. Perhaps most importantly, Beijing
has in the Taiwan question a maritime strategic issue that serves as a focal point
for naval development. With the possible exception of Berlin, Moscow never had
this kind of strategic focus—certainly not one that consistently encouraged its
maritime aspirations. Moreover, Taiwan is less than a hundred miles off the Chi-
nese coast—a much more amenable environment for operations than was the
Mediterranean for the Fifth Eskadra.
As we consider Chinese maritime power, therefore, it is useful to reflect on the
success that the Soviets achieved under much more adverse conditions. The
1973 episode, perhaps the most dangerous of all Cold War maritime crises, of-
fers a lesson in humility for the world’s supreme naval power.
NOTES
1. The relevant declassified American docu- 2. See Robert O. Freedman, “Soviet Policy to-
ments are currently being prepared by the ward the Middle East from the Exodus of
U.S. State Department for publication in the 1972 to the Yom Kippur War,” Naval War
Foreign Relations of the United States College Review 27, no. 4 (January/February
(FRUS) series (available at www.state.gov). 1975), pp. 32–53; Galia Golan, “The Soviet
Naturally, we recognize that further analysis Union and the Yom Kippur War,” Israel Af-
of the crisis will be appropriate upon release fairs 6, no. 1 (Autumn 1999), pp. 127–53;
of these documents. However, no such sys- William D. Wesselman, U.S. Foreign Policy
tematic effort is under way on the Russian Decision-Making during the 1973 Arab-Israeli
side. This effort is an attempt to redress this Conflict: Its Impact on Soviet-Egyptian Foreign
unbalance in our understanding of this his- Relations (Maxwell Air Force Base, Ala.: Air
torical crisis, by placing special focus on the War College, April 1995).
Russian sources. 3. See Joseph F. Bouchard, Command in Crisis
(New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1991);
https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/nwc-review/vol57/iss2/1 62
of the second half of the 20th century] (Mos- 48. NIE 11-7-70, p. 6.
cow: Kuchkovo pole; Poligrafresursy, 2000), 49. Kostev, p. 450.
pp. 169, 180–94.
50. Ibid.
34. John Lewis Gaddis, Strategies of Containment:
A Critical Appraisal of Postwar American Na- 51. Roberts, The Turkish Straits and the Soviet
tional Security Policy (New York: Oxford Navy in the Mediterranean, p. 5.
Univ. Press, 1982), p. 279. 52. John Jordan, Soviet Warships: The Soviet Sur-
35. Dawisha, p. 124. face Fleet 1960 to the Present (Annapolis, Md.:
Naval Institute Press, 1983), p. 46.
36. Lewis, p. 34.
53. Review of this manuscript by former head of
37. Owen R. Cote, Jr., The Third Battle: Innova- Soviet Naval section of British Defense Intel-
tion in the U.S. Navy’s Silent Cold War Strug- ligence, 22 January 2004.
gle with Soviet Submarines, Newport Paper 16
(Newport, R.I.: Naval War College Press, 54. Nikolai Melnik, Odisseya krasnoznamennogo
2003), pp. 17, 62. avianostsa “Kiev” [The odyssey of the red-
banner aircraft carrier Kiev] (Moscow:
38. Ibid., p. 25. Yakor’, 2002), pp. 41–42.
39. Ibid., p. 62. 55. Kostev, p. 445. Kostev was later promoted to
40. Yevgenii V. Semenov, Protivostoyaniye 5-y rear admiral.
Eskadry VMF SSSR i 6-go Flota SShA v period 56. Ibid., p. 449.
kholodnoi Voiny: Zapiski svidetelya i aktivnogo
uchastnika sobytii [Standoff of the Fifth 57. Ibid., pp. 448–49.
Eskadra of the USSR Navy and the Sixth Fleet 58. Kapitanets, p. 270.
of the USA during the period of the Cold
59. Lewis, p. 73.
War: Notes of a witness and active participant
of the proceedings], chap. 2. Unpublished 60. Figures as of 30 August 1969. Stephen S.
manuscript, n.d., p. 75. Roberts, “A Non-case: The Libyan Coup,” in
Soviet Naval Diplomacy, ed. Bradford
41. Gordon H. McCormick, The Soviet Presence
Dismukes and James M. McConnell (New
in the Mediterranean (Santa Monica, Calif.:
York: Pergamon, 1979), p. 140.
RAND, October 1987), pp. 2–3.
61. A declassified July 1969 report to the U.S. Air
42. Special State-Defense Study Group, Near
Force Policy Planning Studies Office notes
East, North Africa and the Horn of Africa: A
that “the U.S. role in Libya would probably
Recommended American Strategy (Washing-
be limited to assuring the U.K. of its support,
ton, D.C.: 17 July 1967), Washington Na-
thus discouraging Soviet moves to intimidate
tional Records Center, Record Group 330,
the U.K. . . . The British, under their treaty
OSD Files: FRC 72 A 2468, Middle East 319.2,
with Libya, will probably be prepared to ex-
17 July 1967, p. 52, FRUS, 1964–1969, vol. 21,
tend such help as may be possible to prevent
pp. 49–58.
coups but this will not permit them to take
43. Soviet Policies in the Middle East and Mediter- any action once a coup succeeds.” See West-
ranean Area, National Intelligence Estimate inghouse Electric Corporation, U.S. Strategic
11-7-70 [hereafter NIE 11-7-70], 5 March Alternatives and Access Problems Related to the
1970, declassified 11 March 1994, p. 6, Digital Middle East and South Asia: U.S. Strategic Al-
National Security Archives, item SE00445, ternatives and Access Problems, vol. 3: Political
available at nsarchive.chadwyck.com. and Strategic Alternatives, Confidential [de-
44. Bouchard, p. 273n. classified] Report to U.S. Air Force, Office of
Policy Planning Studies Program, H-37, July
45. Kostev, p. 450. 1969, available at the Digital National Secu-
46. Interview by author with retired Soviet sub- rity Archives, item IR00719, nsarchive
marine officer, St. Petersburg, Russia, Sep- .chadwyck.com.
tember 2003. 62. Lewis, p. 76.
47. Roberts, The Turkish Straits and the Soviet 63. Semenov, chap. 2, pp. 100–101.
Navy in the Mediterranean, p. 14.
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90. Orders were given to end the pursuit of USS 113. Bouchard, p. 167.
Forrestal on 17 April, after which the com- 114. Semenov, chap. 2, p. 107.
manding officer of the Forrestal invited the
115. Bouchard, p. 168.
commander of Krasnyi Krym, which had con-
ducted the pursuit, to lunch. The invitation 116. Watson, pp. 104–106.
was declined. Semenov, chap. 2, pp. 10, 15, 50. 117. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 7.
91. Semenov, chap. 2, p. 28. 118. Watson, pp. 104–105.
92. Ibid., p. 44. 119. Zumwalt, p. 441.
93. Ibid., p. 61. 120. Watson, pp. 105–106.
94. Ibid., pp. 61–62. 121. Kostev, p. 451.
95. Ibid., p. 64. 122. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 8.
123. Ibid., chap. 4, p. 10. the strikes resulted in a number of Soviet ca-
124. Bouchard, p. 169. sualties. However, the Soviets claimed to have
allowed the Egyptians to take all defensive
125. Robert G. Weinland, Superpower Naval Di- actions at Port Said. Zaborskii, p. 80.
plomacy in the October 1973 Arab-Israeli War:
A Case Study, Washington Papers 6, no. 61 148. It must be noted that the nature of Soviet as-
(Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sage, 1979), pp. 74–75. sistance to Egypt became markedly less ex-
tensive after 1972, due both to the expulsion
126. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 15. of military advisers by Sadat and to the new
127. Ibid., p. 10. U.S.-Soviet policy of détente (see section
on détente, above). As mentioned earlier,
128. Ibid., p. 9.
Soviet assistance during the War of Attri-
129. Ibid., p. 10. tion was considerably more active. As many
130. Interview by author with retired Soviet sub- as twelve thousand Soviet Air Defense
marine officer, St. Petersburg, Russia, Sep- Forces personnel rotated through Egypt be-
tember 2003. tween March 1969 and August 1970, and
there were thirty-five Soviet combat fatalities.
131. Semenov, chap. 4, pp. 8, 10.
Yaremenko, p. 484.
132. For the attack, Kostev, p. 451. For the ship’s
149. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 14.
prior arrival, Watson, p. 106.
150. Ibid., p. 15; and Bouchard, p. 171.
133. Bouchard, p. 170.
151. Bouchard, p. 273n.
134. Ibid.
152. Semenov cites 19 October as the date for this
135. Barry M. Blechman and Douglas M. Hart,
rotation. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 15.
“The Political Utility of Nuclear Weapons:
The 1973 Middle East Crisis,” in Nuclear Di- 153. Zaborskii, pp. 80–81; Yaremenko, p. 201.
plomacy, ed. Sean M. Lynn-Jones, Steven E. 154. V. I. Popov, “Desantnye korabli osvaivayut
Miller, and Stephen Van Evera (Cambridge, Sredizemnoye more [Landing ships are mas-
Mass.: MIT Press, 1990), p. 327. tering the Mediterranean Sea],” Taifun (Feb-
136. Bouchard, p. 170. ruary 2002), p. 45.
137. Ibid., p. 160. 155. Zaborskii, pp. 80–81.
138. Kostev, p. 451; Semenov, chap. 4, p. 13. 156. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 33.
139. Polmar, p. 150. 157. Admiral Gorshkov and John Warner, Secre-
tary of the Navy, signed the Incidents at Sea
140. Ibid.
Agreement (IncSea) in Moscow on 25 May
141. Bouchard, p. 171. 1972, seeking to reduce the number of acci-
142. Ibid., p. 170. dents between the two navies by establishing
a code of conduct for ships operating in close
143. Ibid. proximity. For the evolution of this agree-
144. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 13. ment see Winkler, Cold War at Sea. Although
145. Bouchard, p. 160. it supported stability during the October
1973 crisis by defining mutually recognizable
146. For the second destroyer, ibid., p. 170. For the limits for peacetime maneuvers and tactics,
submarines off of Israeli ports, V. Zaborskii, IncSea could not defuse the larger political
“Zapiski o neizvestnoi voine [Notes about an tensions or the tactical first-strike incentives
unknown war],” Morskoi sbornik, no. 3 (March that pervaded this maritime crisis.
1999), p. 80, and Semenov, chap. 4, p. 14.
158. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 16.
147. This was hardly the first time that Soviet ves-
sels had come under Israeli fire. Port Said had 159. Dawisha, p. 67; Semenov, chap. 2, p. 108.
withstood nearly daily bombardment during 160. Semenov, chap. 2, p. 108.
the War of Attrition of 1967–70. Throughout 161. Blechman and Hart, p. 326.
that period, Egyptian ships were docked side
by side with those of the Fifth Eskadra, and 162. The orders to the Israeli side were to respect
the cease-fire, except if the Egyptians were to
https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/nwc-review/vol57/iss2/1 66
break it. In that case, the Israeli forces were to 188. Roberts, “The October 1973 Arab-Israeli
deal with the attacks and continue with their War,” p. 194.
mission. Herzog, p. 280; Zumwalt, p. 438. 189. Zumwalt, p. 447.
163. Bouchard, p. 161. 190. Lewis, p. 83.
164. Yaremenko, Pochtarev, and Usikov, p. 202; 191. Bouchard, p. 186.
Zumwalt, p. 445.
192. Lewis, p. 83.
165. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 21. U.S. figures have
placed the overall Fifth Eskadra force strength 193. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 21.
on 24 October 1973 at eighty; see Bouchard, 194. Lewis, pp. 84–85.
p. 171.
195. Ibid., p. 85.
166. Bouchard, p. 171.
196. Interview by author with retired Soviet sub-
167. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 17; Dawisha, p. 69. marine officer, St. Petersburg, Russia, Sep-
168. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 17. tember 2003.
171. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 17. 199. Weinland, pp. 74–75; Semenov, chap. 4, p.
21.
172. Bouchard, p. 172.
200. Zumwalt, pp. 447–48.
173. Semenov, chap. 4, pp. 20–21.
201. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 26.
174. Zumwalt, p. 439.
202. Ibid., p. 24.
175. Ibid.
203. Ibid., p. 27.
176. Watson, pp. 111–12; Zumwalt, p. 439.
204. Ibid., p. 28.
177. Watson, p. 109.
205. Ibid., pp. 28, 33.
178. Bouchard, p. 172; Zumwalt, p. 447.
206. Ibid., p. 28.
179. Bouchard, p. 172.
207. Zumwalt, p. 301.
180. Abraham Rabinovich, The Boats of Cherbourg
(New York: Seaver Books/Henry Holt, 1988), 208. Letter (15 August 2003) to author from a for-
p. 302; Semenov, chap. 2, p. 108. mer naval aviator who flew in the USS Inde-
pendence air wing during October 1973.
181. Zaborskii, p. 81.
209. Interview by author with retired Soviet sub-
182. Vego, p. 176. marine officer, St. Petersburg, September
183. Polmar, p. 150. 2003.
184. Semenov, chap. 4, p. 18. 210. For a recent assessment of Chinese interest in
185. Ibid., chap. 4, pp. 18–19; Bouchard, p. 173. aircraft carriers, see Ian Storey and You Ji,
“China’s Aircraft Carrier Ambitions: Seeking
186. Stephen S. Roberts, “The October 1973 Truth from Rumors,” Naval War College Re-
Arab-Israeli War,” in Soviet Naval Diplomacy, view 57, no. 1 (Winter 2004), pp. 77–93.
ed. Dismukes and McConnell, p. 195.
187. Bouchard, p. 174.
N onstrategic nuclear weapons (NSNW) have posed serious military and po-
1
litical concerns for nearly two generations. While many security analysts
and the general public assumed that this issue disappeared with the end of the
Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union, such
Mr. Miller is a senior analyst with Science Applications
International Corporation (SAIC) in Arlington, Vir-
was not the case. Indeed, one could argue that while
ginia. He is a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel and strategic nuclear and conventional arms control trea-
former ICBM operator who commanded U.S. portal ties have resolved much of the central drama during
monitoring facilities in Russia and Ukraine under the
auspices of the START and INF treaties as a member of the Cold War, there remains one area left uncovered by
the On-Site Inspection Agency. He also worked issues for treaty constraints or reductions—the thousands of re-
the Cooperative Threat Reduction program. He cur-
sidual nonstrategic, theater, tactical, or battlefield nu-
rently supports the development of nuclear and
counterproliferation policy for the U.S. Air Force. clear weapons remaining on the territory of the former
Dr. Larsen is a senior policy analyst with SAIC in Colo- superpowers.
rado Springs, Colorado. A retired Air Force lieutenant One expert on this subject has recently reminded us
colonel, he was a pilot, Air Force Academy professor, and
director of the U.S. Air Force Institute for National Secu-
that “for fifty years non-strategic nuclear weapons have
rity Studies. Since joining SAIC he has served as senior been the main source of the crises, accidents, and diplo-
editor for the official Air Force studies of the air cam- matic contretemps associated with weapons of mass
paigns over Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq, and led the
effort to create a strategic vision for U.S. Northern Com- destruction. . . . In the complex world of the nuclear era,
mand. Dr. Larsen edited Controlling Non-Strategic non-strategic nuclear weapons have produced more than
Nuclear Weapons: Obstacles and Opportunities 2
their share of difficulty and danger.” There are a number
(2001), Arms Control: Cooperative Security in a
Changing Environment (2002), and The Future of of reasons why this is so: the large numbers of these
Nuclear Weapons in Europe (1992). weapons, their multiple and varied missions, the lack of
The views expressed in this article are those of the authors safety and surety controls when compared to strategic
and do not reflect the positions of SAIC or its clients.
weapons, and their relationship to geographic location—a
Naval War College Review, Spring 2004, Vol. LVII, No. 2 relationship that strategic nuclear warheads do not share.
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must believe that as NATO and Russia draw closer, the glaring imbalance in tac-
tical nuclear forces will necessarily require some sort of dialogue. Otherwise it
will be difficult to clear the way to other partnership goals. Without greater spec-
ificity about the size and composition of the Russian tactical nuclear stockpile,
there is inadequate information to make an informed judgment about the verac-
ity of Russia’s intentions.
We believe that there is a way to achieve greater dialogue and cooperation in
the matter of nonstrategic nuclear weapons. This article describes one possible
solution to the problem of dealing with Russia’s tactical nuclear arsenal—a plan
that relies on direct purchase of Russia’s weapons by the West and dismantle-
ment of the warheads in Russia. We recognize this idea may be politically “radio-
active” for some, but in the absence of alternatives it may represent a change of
approach for which the time is right. Before going into the details of what we be-
lieve could be a win-win solution, however, we need to set the stage by reviewing
the historical background of these weapons.
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tactical weapons. Nonstrategic nuclear weapons are today more prominent than
strategic warheads. For the most part, strategic nuclear weapons were postured
to be employed promptly on an intercontinental basis. Shorter-range tactical
weapons were meant for “battlefield” use; they typically took more time to pre-
pare and were both lower in yield and shorter in range than strategic systems.
Thus they appeared less threatening to the United States. Relative to the size of
the strategic nuclear arsenal, their numbers and posture also made them less
consequential in the strategic environment of the Cold War. Today, however, the
situation having been reversed, thousands of strategic weapons are gone or go-
ing away as a result of the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaties and the Moscow
Treaty; in contrast, NSNW reductions are not legally binding and are difficult to
measure.
It has been argued that the George W. Bush administration “needs to place
tactical nuclear weapons control at the top of the U.S.-Russian agenda” and that
the “failure of arms control to address tactical nuclear weapons in a treaty belies
4
the threat they pose.” But this issue is extremely complex, and a way ahead is not
easy to discern. Russia presumably does what it does for logical reasons, whether
the United States understands them completely or not. Ambiguity in national
policies associated with the presence and capability of nuclear weapons is not
new. Ambiguity has been employed by all nuclear states in an effort to introduce
uncertainty in the minds of would-be challengers. Nor is there any requirement
for Russia to explain its actions. But if Russia is to be a genuine partner, more
transparency regarding its nonstrategic nuclear arsenal and policies would help
strengthen that relationship.
In November 2000 the U.S. Air Force convened a seminar to study this issue.
Many of the West’s leading experts on the subject of nonstrategic nuclear weap-
ons in Europe and Russia participated. Those experts estimated the current size
of the Russian nonstrategic nuclear arsenal as between two thousand and fifteen
5
thousand weapons. This range was validated by draft language for the 2003 De-
partment of Defense authorization bill, in which the Senate Armed Services
Committee estimated that Russia had from seven to twelve thousand such war-
heads. The American inventory of tactical nuclear warheads is estimated to be
less than twelve hundred. Of this total, multiple sources cite “a couple of hun-
dred” U.S. gravity-drop bombs remaining in Europe, assigned to dual-capable
NATO aircraft and stored in alliance facilities in theater, while the bulk of the re-
mainder of these weapons is reportedly stored in the United States.6
Further complicating the picture is the fact that not all of Russia’s nuclear in-
ventory is truly tactical in nature. Some of Russia’s weapons are quite large, up-
ward of a megaton in yield, making them larger than many strategic nuclear
weapons in either country. In addition, the range of delivery is determined not
by the weapon but by the delivery system. Since many weapons can be separated
from delivery systems and easily mated to other means of delivery, range be-
comes fungible, and the distinction between strategic and tactical is moot. In to-
day’s new world order, as Russia and the United States struggle to reorient their
Cold War military infrastructure, both place a higher premium on flexibility
and interoperability of weapons and delivery systems rather than on size or
numbers. As a result the terms “tactical” and “strategic” are practically
meaningless.
One other subtle distinction is found in the rules for counting nuclear war-
heads. Often overlooked is the fact that the START, Intermediate-Range Nuclear
Forces (INF), and Moscow Treaties only dealt with “offensive” weapons. Defensive
nuclear weapons for use on antiballistic or surface-to-air missiles are uncounted
by any arms control agreement. The United States no longer has that type of
weapon, but Russia reportedly has over twelve hundred, many of them with
large yields.7
The Defense Science Board explicitly recognized the difficulty of distinguish-
ing strategic and tactical weapons in 1998. Its Task Force on Nuclear Deterrence
recommended that future arms control efforts focus on dealing with deployable
warheads and declared that they “must deal with important asymmetries in
U.S.-Russian nuclear weapons infrastructures.” This recommendation went far-
ther than just recognizing the need to scrap the artificial distinctions between
classes of nuclear weapons, suggesting that the Department of Defense address
support infrastructure asymmetries related to production and refurbishment of
8
warheads in both countries.
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this communiqué was released in early 2002 it appeared that the parties had
agreed to discuss just about everything, including nonstrategic nuclear weapons.
During a press conference following the signature of the Strategic Offensive
Reduction Treaty (the Moscow Treaty) in Russia in June 2002, Secretary of State
Colin Powell responded to a question about the threat posed by Russian NSNW
by acknowledging that indeed these weapons concerned him. He pointed out
that Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld had “made a particular point of urg-
ing the administration to pin down how the Russians are handling so-called
10
‘tactical’ nuclear weapons.” During testimony to the Senate in July 2002 Secre-
tary Rumsfeld himself argued the necessity to do something about the imbal-
ance in tactical nuclear forces between Russia and the United States, indicating
that even America’s European allies understood this need.11 Clearly the U.S. gov-
ernment is interested in discussions on NSNW.
But no matter how seriously the United States wishes to engage the topic, if
Russia is not willing to sit down and discuss the issue and possible solutions,
nothing will happen. However, there may be indications of a changing Russian
attitude. It was reported in April 2002 that the Kremlin intended to dismantle its
tactical nuclear weapons and propose “unprecedented peace initiatives,” that
“Russia intends to fulfill its unilateral obligations on tactical nuclear weapons
12
reduction by 2004.” Such evidence, in conjunction with statements in the Joint
Declaration on the New Strategic Relationship, gives the impression that the bi-
lateral relationship has changed enough to make the two countries truly part-
ners, committed to open dialogue, to resolving their differences, and to getting
along better. If all was as it appeared, the path to dealing with the Cold War’s nu-
clear leftovers would also be clear.
But on closer examination the Russian article in which the hopeful state-
ments appeared also raised serious questions; in fact, it serves in itself as an ex-
ample of the ambiguity facing the West. First, the source was the “Kremlin,” not
a specific government official. Unclear too was what made this initiative so un-
precedented, especially given President Yeltsin’s 1992 commitment. The article
included the usual Russian linkage to U.S. nuclear weapons in Europe, stating
that “in planning to dismantle its tactical warheads, [Russia] is merely asking
Washington to return the nuclear weapons from NATO storage facilities in Eu-
rope to the United States.” Why, twelve years after the 1991–92 presidential nu-
clear initiatives, is Russia still “planning” to dismantle these weapons? For years
Russia insisted it had complied with its obligations under the PNIs. Now we are
told Russia is still in the planning stages and “merely” asking Washington to
make compromises in return.
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Russia and the United States have little interest in entangling themselves in more
arms control agreements. It suggests that all U.S. nuclear weapons be integrated
into a “comprehensive posture”—something that may eventually alleviate arti-
ficial distinctions—and recommended “seeking engagement through other
16
means aside from traditional arms control venues.”
One reason why Moscow rarely offers either arms control or disarmament so-
lutions is that much of the burden of elimination would fall on Russia. This is
because Russia retains most of the world’s remaining Cold War nuclear forces,
its predecessor state having invested more heavily than the West in the atom as
the guarantor of national security in that period. Russian political and military
planners are still heavily reliant on this investment today. To them, leaping into
an arms control or CTR solution to regulate or reduce these forces probably ap-
pears to be an avoidable burden that would be counter to their national security
interests.
We are not saying that arms control or CTR solutions are wrong or bad but
that in the case of NSNW it is too soon to determine whether either would work,
or whether some alternative exists. Arms control is typically used when a rela-
tionship is adversarial, when so little trust exists that the parties must negotiate
rules governing their interaction. But the Moscow Treaty confirmed that today’s
U.S.-Russia relationship is no longer so adversarial. Accordingly, an arms con-
trol treaty may not be the best option for dealing with nonstrategic nuclear
weapons. Another fundamental feature of arms control is that it is designed to
regulate militarily useful weapons so as to raise confidence and jointly reduce
tensions. Not knowing what is militarily useful inside Russia’s NSNW stockpile
makes arms control at this point unsatisfactory. Conversely, cooperative threat
reduction is useful for dismantling excess and obsolete weapons but is the wrong
tool for controlling militarily useful weapons. Without knowing what is excess
in the Russian nonstrategic nuclear weapon stockpile, extending the Nunn-
Lugar CTR program to all NSNW would be equally unrealistic. Until Russia is
willing to put its entire stockpile on the table and inform NATO which warheads
it wants to keep and which are excess to its needs, Western insistence on applying
a standard solution merely for the sake of doing something will be a meaningless
exercise, and one that will be resisted by Russia.
To be rational, nuclear force postures ought to be derived from national and
military strategy goals, not from arms control or disarmament negotiations
with other nations. If their political relationships truly have changed, the United
States, Russia, and NATO should be able to work together to clarify which nu-
clear weapons fulfill strategy goals and which are excess. In the euphoria of the
collapse of communism and the emergence of a free Russia, however, the United
States unilaterally reduced its nonstrategic nuclear arsenal to such a low level
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that it has little left to negotiate away on this issue. The West will need some sort
of incentive to get Russia to the table. Since the United States and NATO have lit-
tle in the way of further force cuts to offer—other than total removal of U.S.
weapons in Europe—to induce Russia to clarify its tactical nuclear stockpile,
some other enticement must be found or created. We suggest that the best en-
ticement would be monetary—in the form of cash and debt relief.
Russia is working hard to reinvent itself as a free market economy and inte-
grate itself in the economies of the world, and it will require massive amounts of
hard currency to do this successfully. The members of NATO are among the
wealthiest nations in the world and have a stake in seeing Russia succeed. Most in
the West also acknowledge that Russia cannot clean up its nuclear past alone,
that it will take large amounts of money—money Russia does not have.
from nonstrategic nuclear weapons. The IAEA has the expertise and a reputa-
tion for doing this type of work, and its costs could be covered through increases
in existing funding mechanisms (or by a new approach proposed below).
Presumably the IAEA itself would perceive the value of its involvement in this
scheme and acknowledge its unique capabilities and experience for handling
such an assignment. Still, several questions about IAEA involvement must be ad-
dressed. Would it want this job? Could it do it effectively? Would the parties trust
it to do this job with full transparency? The idea of placing nuclear weapon fis-
sile material in an international “bank” for safekeeping and rendering for peace-
ful purposes is not new; President Dwight D. Eisenhower suggested it in his
famous “Atoms for Peace”
Buying excess tactical nuclear weapons from Russia and converting them to
reactor fuel would: speech in 1953, a speech that
• Assure sovereignty rights and respect for national self-determination led to the birth of the IAEA.17
of the parties At the time, the international
• Place the NATO-Russian relationship on a new footing community did not allow
• Employ the forces of a closed and regulated market to provide incen- Eisenhower’s far-reaching
tives that will enhance security and surety of these weapons
proposal to come to pass; it
• Create a safe and secure regulated market for excess and obsolete
weapons in a way that enables the parties to compare costs and work was primarily the objections
together of the Soviet Union that pre-
• Improve the security of all parties by quickly reducing the prolifera- vented this banking of fissile
tion risks associated with “loose nukes”
material by what became the
• Share the heavy security burden of Russian nonstrategic nuclear
weapons with a consortium of interested states IAEA. Now that the Soviet
• Achieve enough transparency to suggest security measures to pro- Union is gone, the world need
tect Russia’s remaining weapons from proliferation pressures not consider itself bound by
• Highlight for all parties the potential threats posed by nonstrategic this decision, as it is yet an-
nuclear weapons
other vestige of the Cold War.
• Infuse hard currency into Russia’s economy, thereby accelerating its
market reforms and economic transformation. Our proposal is neither as far-
reaching as Eisenhower’s nor
as utopian in its intent. However, banking fissile material from excess nuclear
weapons and rendering it harmless may represent a small step toward fulfilling
President Eisenhower’s dream.
There is some question about whether the IAEA’s statute would permit it to
take on this mission. As we read the document, however, the IAEA not only
could do it but apparently would have no choice if asked to do so by NATO and
Russia. In part, Article III of the IAEA statute states:
Part A. The Agency is authorized:
1. To encourage and assist research on, and development and practical application
of, atomic energy for peaceful uses throughout the world; and, if requested to do so,
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7. To acquire or establish any facilities, plant and equipment useful in carrying out its
authorized functions, whenever the facilities, plant, and equipment otherwise avail-
able to it in the area concerned are inadequate or available only on terms it deems
unsatisfactory.
Part B. In carrying out its functions, the Agency shall: . . .
2. Establish control over the use of special fissionable materials received by the
Agency, in order to ensure that these materials are used only for peaceful purposes; . . .
Part C. In carrying out its functions, the Agency shall not make assistance to mem-
bers subject to any political, economic, military, or other conditions incompatible
with the provisions of this Statute.18
A request from NATO and Russia to accept fissile material from excess NSNW
and store it until it could be safely converted to fuel or properly disposed of
would, we believe, be a “practical application” in the sense of the subparagraphs
of Article III. The IAEA would be obligated to act as an intermediary and acquire
or establish the plants, facilities, and equipment necessary to safely secure and
store weapons pits (the plutonium “triggers” at the center of a thermonuclear
bomb, and hence the most critical piece) proffered by either party. Furthermore,
the statute requires the IAEA to establish control over the pits until they can be
used for peaceful purposes. When one considers that the leaderships of NATO
and the IAEA are drawn largely from the same nations, it would seem that
NATO, Russia, and the IAEA could agree on a procedure to make this happen.
Since its inception, the focus of the IAEA has been narrowed by the member-
ship to the control of nuclear reactors for generation of power; however, this
self-constraint appears to be changing. A recently published history of the
agency notes that since the end of the Cold War the United States has already
placed excess fissile material in IAEA storage and that Russia has committed it-
19
self to do the same. It would seem that our proposal represents an opportunity
to take this process one step farther and in so doing provide Russia and NATO an
example showing that they can work together to trim their nuclear stockpiles
without an arms control agreement.
There could be no question in the minds of NATO or Russian leaders that the
IAEA was anything but an honest broker. Any agreement between the parties
and the IAEA must clearly specify that the IAEA is not to “choose sides.” Dispute
resolution must be left up to the parties and not involve the IAEA.
Elements of a Deal: First Steps
To begin this process, all parties must lay out all their holdings and sort the
“wheat from the chaff,” in a way similar to an arms control baseline declaration,
in strict confidentiality among the partners. Depending upon the demands of
the parties, this declaration will likely need to be verified by a joint inventory.
The parties could conduct a joint inventory themselves or ask an international
organization to do the accounting. Here too the IAEA may be the best choice,
since it presumably already has some grasp of the situation inside these states.
Once this baseline is established, both sides will identify weapons that are ex-
cess to security needs. This may be easy for NATO. Judging by the actions of the
alliance in the past decade, U.S. tactical nuclear weapons assigned to NATO are
all considered essential to the partners; otherwise, they would have been unilat-
erally withdrawn to the United States. However, it is impossible to guess the dif-
ficulty this selection would pose for Russia. We suspect that the Russian military
already knows precisely what it wants to keep and therefore should be able to
identify quickly what is excess and obsolete—should it wish to. The problem is
that the diffusion of responsibility for Russian NSNW could cause individual
commands to resist Moscow, potentially presenting a significant internal politi-
cal challenge to Russia’s civilian leadership. The risk of turmoil could be an im-
pediment to changing the status quo. A monetary incentive is specifically
valuable here—were the West to provide hard currency that could be used to
fund reform programs or improve service living conditions, the Russian mili-
tary leadership might be won over. The reciprocal declaration would be made
behind a veil of secrecy; the partners would gain security insights that could
strengthen their partnership but would retain ambiguity vis-à-vis nonpartner
states and other actors.
Even after this process was completed the tactical nuclear stockpiles would
undoubtedly remain imbalanced in Russia’s favor, but at least the parties would
know that all remaining weapons were considered militarily viable. That alone
would represent a significant improvement over the current state of affairs. At
this time the parties may wish to take the next step, addressing this imbalance
and its meaning, possibly opening up an arms control dialogue. But that is an issue
we leave for a future article.
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could be paid for certain weapons, for example, in addition to a straight price
per kiloton of yield. Premiums could be offered for weapons with features of
particular concern, such as older battlefield weapons lacking permissive-
action links.
Elements of a Deal: Dismantlement
Weapons purchased would be secured immediately, dismantled, and demilita-
rized to reduce their proliferation value. Prior to turnover to the IAEA the own-
ing party could perhaps remove an agreed critical component, such as a trigger.
Demilitarization and dismantlement would be accomplished in a facility in Rus-
sia built by the consortium and operated by the IAEA. One aspect, however,
must be very clear: once custody is transferred, the process is irreversible—there
can be no returning of weapons from the bank to the parties. Once a weapon was
secured, the IAEA would remove and destroy nonnuclear components; the fis-
sile material could then be further demilitarized and eventually blended down
into nuclear fuel. “Down-blending” could be done either on the premises of the
new facility (again, with costs borne by the consortium) or at an existing Russian
facility operating within the confines of the U.S.-Russian HEU (highly enriched
uranium) Transparency Process. Ownership of the resulting low-enriched reac-
tor fuel would be shared by the participating states in proportion to respective
investment in the project, or sold into the legitimate nuclear fuel markets of the
world to help defray the cost of operations. See the figure for a nominal repre-
sentation of this process.
CASH FOR KILOTONS
Plutonium
Negotiations Inventory
baseline
Storage &
Weapons dismantlement HEU
Purchases Excess
NSNW
Downblending
This process could borrow heavily from current U.S. CTR programs. Once
sold, secured, and demilitarized, the nuclear material would be converted to
fuel, or in the case of plutonium, rendered safe before disposal inside Russia. For
security and proliferation reasons as well as inventory control, it would be pref-
erable that this be done inside the same facility as demilitarization and storage,
in order to reduce proliferation and security risks. However, since Russia already
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does uranium down-blending, a new facility for that purpose might be a waste
of resources. An alternative could be an arrangement between this consortium
and the existing HEU blending-transparency process of the CTR program to
provide necessary transparency and ultimate elimination of these weapons.
Elements of a Deal: LEU Credits
Once blended down into fuel, the low-enriched uranium (LEU) could be cred-
ited back to the contributing nations, including Russia, in proportion to their
contributions to the effort. The parties could take delivery of the fuel for their
own power-generation needs, resell it on the open worldwide market to quali-
fied nuclear-power operators, or trade the credits with other IAEA-approved
parties. Effectively, these LEU energy credits could be managed in much the
same way as commodities are traded in markets around the globe. For some na-
tions the fuel would be a credit in the bank, while others may choose to take
physical delivery.
One potential problem presents itself—if a large number of weapons were
sold under this deal, the resulting fuel from down-blending could flood the mar-
ket. To hedge against this, the rate of fuel conversion and sales could be controlled
by the executive committee, acting much like a central banker. Unlike the initial
buy and transfer of weapons, which would be conducted as rapidly as possible, the
blending process and sale or credit back to members would be deliberately paced
and regulated with an eye on fuel market prices.
Sovereignty issues associated with this facility may concern NATO, Russia,
and the IAEA. However, these could be addressed by permitting Russian Minis-
try of Atomic Energy officials to visit the facility at any time or to establish a per-
manent observer presence inside the facility. As noted, the entire facility would
be owned by the consortium and operated by the IAEA; the area inside its secu-
rity fence would have diplomatic status akin to an embassy or a United Nations
facility.
Labor for these operations would be hired by the IAEA. Presumably a signifi-
cant portion of the staff would come from Russian nuclear experts the West
would like to see employed on productive endeavors, vice dangerous alterna-
tives. However, the parties could decide that labor could be drawn only from
nations supporting the consortium.
Negotiating the Deal
The executive committee would establish an initial market price per unit yield
for various classes of weapons, based on its budget; it would be up to the com-
mittee and Russia to negotiate from there. After a brief round of price negotia-
tions, the committee would set a final figure; Russia’s choice would be to take
it or leave it. “Leaving it” would mean maintaining and securing the weapon
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key players may also be suffering from “arms control fatigue,” and the general
public, not fully understanding the NSNW issue, seems satisfied with the U.S.-
Russia relationship. Nonetheless, the pressure to do something bold to secure
these weapons and prevent their proliferation to terrorists is growing. Our sug-
gestion to buy these weapons from Russia is certainly that.
Arms control is not the answer to the NSNW problem. Nor is cooperative
threat reduction, in its current design. A market mechanism to purchase non-
strategic nuclear weapons on a price-per-kiloton-yield basis may interest all
parties as a way to achieve quickly their respective goals vis-à-vis these weapons.
Since the emphasis in this market would be on the elimination of excess weap-
ons, without undue meddling in respective security objectives, this approach
should not directly assault national sovereignty or a state’s ability to assess its
own security needs. The parties would be free to move on to the question of their
remaining “useful” weapons, of course, and the baseline established could serve
as a starting point.
No doubt this will be expensive and controversial in Washington as well as in
Europe and Moscow. But the costs would produce multiple spin-off benefits: re-
ducing risk, increasing security, and strengthening Russia’s economy and the
bond between Russia and its NATO neighbors. If the American leadership faces
a choice, so does Russia’s. It can continue the current process, laced as it is with
distrust, ambiguity, and urgent proliferation risks, or it can agree to sell its old
weapons for hard currency. Ultimately this is a “pay now or pay later” decision
for all sides. The costs later may be many times higher than they are now.
Indeed, times change. Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld, early in the present ad-
ministration, asked why Russia and the United States needed a strategic arms
control treaty; the United States and Great Britain, he pointed out, have no such
agreement. His point is well taken. The United States and Great Britain were
once enemies; prior to World War I, in fact, there was little cooperation between
them. However, over the course of two hundred years the ties between these two
nations grew to the point where even when each possessed enough nuclear force
to wreak havoc upon the other, there was never a time in the nuclear age when
the friendship was questioned. By comparison, the United States has never
25
fought a war with Russia (as it has twice with the United Kingdom). In World
War II, Washington and Moscow were allies (if reluctant ones). History suggests,
then, that Russia and the United States could emerge as great friends, strong al-
lies in the war on terror. Friends do not need to point nuclear weapons at one an-
other. Nor need they be ambiguous about their nuclear intentions. The proposal
we have outlined may prod the two nuclear powers to cooperate more closely to
eliminate the last vestiges of their Cold War tactical nuclear arsenals.
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NOTES
1. In arms control, as in most negotiations, one launched cruise missiles and 840 B-61 bomb
of the very first steps in moving any issue for- warheads (mods 3, 4, and 10).
ward is clearly defining what it is the parties 7. William Potter, “Addressing the Problem of
seek to control. When it comes to the re- NSNW,” in Controlling Non-Strategic Nuclear
maining nuclear forces of Russia and the Weapons, appendix, tables 1 and 2, entries for
United States, defining the “class” of weapons “Air Defense Weapons.” Also see “Russia’s
is difficult. For reasons discussed at length in Nuclear Forces 2002.”
this article, we settle upon calling the class of
weapons we wish to control “nonstrategic 8. Gen. Larry Welch, USAF (Ret.), chairman of
nuclear weapons.” To us, this defines a class the Defense Science Board Task Force on Nu-
of weapons that is neither offensive nor de- clear Deterrence, memorandum, recommen-
fensive, and can be short or medium range. dation 6, 23 July 1998, transmitting the
Trying to parse the class further risks leaving report of the task force, dated October 1998,
one group or another of these weapons un- to the chairman of the Defense Science
captured and therefore defeats the object and Board, Mr. Craig Fields; and Mr. Field’s sub-
purpose of any negotiations. sequent undated memorandum endorsing
the report to the Under Secretary of Defense
2. Rose Gottemoeller, foreword to Controlling for Acquisition and Technology.
Non-Strategic Nuclear Weapons: Obstacles and
Opportunities, ed. Jeffrey A. Larsen and Kurt 9. “Text of the Joint Declaration by President
J. Klingenberger (Colorado Springs, Colo.: George W. Bush and President Vladimir V.
U.S. Air Force Institute for National Security Putin on the New Strategic Relationship Be-
Studies, 2001), p. xi. tween the United States of America and the
Russian Federation,” 24 May 2002, available
3. See “Joint Statement on Parameters on Fu- at www.fas.org/nuke/control/sort/joint
ture Reductions in Nuclear Forces,” Helsinki, -decl.html.
Finland, 21 March 1997, appendix F in Con-
trolling Non-Strategic Nuclear Weapons, ed. 10. United Press International, “Russian Nuclear
Larsen and Klingenberger, pp. 307–308); also Dangers Studied,” as reported in Johnson’s
available at www.armscontrol.org/ACT/ Russia List 6272, article 6, published by the
MARCH/js.html. Center for Defense Information, 25 May 2002,
available at www.cdi.org/russia/johnson/
4. Alistair Millar, “The Pressing Need for Tacti- 6272.htm.
cal Nuclear Weapons Arms Control,” Arms
Control Today 32, no. 4 (May 2002), pp. 10–13. 11. “Transcript of Testimony as Delivered by
Secretary of Defense Donald H. Rumsfeld,”
5. See Andrea Gabbitas, “Non-Strategic Nuclear Washington, D.C., 17 July 2002, available
Weapons: Problems of Definition,” and at www.defenselink.mil/speeches/2002/
William Potter, “Practical Steps for Address- s20020717-secdef1.html. Mr. Rumsfeld said:
ing the Problem of NSNW,” in Controlling “Let me just conclude by saying that I believe
Non-Strategic Nuclear Weapons. According to that all sorts of possibilities with the Russians
published sources, in 2002 Russia had at least that come from this—I had talked about the
1,200 warheads for surface-to-air missiles, tactical nuclear weapons. And you are proba-
1,540 bombs and missile warheads for air- bly right, this doesn’t cover all of that. But it
craft, and 640 naval warheads (for aircraft, is something we probably ought to talk about.
cruise missiles, and antisubmarine torpedoes Secretary Powell indicated as much, that he’d
or missiles). See “Russian Nuclear Forces like to talk about that. So would all of our Eu-
2002,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 58, no. ropean friends. . . . They’re pretty close to
4 (July/August 2002), pp. 71–73. those tactical weapons.”
6. “NRDC Nuclear Notebook: U.S. Nuclear 12. Yuri Golotyuk, “America Has No Say in
Forces 2003,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists This,” Vremya novostei, 23 April 2002, as re-
59, no. 3 (May/June 2003), pp. 73–76. Ac- ported in Johnson’s Russia List, no. 6203, 23
cording to this source the United States April 2002, item 7, at www.cdi.org/russia/
maintains 320 warheads for Tomahawk sea- johnson/default.cfm.
13. For example, see NATO Press Communiqué from dismantled nuclear weapons, under
M-NAC-2(2000)121, “Report on Options for the IAEA’s surveillance, thus creating confi-
Confidence Building Measures, Verification, dence that it will not revert to military use.
Arms Control, and Disarmament,” December 20. Fact Sheet Provided to the Second Session of the
2000. Preparatory Committee for the 2005 NPT Re-
14. See Senator Lugar’s prioritized list at lugar view Conference, Geneva, Switzerland, 1 May
.senate.gov/nunn_lugar_program.html. 2003, available at www.state.gov/t/np/rls/fs/
15. Mathew Bunn, Anthony Wier, and John P. 20288.htm.
Holdren, Controlling Nuclear Warheads and 21. One Russian analyst who agrees that his
Materials: A Report Card and Action Plan, country would likely participate in such a
Project on Managing the Atom (Cambridge, multinational endeavor is Nikolai Sokov, a
Mass.: Belfer Center for Science and Interna- former member of the Soviet Ministry of For-
tional Affairs, John F. Kennedy School of eign Affairs and currently at the Monterey In-
Government, Harvard University, March stitute of International Studies. In November
2003). 2003 he told an SAIC interviewer, “The Rus-
16. John Cappello, Gwendolyn M. Hall, and Ste- sian military . . . wants to get rid of excess
ven Lambert, Tactical Nuclear Weapons: De- stockpiles and would appreciate money for
bunking the Mythology, INSS Occasional that purpose.” He suggested that “proposals
Paper 46 (Colorado Springs, Colo.: U.S. Air should be framed in CTR terms—assistance
Force Institute for National Security Studies, in doing things that are in the interest of Rus-
August 2002). sia and that the Russians intended to do any-
way.” Author’s personal notes, 10 November
17. “Atoms for Peace,” speech by President 2003.
Dwight D. Eisenhower to the UN General
Assembly, 8 December 1953, available at 22. James Fuller, “Debt for Nonproliferation:
www.iaea.org/About/history_speech.html. The Next Step in Threat Reduction,” Arms
For a recent variation on this approach, see Control Today 32, no. 1 (January/February
Stansfield Turner, “The Dilemma of Nuclear 2002), pp. 22–26. In 1984 the World Wildlife
Weapons in the Twenty First Century,” Naval Fund conceived of “debt for nature swaps,”
War College Review 54, no. 2 (Spring 2001), in which national debts were forgiven by
pp. 13–23. some nations in return for debtor nations’
dedicating some portion of their own curren-
18. Statute of the International Atomic Energy cies for environmental projects.
Agency, article III, part A, paras. 1 and 2;
part B, para. 2; and part C; available at 23. The White House, National Security Strategy
www.iaea.org/About/statute.html. of the United States, September 2002, avail-
able at www.whitehousegov/nsc/nss.html.
19. David Fischer, History of the International
Atomic Energy Agency: The First Forty Years 24. “Russia and US Sign Reactor Shutdown
(Vienna: IAEA Division of Publications, Sep- Deal,” Rusnet, 13 March 2003, at www.rusnet
tember 1997), p. 10. The end of the Cold .nl/news/2003/03/13/currentaffairs04.shtml.
War has revived the idea of placing military 25. The 1919–20 American military incursion
stocks of fissile materials, including material into Siberia notwithstanding.
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Milan L. Hauner
The Party is in favor of small submarines with a short range. You can
build three times as many submarines for your money as big ones. . . .
but the actual problem lay in a quite different sphere. Big submarines
mean a policy of aggression, to further world revolution. Small sub-
marines mean coastal defense—that is, self-defense, and postponement
of world revolution.
ARTHUR KOESTLER
T his is the answer that in Koestler’s famous 1941 novel Darkness at Noon the
police investigator Ivanov gives the accused Rubashov, who asked him why a
certain admiral had to be executed. “The times are against us,” Ivanov continues;
“we are in the hollow of a wave and must wait until we are lifted by the next.” His
explanation suggests what actual Soviet naval strategy
Dr. Hauner, Honorary Fellow in the Department of advocated prior to 1936, when Joseph V. Stalin, believ-
History at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, ing that the uplifting wave had finally reached the
holds doctorates in history from Cambridge and
Charles University of Prague, as well as a Diplôme
vessel of socialism, decided to change abruptly to a
d’Etudes Supérieures Européennes from the Centre new tack and ordered the construction of “big
Européen Universitaire of Nancy, France. He has submarines.”
taught at several Czech, British, German, and Ameri-
can universities and has been director of East European Toward the end of 1935 Stalin’s mind became in-
Studies at the Woodrow Wilson International Center creasingly preoccupied, in an almost obsessive fash-
for Scholars in Washington, D.C.
ion, with plans to acquire rapidly a large oceangoing
His books in English include What Is Asia to Us? Rus-
navy, larger in its total displacement than any other at
sia’s Asian Heartland Yesterday and Today (1990 and
1992) and India in Axis Strategy: Germany, Japan, and that time and capable of achieving supremacy on all
Indian Nationalists in the Second World War (1981). four seas and oceans that circumscribed the Soviet
This article was supported by the Naval War College Union. Super-dreadnoughts were laid down in Soviet
Sponsored Research Program. The author is obliged to
Dr. John Hattendorf and Dr. Bruce Elleman, as well as yards beginning in 1938. Immediately after the
the College’s library staff. nonaggression pact of 1939, what the Soviets mainly
wanted from the Germans in exchange for wheat,
© 2004 by Milan L. Hauner
1
Naval War College Review, Spring 2004, Vol. LVII, No. 2 manganese, and petroleum was naval equipment.
The new capital ships were, however, destined never to be completed. Con-
struction of other warships—cruisers, destroyers, and submarines—continued,
in most cases to completion; the half-built carcasses of the battleships (clearly
visible on German air reconnaissance photographs at the time) disappeared.
Why had they been begun? What had been in the minds of Stalin and his collabo-
rators? Stalin must have resolved that without a powerful navy the Soviet Union’s
status as a great power could never be complete. Though the ruthless industrial-
ization policies of the five-year plans of the mid-1930s produced rapid buildups of
air and ground forces, especially tanks, the Soviet navy was a Cinderella, the least
potent and most obsolescent of the three services. During the interwar years a large
number of submarines were added, but the surface fleet had to rely on the few ves-
sels of the old imperial navy that had survived the Civil War.
In the second half of the 1930s, however, Sleeping Beauty seemed to wake up. The
utopian vision of an industrial giant that would provide the army of the World Pro-
letariat with an iron fist had instilled pride and megalomania among Soviet leaders.
Under Stalin’s direct inspiration and involvement, plans for creating a huge ocean-
2
going navy—bolshoi okeanskii flot—took shape. Why was it not enough to arm So-
viet proletariat with guns, tanks, and warplanes? Why would the Soviet Union, so
disadvantaged at sea by geography, need to join in a naval race with traditional sea
powers, to build capital ships with the declared aim of overtaking within ten years
the British and U.S. fleets? Was Stalin’s design to produce a Soviet Flottenpolitik,
3
with a daring Risikogedanke (policy of risk) to take on Japan in the Pacific? How did
he plan to deal with other naval powers? Questions of this kind persist. Much new
information has become available in the last fifteen years, but because of the nature
of Soviet dictatorship under Stalin, the puzzle may never be resolved completely.
Since Mikhail Gorbachev’s policy of glasnost, openness, in the last years of the
USSR, many specialized studies and personal memoirs of direct participants in
these events have been published. Former naval officers have gained access to the
main archives in question: the Russian Naval State Archive (Rossiiskii
gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Voenno-Morskogo Flota, now declassified through
1942) in St. Petersburg; and to some extent the Central Naval Archive
(Tsentralnyi Voenno-Morskoi arkhiv) in Gatchina, for all post-1941 naval rec-
ords. However, in contrast to the enormous volume of information available on
the growth of the Soviet ground and air forces, which during the 1930s had over-
taken in numbers of tanks and warplanes those of all other powers put together,
4
there remains a dearth of information about the expansion of the Soviet navy.
John Erickson’s magisterial Soviet High Command (1962) has a mere handful of
scattered references to the Navy. Another highly acclaimed work, said to unravel
Stalin’s enigmatic behavior on the eve of Hitler’s invasion of Russia on the basis
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of the author’s unique access to Russian archives, ignores the naval dimension
5
completely.
From the vantage point of Russian history, Stalin’s decision to build a mighty
oceangoing fleet was not a unique one. Other leaders had constructed fleets to
solidify their rule. The founder of the Russian navy, Peter the Great, had started
with a clean slate. He brought in shipbuilding specialists and in less than twenty
years produced a Baltic fleet, about thirty men-of-war, ranging from hundred-
gun to fifty-four-gun ships of the line, designed to be capable of defeating Swe-
6
den, the dominant Baltic naval power. Stalin’s big-fleet program was to be even
more ambitious.
In prerevolutionary Russia, however, periods of naval expansion were fol-
lowed by long stretches of stagnation. It usually took Russia much longer to re-
bound at sea than it did on land after losing wars. Such low points for the
Russian navy were the aftermaths of the Crimean War, the Russo-Japanese War,
and of course World War I, as well as the subsequent civil war, at the end of
which what little remained of the tsarist navy was hardly combat worthy.
After each disaster, Russian ambition to sail again seemed to become stron-
ger. It would take fifty years after the defeat at the Crimea to rebound, but by the
eve of the 1905 war with Japan Russia had risen to third among sea powers. After
the crushing defeat at Tsushima, Russia almost immediately produced an ambi-
tious naval rearmament program, launching dreadnoughts for the first time on
the Baltic and Black Seas. These capital ships were built mainly for reasons of
great-power pride and prestige; their limited tactical purposes could have been
better performed by other, less expensive means.
One of Russia’s chief problems remained geography. Neither the tsarist nor
the Stalinist regime was able to solve the dilemma posed by the utter isolation of
the Baltic and Black Sea Fleets, the remoteness of the Pacific Fleet, or the harsh-
ness of the Arctic Sea, which kept the Northern Fleet icebound for most of the
year. The canals built under the tsarist regime to connect the Baltic and the
White Sea were not for large warships. The Bolsheviks, using slave labor, wid-
ened the canals and eventually linked them to the mighty Volga. Nonetheless the
fundamental isolation of the Black Sea was solved (partially) only after World
War II, with the construction of the Volga-Don Canal, again with slave labor.
Deeply committed to the Mahanian doctrine that only dreadnoughts could
fight dreadnoughts, Russian navalists insisted these costly capital ships were the
only effective naval weapon against the nation’s immediate maritime adversar-
ies, Germany and Turkey. Except in the Black Sea against Turkey, Russia could
not maintain this ship-against-ship race without assistance. Tsarist Russia could
count on naval allies to offset the negative impact of maritime geography, but
communist Russia was to be a permanent target of capitalist encirclement.
The closest historical parallel to Stalin’s big-fleet program was Russia’s ship-
building program of 1912 (for which naval records, including private papers of
the principal actors, are now accessible for the first time). The two shipbuilding
programs faced the same geographical constraints and industrial shortcomings.
Moreover, both programs seemed to be governed by the same naval philosophy,
assigning to capital ships tasks for which they proved quite unsuitable in the
shallow and narrow waters of the Baltic and Black Seas. As a result, in World
Wars I and II the main role of the Russian navy (tsarist and Soviet) was much the
same: defending the coast and assisting ground forces. In both cases Russian
ships rarely ventured on the open sea; surface ships, rather, were extensively used
as gunnery platforms against shore targets. Russian warships in World War II
usually did not even protect Anglo-American convoys carrying Lend-Lease sup-
plies to the Soviet Union; the Allies provided their own convoy protection,
which proved more efficient.
The Soviet government was ready, for strategic reasons, to expand its ship-
building industry even into some of the most inaccessible regions of the vast
Eurasian continent, but the severe limitations imposed by climate, distance, and
bad communications prevailed. Even intensification of the Gulag system of slave
labor—a very sinister but important factor in the rapid Soviet industrialization
and remilitarization—could not overcome these problems. Because of these natu-
ral limitations, in conjunction with competing priorities in the military and
civilian sectors and the need for reconstruction after wartime destruction, the
big-fleet program could never have been completed during the dictator’s lifetime.
Nonetheless, this program is well worth examining, for several reasons. First,
it fills an important gap in Russian as well as comparative naval history, for
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Stalin’s big-fleet program has scarcely been mentioned, let alone studied, in
7
Western naval colleges and research institutions. Second, on the Russian side,
because of Stalin’s mania about foreign spies and military secrets, prior to glas-
nost adequate information was simply not available. The big-fleet program coin-
cided with the great purges in the Soviet Union, during which the Soviet navy
suffered extensive losses, especially among its senior officers, and very few survi-
vors understood the details of the plan. Third, the lessons of Stalin’s big-fleet
program can be usefully compared with other, similar naval building projects. In
addition to the 1912 Russian naval program, Admiral Tirpitz’s Navy Laws of
1898 and 1900, designed to provide Germany with a High Seas Fleet to challenge
the Royal Navy, and the great “White Fleet” of Theodore Roosevelt should be
mentioned in this connection. Finally, Hitler’s short-lived “Z-Plan” of January
1939 was an obvious parallel to Stalin’s big-fleet program.
All these programs, however, including the Russian one of 1912, had a strat-
egy behind them, something that we do not find behind Stalin’s big-fleet design.
Did the Soviet dictator imbue his dream with a particular strategic idea, a Stalinist
Risikogedanke? Or, as it seemed to most witnesses, was it simply a product of
blind determination to achieve numerical superiority in the USSR’s home wa-
ters, combined with an appreciation of the deterrence that every fleet-in-being
radiates and of the incalculable propaganda effect of sending the red flag around
the world on handsome (Italian-designed) capital ships?
Finally, a study of Stalin’s big-fleet program will give us a yardstick to examine
present-day regional navies that are largely based on Soviet platforms and
equipment and that now are undergoing considerable growth. Among this
number, the Indian navy and, especially, the Chinese navy would appear to have
important elements in common with Stalin’s big-fleet program. The present ex-
pansion of the Chinese navy from a coastal to an oceangoing fleet during the next
ten years or so suggests a parallel that is hard to ignore.
But the year 1905 should be also remembered for an amazingly quick attempt
to restore Russia’s maritime power. Two of its best fleets having been destroyed
in quick succession in the Far East—the Pacific Fleet in and around Port Arthur,
and the Baltic Fleet, after its epic journey around the world, at Tsushima—the
Russian navy found itself without a battle fleet to protect the imperial capital, St.
Petersburg, and the Baltic coastline.
However, the Mahanian quest for an oceangoing battle fleet to win the com-
mand of the sea was not the only policy being proposed. The “Young School”
(named after the French Jeune Ecole, developed in the 1880s by Admiral Aube)
seemed to reflect better Russia’s strategic requirements. The state’s enormously
long coastline, shallow coastal waters, and virtual lack of access to the open sea
made mine warfare and coastal defense in the Baltic and the Black Sea the logical
priorities. Moreover, the Young School seemed to find support in the most re-
cent experience of sea warfare, that against Japan. Most seapower analysts inter-
preted the lessons of the 1904–1905 war in terms of the Japanese experience,
which overwhelmingly favored the Mahanians. The Young School contradicted
the argument that Japan’s success lay in the efficient application of aggressive
seapower, in a decisive encounter of battleships and cruisers. Of Admiral
Heihachiro Togo’s original six modern battleships, two had been lost to Russian-
laid minefields, not gunfire. The other Russian naval success story had been
aggressive cruiser raids against Japanese shipping at the beginning of the war.
Captain Nikolai O. von Essen, in command of the fast cruiser Novik, attached to
the Port Arthur squadron, and the Vladivostok-based cruiser squadron had dis-
rupted communication between the home islands and the Japanese troops on
8
the mainland.
Von Essen was promoted and in November 1908 appointed commander of
the Baltic Fleet. He came up with a radical war plan that was in essence
anti-Mahanian. He proposed that, instead of waiting passively for the superior
German High Seas Fleet to come out and offer a gunnery duel, the Baltic Fleet
concentrate close to the German border at the ice-free base of Libava (now
Liepaja). From there the Russians would initiate offensive minelaying opera-
tions at night, deep in enemy waters, close to the likely routes from Kiel, Stettin,
and Danzig. The proposal was unmistakably similar to Japanese and Russian
minelaying tactics in the Pacific in the 1905 war.
But the Naval General Staff did not like this plan, considering it too risky, and
suggested that the fleet be transferred to Kronstadt and assume as its main task
the defense of the capital against sea attack. Von Essen submitted a compromise
plan, according to which the approach to St. Petersburg, at the narrowest section
of the Gulf of Finland, between Nargen (off Reval) and Porkkala, would be pro-
tected by advanced minefields, by coastal artillery on either shore, and by the
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9
main Baltic battle fleet, in a central position east of the island of Hogland. This
was the war plan with which the tsarist navy entered war in 1914.
The only Russian battle fleet available after Tsushima to demonstrate the va-
lidity of the Mahanian doctrine of seapower survived on the Black Sea. It had
survived the strange masochistic frenzy of Russian patriots who had been ready
to send every floating device against the Japanese at the height of the war.
Leading that choir had been Russia’s most outspoken Mahanian, Captain
Nikolai L. Klado (1862–1919), responsible for the main strategy courses at the
10
Nikolaevsky Naval Academy in St. Petersburg. The Black Sea Fleet consisted
primarily of five predreadnought battleships (with two more being commis-
sioned). Their crews, in a state of semipermanent mutiny, were considered a
11
greater threat to their officers than to the enemy. Moreover, they had no strate-
gic value outside the Black Sea, into which the fleet was locked by Turkish hostil-
ity. (An Allied attempt to open the Dardanelles in 1915 was to fail completely.)
Under such circumstances the costly proposal to introduce four dreadnoughts
to the Black Sea seemed to make little sense. The weak and obsolete Turkish navy
posed no threat (and would not until the German battle cruiser Goeben joined
the Turks at the outbreak of World War I, enabling the Turks to conduct forays
against the Russian coast).
With regard to the Far East, after Tsushima Russia’s dominant feeling was one of
reckoning and revenge, epitomized in the Rasplata—“the payback”—which became
12
the title of the best-selling Russian book of the era. This feeling generated desire
for reconquest as an act of self-defense against the “Yellow Peril,” and irrational fear
that quite a few Russians visualized in the form of a combined Sino-Japanese inva-
13
sion of Siberia, advancing as far as Irkutsk. To offset this threat, huge sums had
to be found for doubling the tracks of the Trans-Siberian Railway and complet-
ing its new branch along the Amur (which was to provide an alternative route to
Vladivostok after the Russian withdrawal from Manchuria).
The crushing military defeat in the Far East, of which the word “Tsushima”
was emblematic, remained deeply engraved on the hearts of Russian patriots.
They were echoed forty years later when Stalin welcomed, in an address free of
any notion of proletarian internationalism, the reoccupation of Port Arthur by
Soviet warships after Japan’s surrender.
believed that the Russian navy would ride on the crest of societal modernization
in the Empire. The young officers felt they were being propelled overnight into a
new age. The demise of Russia’s once numerous but obsolete Navy had been dev-
astating, but the young officers now felt they could start with a new slate.
In early 1908, six Russian and twenty-one foreign companies entered the de-
sign competition for the first Russian dreadnought. The priorities of the Naval
General Staff were known to include four in-line turrets, on the same deck, to
avoid superfiring, and an original arrangement of boilers and turbines that
would produce a top speed of no less than twenty-three knots. The first Russian
dreadnought was meant to be more powerful and faster than any known British
or German dreadnought finished or under construction at the time. (In fact,
however, because of the notorious slowness of Russian shipyards, which needed
three years on average for a capital ship, as against eighteen to twenty months
15
elsewhere, it would be obsolete at launching.)
After the first round of solicitations, three foreign designs remained on the
shortlist: those of Blohm & Voss of Hamburg, British Vickers, and the Italian
naval designer Vittorio Cuniberti (with an innovative layout of four in-line tur-
16
rets on the centerline). However, the Baltic Works of St. Petersburg ended as
the favorite, due to the complexity of credit financing and strong government
pressure. Blohm & Voss seemed to be winning the contract, but Paris protested
strongly. A well-timed French loan proved decisive.
The final Russian design was largely based on that of Cuniberti but with a
number of improvements and special features, such as an eccentric icebreaking
17
bow. Eventually, three series of Russian dreadnoughts were designed: the
twelve-inch-gun Gangut class of four battleships for the Baltic, followed by the
twelve-inch-gun Imperatritsa Maria class of four for the Black Sea, and finally
the faster and bigger fourteen-inch-gun Kinburn class of four battle cruisers for
the Baltic. The battleship classes were completed between 1914 and 1916; the
battle cruisers were launched but never completed.
However, it was not only in the category of dreadnoughts that the Russian
navy scored a success. An even more spectacular innovation was achieved with
the launching in 1911 of the Novik, the fastest and most heavily armed destroyer
18
in the world. It had many features unmatched in any other navy, such as four
quick-firing four-inch guns of exceptional muzzle velocity. Its torpedo arma-
ment was a unique arrangement of three triple launching tubes. It also carried
minelaying equipment, another characteristic feature of Russian destroyers in
the Baltic waters. Novik was built in the Putilov yard in St. Petersburg; its large
oil-fired boilers, supplied by the German Vulcan works in Stettin, gave its tur-
bines an output of almost forty-two thousand horsepower (about the same as
the dreadnought Gangut), which produced a top speed of 37.3 knots during sea
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trials—a speed unmatched by any other destroyer anywhere at the time. Novik
was the name-ship of a whole class of large destroyers subsequently built for the
Baltic and Black Sea Fleets; they were to be workhorses through the early Soviet
period until the Second World War.
Novik would probably have been a match for a light cruiser, in addition to be-
ing fast enough to escape from any ship. No battle fleet commander would relish
a night encounter with a flotilla of Noviks, collectively capable of launching in
one salvo almost a hundred torpedoes, in the narrow waters of the Baltic. Such a
group could also lay a field of about six hundred mines in enemy waters. With
the Noviks Russia had acquired virtually a new class of all-round ships ideally
suited for the major naval task in the Baltic: the protection of the defensive mine
barriers. The creators of the Novik thus provided a weighty argument for the
anti-dreadnought lobby, whose message was that at least for the defense of the
19
Baltic coast, the four cherished dreadnoughts were unnecessary.
As a direct consequence of the domestic shakeup following the disaster in the
Far East, the Russian autocracy had to make way for constitutional reforms. In
spite of war and revolution the Russian Empire completed its first comprehen-
sive modern census in 1897–1907; its statistics placed Russia in second place
20
among the great powers, after the United States. The discussion concerning
new ship constructions and the reorganization of the Russian navy after
Tsushima was wide-ranging. The debate did not merely involve Russian
Mahanians and their opponents; many formal and informal groups (kruzhki)
and individuals joined in, as did the leading naval journal, Morskoi sbornik.
Other participants in the debate—such as the Naval General Staff, the Navy
Ministry, the War Ministry, the Army General Staff, the State Defense Council,
the Finance Ministry, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and legislative groups and
committees in the State Duma (the imperial parliament)—completed the pic-
ture of late-imperial Russian as a bustling and intellectually vibrant community,
of which no equivalent was to be found in Stalin’s dictatorship twenty years
21
later. Pressure groups like the Navy Renewal League (Liga Obnovleniya Flota)
followed the pattern established in the British navy by the Navy League and the
22
German by the Flottenverein. The Special Committee for Strengthening the
Fleet by Voluntary Donation carried out a fund-raising and national subscrip-
23
tion effort that paid for the Novik. Of great importance was the Naval Technical
Commission, with its Chief Shipbuilding Inspector, A. N. Krylov, known as “the
master of Russian hydrodynamics,” whose long career extended from Tsushima
to the eve of World War II. Other ship constructors of this period—like I. G.
Bubnov, A. I. Maslov, G. F. Schlesinger—were still to be around when Stalin’s
24
big-fleet program was launched. By that time, however, there was to be no open
discussion; critical questions could cost one’s life.
In 1912, the argument could be reduced to three basic questions. What sort of
navy does Russia need? Where and how should it be deployed? Were the re-
sources needed for it at hand? As we shall see, the same questions were to haunt
Stalin twenty years later.
Tsarist Russia aspired to three more or less balanced fleets in three parts of the
world: the Baltic Fleet in northeastern Europe (the newly founded Arctic Flotilla
was an extension of the Baltic Fleet), the Black Sea Fleet in southern Europe, and
the Pacific Fleet in the Far East. The latter had been the strongest in 1904; in the
war, however, it lost most of its ships and its chief base, the ice-free Port Arthur.
Only a small cruiser squadron based in Vladivostok was left. Underlying the in-
tensive discussions on the post-Tsushima naval programs was always the ques-
tion of whether Russia could afford to remain a great power in three seas
simultaneously.
In 1914, after the launching of the first Russian dreadnought, an enterprising
naval enthusiast who wished to remain anonymous suggested building a canal
system between the Baltic and the Black Sea, should all of the anticipated twelve
Russian dreadnoughts be needed in one sea for a decisive action. He recom-
mended connecting Russia’s navigable rivers with a canal big enough for huge
pontoons about 120 feet wide with twelve-foot drafts, in which dreadnoughts
could be towed by tugboats downstream to the Black Sea in from twenty-five to
thirty days. The recent successful widening of the Kiel Canal and the construc-
25
tion of the Panama Canal may have inspired the author. Not even the Soviets,
with their almost unlimited supply of slave labor, were able to take up such a
challenge. They did, however, use both river canals and railways to move small
naval craft and segments of ships. Even during World War I small submarines
were transported by rail to the Pacific, and destroyers assembled in Kherson on
the Black Sea had subsections shipped from elsewhere.
In spite of recommendations by the State Defense Council and the em-
peror’s endorsement, new construction could not begin immediately, because
the Duma could not bring together the necessary votes. It took more than a
year of bitter and exhausting debate before the necessary measure passed.
Class instincts, reflecting the recent revolution and breakdown of law and or-
der, were at issue rather than concern for regaining great-power status. The
right wing intuitively supported strengthening the army rather than the navy,
because the former could be also used to quell insurrections, for which sailors
were notoriously unreliable. However, once the finance ministry obtained
credits in France (mentioned below) for the construction of the four dread-
noughts in the Baltic, the moderate right, the Octobrists, supported the tsar’s
wishes for shipbuilding. In the center, the Constitutional Democrats (Kadets)
opposed any increase of the Baltic Fleet but voted for the expansion of the
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Black Sea Fleet. Their leader, the well known liberal historian Paul N.
Milyukov, argued that the Kadets opposed not the construction of a battle fleet
but the idea of having one in the Baltic, as a waste of resources since a European
war was, in their view, highly unlikely. The Near East was another matter. War
there could break out any moment, the Kadets were sure, and Russia should be
prepared for action in the south. As for the political left in the Duma, the Social
Democrats and the Trudoviki (properly, the Social Revolutionaries, known in
Russian as the “Esery”), true to their antimilitarist ideology, consistently voted
26
against any allocations for either the army or navy.
Thus it was after considerable delay that the Duma finally voted the sums
needed for the “small” naval program of 1912. Even with the French loan, the
Russian naval budget in 1913–14 came close to 250 million rubles, thereby out-
stripping all other nations—with the exception of Great Britain and the United
States, but including Germany, the navy of which was by then number two in the
world. Had the Russian Empire survived to 1930 without wars or revolution, its
navy, according to the original, larger construction program of 1912, would have
consisted of twenty-four battleships, twelve battle cruisers, twenty-four small
27
cruisers, 108 large destroyers, and thirty-six submarines.
These, then, were paper figures, but they were by no means unrealistic, given
Russia’s enormous potential and rapid industrial growth, sustained over two de-
cades and second only to that of the United States. The financial means having
been voted by the Duma, a carefully calibrated expansion of Russia’s shipbuild-
ing capacity was the next prerequisite. As it happened, however, the peaceful in-
terval of less than nine years Russia enjoyed after Tsushima proved too short.
The outbreak of the First World War resulted in the call-up by the army of ship-
yard workers, chaotic conditions on the railroads, and mass industrial unrest.
The half-finished Borodino-class super-dreadnoughts in the Baltic had to be
canceled, and out of fifty-three destroyers planned for the Baltic and Black Sea
28
only thirty were ultimately commissioned. So it was that when after the war-
fare and revolution that engulfed the nation between 1914 and 1922, Russia
reemerged in a new imperial reincarnation under a ruthless dictator, Joseph V.
Stalin, the naval strategic questions remained the same. Would Russia ever re-
gain its lost position as a great sea power? What strategy would it choose?
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substantially shrunk when the Bolsheviks lost all the advanced bases in Finland
and along the Baltic coast. Only ice-bound Kronstadt, guarding the approach to
Leningrad (ex–St. Petersburg, ex-Petrograd), remained.
The Old School versus the Young School
One of the little-known paradoxes of the period immediately after the Civil War
was that the young Bolshevik cadets at the former Imperial Naval Academy (now
the Voroshilov Naval War College) and the Frunze Army Staff College continued
to be exposed in matters of strategy to the same curriculum as their predecessors.
Ex-tsarist officers, pupils of Professor Klado, Boris B. Gervais, and Mikhail A.
Petrov, taught the Bolshevik midshipmen that in order to achieve effective com-
mand of the maritime approaches, the socialist Motherland must aspire to a
31
traditional high-seas fleet of battleships and cruisers. In other words, there was
no shortcut, even for a new proletarian power like Soviet Russia.
Gervais and Petrov became known as exponents of the Old School. They were
soon to be challenged by the Young School. Like their predecessors in the 1880s,
the proponents of the Soviet Young School would insist that the command of
the sea was to be obtained not through idle battleships but by cruisers, subma-
rines, and other smaller craft aggressively attacking enemy shipping. Led by the
Navy Commissar V. I. Zof and one of the younger Bolshevik commanders, L. M.
32
Ludri, they silenced their opponents.
Unable to preach the tenets of the Old School, Gervais and Petrov underwent
a remarkable metamorphosis between 1923 and 1924, proposing a new “active
defense” theory that suggested the use of submarines and other small units un-
33
der cover of land-based naval aircraft. This approach proved acceptable to the
Soviet high command. (Unsurprisingly, this theory has today proven attractive
to another large regional power with a lengthy coast to defend, China.) The de-
fenders of the Old School were to meet a characteristically ironic fate: Gervais
and Petrov were eventually executed in the purges, even though their original
belief in big ships was embraced by Stalin himself.
The most interesting initiative in the shipbuilding industry, however, was the
construction of entirely new yards in remote areas of the Arctic and the Far East.
Shipyards were built also in the interior at important industrial centers that
could be reached by canal from the open sea.
The new Shipyard 402 at Molotovsk (renamed Severodvinsk after 1957) can
serve as a chilling example of these efforts. An estimated 120,000 slave laborers
were brought here in the 1930s to construct the shipyard. Stalin envisaged it as
becoming the largest shipyard with covered building ways in the world. The con-
struction shed measured some 1,100 feet in length and 450 in width; it could ac-
commodate two super-battleships of the Sovetskii Soyuz class side by side. It
remains today the only major shipyard in the world above the Arctic Circle capa-
ble of building the largest warships, now mostly nuclear submarines. During
World War II the unfinished yard completed submarines laid down in Lenin-
grad and at the new Krasnoe Sormovo Shipyard 112, near Gorkii on the Volga
River, and brought to Severodvinsk through the canal-river system. After the
war several Sverdlov-class cruisers were built there.
Another Stalinist creation of this period was Shipyard 199 at Komsomolsk,
about 280 miles up the Amur River, started in 1932. Since the Amur is not deep
enough, larger ships must be towed downstream after launching to be fitted out
at coastal shipyards. Nonetheless, its location had the advantage of being out of
range of Japanese aviation and out of reach by warships. This shipyard would
later become a major shipbuilding facility for the restored Pacific Fleet. Like the
yard in Molotovsk (Severodvinsk), the Komsomolsk yard was to be capable of
constructing two battleships side by side in a covered building. In 1935 a large
iron and steel mill, known as Amurstal, was begun about five miles from
Komsomolsk. Complete self-sufficiency was not regarded as possible, however;
components were sent in from the European factories and shipyards. No battle-
ships were built at Komsomolsk, but in 1938 the keels of two heavy cruisers,
Kalinin and Kaganovich, were laid down. These cruisers, commissioned only after
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the end of the war, were the first and last cruisers built and finished here; surface
ships built at Komsomolsk were mainly destroyers and frigates. During the war
the shipyard had a workforce of five thousand, half of them women, and six
building ways in two large covered halls. In the 1960s Komsomolsk became, after
34
Molotovsk, the second Soviet shipyard to construct nuclear submarines.
Although the Soviet Union had a longer coastline than any other nation, over
sixteen thousand nautical miles (by comparison, the U.S. coastlines without
Alaska total just under eleven thousand nautical miles), naval facilities and ship-
building industries were historically confined to certain areas. The St. Peters-
burg/Leningrad area and Nikolaev in the south were particularly important,
though the Black Sea shorelines (867 nautical miles) and the Baltic coast (988
nautical miles in pre-1991 borders) accounted for only a fraction of the total mari-
time frontier.
Thus the history of Russian shipyards on the Baltic Sea is inextricably linked
with the history of St. Petersburg. The oldest shipyard, the Main Admiralty
Yards, was founded in 1705 but closed in 1844; shipbuilding soon shifted to the
New Admiralty Shipyards about a mile downstream on the left bank of the Neva
(during the Soviet period renamed for A. Marti and referred to as No. 194). In
1908, the New Admiralty Yard merged with the second-largest shipyard in Rus-
sia, on Galernyi Island. The enlarged New Admiralty Yard built two Gangut-class
dreadnoughts and two of the Borodino class. In 1939 the keel was laid down here
for the first of the Kronshtadt-class battle cruisers (never finished) of Stalin’s
big-fleet program.
Next in size was the Baltic (Baltiiskii) shipyard, founded in 1856 (in the Soviet era
the Ordzhonikidze Shipyard, No. 189), also capable of building the largest warships.
It was located across the Neva from the Galernyi Island yard. The Baltiiskii yard
launched two cruisers of the Kirov class (1935–39) and two of the Chapaev class
(completed only after the war); in 1938 it saw the laying down of the first Soviet
super-dreadnought, the Sovetskii Soyuz, meant to be the mainstay of Stalin’s
big-fleet program. After World War II Baltiiskii built six of the Sverdlov cruisers.
The Putilov Works (renamed in 1935 for A. A. Zhdanov and designated
No. 190), divided into two separate plants, was the largest among the
prerevolutionary private firms. Its original engine plant opened a second loca-
tion as a shipyard in 1911, operated by the leading German shipbuilder, Blohm
& Voss of Hamburg. Putilov was in charge of the construction of the innovative
Novik-class destroyer.
Through 1917 the number of shipyards in the St. Petersburg area grew to
thirteen. Nine of them also built steam engines, and two of them, Izhora and
Putilov, also produced armor plate. Moreover, the Putilov and Obukhov works
35
produced heavy artillery pieces as well.
The second major center of Russian shipbuilding was the old port of
Nikolaev on the Bug River and the Black Sea. The Andre Marti Shipyard (No.
198) was once the largest private Russian shipyard on the Black Sea. Before the
Bolshevik Revolution it built many warships, including two of four Russian
Black Sea dreadnoughts. In the 1930s the Soviets initiated the construction here
of such warships as cruisers of the Voroshilov and Frunze classes, work that cul-
minated in the laying down in 1938 of the battleship Sovetskaya Ukraina of the
Sovetskii Soyuz class and in 1939 of the battle cruiser Sevastopol. (Work on the
two capital ships stopped in October 1940 and never resumed.) The Nikolaev
yard was to witness in 1949 Stalin’s capital-ship “swan song,” when it started
under direct orders of Stalin in 1949 the only Soviet postwar battle cruiser, the
Stalingrad. The ship is said to have been about 60 percent complete and ready for
launching when Stalin suddenly died in March 1953 and all work on the last Soviet
dreadnought ceased. The other large shipyard in the area, “The Sixty-one
Communards” (No. 200) yard, began in the eighteenth century as the major Admi-
ralty facility on the Black Sea. Most of the battleships for the Black Sea were built
here. In 1910 the government decided to close it, but it was reopened in the follow-
ing year as the French-owned Russian Shipbuilding Corporation (RUSSUD). Since
1930 the yard had built light cruisers, destroyers, and submarines.
Owing to the severity of the Russian winter, all Russian building berths (with
the exception of those on the Black Sea) were covered. If construction was to
continue year round, it had to be done in a roofed shed with solid walls, with an
end that could be opened when the vessel was launched. Because domestic ship-
building potential was so limited and Stalin’s expansionist dreams were so big,
Soviet diplomats were ordered, paradoxically, to purchase from “capitalist ene-
mies” what was needed for the “Big Navy Program”: latest blueprints, parts,
weapons, engines, even entire battleships. This approach would give Stalin’s
big-fleet program a bizarre twist, normally encountered in the world of fiction—
like George Orwell’s Animal Farm—as teams of Soviet diplomats went abroad in
search of naval technology. Because Japan was excluded and Britain uninterested,
the choice was limited to the four remaining major naval powers. As early as 1934–35
negotiations were initiated with France to deliver plans for cruisers and flotilla lead-
ers, but the French were reluctant to close the deal. Help, however, was found in fascist
Italy. The firm Ansaldo of Genoa was approached during 1935 and agreed to deliver
blueprints for a battleship of forty-two thousand tons of displacement (design
UP-41). This design was used to make further improvements on the Soviet bat-
tleship “project 25,” which would eventually lead to a heavier version, the
super-dreadnought Sovetskii Soyuz class (project 23) of over sixty thousand tons’
displacement and equipped with nine sixteen-inch guns. Ansaldo was also respon-
sible for the first designs leading to the Kirov-class cruisers, to be built in Leningrad
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worldwide naval arms race, which would have increased his fear of surprise at-
tack, especially from Germany and Japan. A third cause can be traced to Stalin’s
desire to increase the international prestige of the Soviet Union as a great power
and at the same time as the motherland of the world’s proletariat, a motherland
that understands how to arm itself.
Regarding the first motivation, between 1931 and the end of 1935 the Soviet
Union produced for its armed forces, the “armed vanguard of the World Prole-
tariat,” almost fourteen thousand tanks and between 10,267 and 13,728 military
aircraft—a staggering volume exceeding many times the entire arsenal of the
42
world. Elements of these forces were to be tested soon in Spain and in China,
and their quality gained international recognition. It is not hard to imagine Stalin—
who, according to people around him, loved big warships in any case—asking
why the USSR could not build mighty warships as well to overawe its enemies.
Stalin’s second motivation was his gloomy assessment of the international situ-
ation, in which three particular “non–status quo” powers—Japan, Germany, and
Italy—were trying to bring about radical changes that might start another major
war. Stalin knew that the USSR was isolated. He chose two strategies to answer this
challenge. The first was the “If you cannot beat them, join them” strategy, by
which he allowed Commissar for Foreign Affairs Maxim Litvinov to pursue col-
lective security, culminating in the USSR’s joining the League of Nations in 1934
and in signing mutual-assistance pacts with France and Czechoslovakia during
1935. The second strategy was that of massive militarization, even while dissemi-
nating intensive antiwar propaganda for domestic and foreign consumption. It
was against this background that in 1936 the big-fleet program was launched.
In attempting to explain why, naval historian Captain Mikhail S. Monakov
43
starts with Stalin’s decision making. Monakov remains convinced not only that
Stalin himself made all the key decisions but that he made them in late 1935—six
or ten months prior to the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. Moreover,
Monakov argues Stalin’s decision was preceded by a well-orchestrated and thor-
oughly prepared propaganda campaign, in which fleet reconstruction was tied
to a recent political education campaign on improving efficiency within the
navy. The Soviet Union was then in the grips of the Stakhanovite movement,
with its unrealistically high “norms,” and the quest for higher efficiency and pro-
ductivity was pursued within the armed forces with even greater vigor than in
the civilian sector. The emerging Soviet patriotism, which had replaced the earlier
“internationalism,” functioned as a powerful stimulus to link up naval rearma-
44
ment with the new nationalism.
As has been mentioned, Soviet production of tanks and warplanes had been
remarkable and became one of the key factors in the new propaganda message
that modern warships could be built from scratch just as quickly. Stalin
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refrained from mentioning fleet expansion publicly; he let others do it for him.
At the XVII Party Congress in 1934, Marshal of the Soviet Union and Commis-
sar for Defense Kliment E. Voroshilov linked the achievements in rapid industri-
alization with the expectation that “we shall be able to create our shipbuilding
industry and soon produce our fleets, which will become the most powerful
45
among workers-and-farmers navies.” In the following year pro-navy public
pronouncements were rather muted until Pravda reported on an important 24
December meeting in the Kremlin in which Stalin and the entire Soviet leader-
ship received a large delegation of younger commanders of the reestablished Pa-
cific Fleet. At the end of the reception, the Soviet leaders invited the
commanders of the Red Army and Navy to prepare and submit as soon as possi-
ble a draft proposal concerning the buildup of a “mighty sea and oceangoing
fleet.”46 It was clear that this was more than a casual public-relations exercise;
Stalin would not have allowed without premeditation or calculated purpose
such a conspicuous public pronouncement.
Another factor on Stalin’s mind was the international naval arms race, which
in the mid-1930s seemed unstoppable. One of the first trespasses against the
arms limitation treaties had already occurred, the completion by the Germans in
1932 of the “pocket battleship” Deutschland. This vessel did not fit any category
laid down by the naval treaties of Washington (1922) or London (1930). Two
more of the class were added before Germany launched two “fully grown” battle-
ships of the Scharnhorst class in 1936, to be followed two years later by two even
mightier ships of the Bismarck class. France first responded, building two fast
battleships of the Dunkerque class. Italy reacted by pushing the construction of
its first thirty-five-thousand-ton battleship, the Vittorio Veneto. In 1935 France
announced contracts for a Richelieu class, two battleships of 38,500 tons each. Italy
responded with two more heavy battleships, while England started five King
George V–class battleships, thirty-eight thousand tons each. The United States
produced two North Carolinas and four South Dakotas, armed with nine sixteen-
inch guns and exceeding thirty-five thousand tons. Last, but outsizing all their
competitors, the Japanese started to build in 1937 the four Yamatos, the heaviest
ships under steam, exceeding sixty thousand tons and armed with the biggest arma-
47
ment yet produced, nine eighteen-inch guns.
As early as 1935 the Soviet navy minister, Admiral V. M. Orlov, instructed the
Voroshilov Naval War College to prepare preliminary drawings of battleships
that would respond to the new challenge. Several projects were drawn up for the
Baltic Sea, having in mind the new German battleship Scharnhorst as an oppo-
nent; for the Pacific Fleet a heavier type of thirty-five thousand tons and nine
sixteen-inch guns, modeled on the British Lord Nelson class, was proposed. At
the same time, as mentioned above, the Italian Ansaldo navy yard in Genoa was
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demonstrated in his fondness for “big things”—in this case an obsession with
54
big battleships. At least one Western historian sees it differently. Commander
R. V. Herrick, arguably the most perceptive American expert on Soviet naval
power, considers crucial Stalin’s rational assessment of the Spanish Civil War
and of the limitations imposed by the 1936 London Naval Conference. Appar-
ently Stalin concluded that Soviet diplomats had no chance to be listened to, be-
cause they had no big naval guns behind them. Other countries looked down on
the Soviet Union, assuming that the Soviet navy’s potential lay in small subma-
rines exclusively. Herrick also correctly recognized Stalin’s long-term interest in
transferring present and future Russian oceangoing warships to open waters
55
rather than keep them bottled up in the Baltic and Black Seas.
It has been argued that in the beginning of the 1930s, Stalin would not oppose
the prevailing theory of the limited and defensive function of the Soviet naval
forces, as represented by the Jeune Ecole. Although inwardly he was already shift-
ing toward defense by big ships, he would not oppose the removal of the old offi-
cers from the tsarist navy who like himself supported big ships—for many of
56
whom “removal” was a one-way trip. Furthermore, the initiative to build the
big fleet could not have come from the military, for the Ministry of Defense was
under the control of the army and traditionally viewing the navy as supporting
the ground forces. Clearly there are inconsistencies either in our understanding
of the events or in Stalin’s behavior, or both.
In the end of 1935, under Stalin’s direct orders, a special commission was ap-
pointed, representing the highest national-security decision-making bodies of
the Soviet government—the Council of Labor and Defense of the Council of
People’s Commissars, as well as the chairman of the state planning agency—to
57
review existing and future naval plans. In early 1936 the commission severely
criticized the implementation of the shipbuilding program of the current Sec-
ond Five-Year Plan. Only two of eight light cruisers had been laid down. Such
delays also plagued three destroyer leaders of the “Project 7” Leningrad class, un-
der construction since 1932 (during the First Five-Year Plan). The first ship had
been launched in November 1933 but three years later was still not in commis-
sion. Heads began to roll.
Consequently, between 1936 and 1937, amid intensified political purges, several
plans for the “big navy” program were drafted. According to the April 1936 version
there were to be completed by 1947 fifteen battleships, twenty-two large cruisers,
thirty-two light cruisers, 162 leaders and destroyers, 412 submarines, and many an-
cillary vessels—exceeding 1,300,000 tons altogether. In June the number of battle-
ships was increased to twenty-four and that of the light cruisers reduced to twenty;
58
there were now to be 182 destroyers and 344 submarines. Four or five subsequent
modifications kept the cumulative tonnage of Stalin’s big fleet growing. By the draft
plan of August 1939 the number of combat vessels had grown to 699, over 2.5 mil-
lion tons, in addition to several hundreds of auxiliary vessels totaling almost half a
million additional tons.
The reborn Pacific Fleet was to account for almost 40 percent of this inventory, in
order to be capable of defeating the Japanese on the open sea, to destroy their home
bases and fisheries, occupy the Kurils, and disrupt Japan’s sea communications. The
Baltic Fleet was expected to sink not only all German warships but also the Polish,
Swedish, and Finnish fleets, as well as the three small Baltic republics. Soviet subma-
rines were expected to sink 120,000 tons of German shipping monthly. The Black
Sea Fleet was to sink the naval forces of Italy, Romania, Bulgaria, and Turkey. As for
the Northern Fleet, its task was to prevent Germany from landing troops in the Arc-
59
tic and to disrupt communications in the North Atlantic.
There were, of course, substantial differences between views of the Army and
Navy in this connection—over the use of aircraft carriers, for instance. Marshal
Yegorov, the chief of the general staff, wanted six of them—two for the Northern
Fleet and four for the Far East. Orlov at first wanted only two small carriers, and he
60
later gave them up entirely to please Stalin.
Drafts were usually prepared in great haste and in great secrecy, not by naval
experts but by top officials, who did not call upon the available pool of special-
ists and theoreticians. In any case, such experts, like M. A. Petrov, had already
been dismissed from the navy. According to testimony of Admiral L. M. Galler,
commander of the Baltic Fleet in 1936, one of the very few officers from the
tsarist navy who survived the purges, Stalin would summon his fleet com-
manders in 1936 and ask them briskly, “What kind of ships with what kind of
ordnance do we need?” Galler recalled that the fleet commanders would unan-
imously recommend that priority be given to submarines but disagreed on the
bigger surface ships. The commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral M. V.
Viktorov, favored big ships for his vast spaces, whereas the commander of the
Black Sea Fleet, Admiral I. K. Kozhanov, naturally advocated a fleet consisting
mostly of destroyers, with some cruisers. Stalin would impatiently and con-
temptuously release the admirals with the remark, “Even you yourselves have lit-
61
tle idea what you need!”
Fearing his wrath, the navy leadership timidly avoided internal debate on this
issue. Admiral Orlov issued on 15 July 1936 the order, “Stop discussion between
62
the industry and professors from the naval academy.” The contrast with the in-
tellectual climate of the tsarist navy twenty-four years earlier could not have
been greater with the veil of absolute secrecy that surrounded Stalin’s big-fleet
program. Stalin himself insisted on it. Gensek—“General Secretary,” as he was
known—would regularly inspect the ship designs but would not allow fleet
commanders to learn what was going on in their own shipyards.63
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and a depot ship, to participate in the international naval force. A recent interna-
tional agreement regulating the passage through the Dardanelles—a convention
reached at Montreux, Switzerland, in July 1936, just as the Spanish Civil War
broke out—authorized the USSR, as a Black Sea power, to send its warships
through the Straits freely in peacetime.
Admiral Orlov, however, was against naval intervention in Spain. In his opin-
ion the inadequate Soviet navy could not spare a single combat ship for overseas
duties. In any case, he argued, a squadron would be so weak and obsolete that the
impact on the country’s prestige would be utterly negative. Stalin seemed to accept
68
Orlov’s view at the time but would later use it against him. In July 1937 Orlov was
relieved of his command, arrested, and sentenced to be shot as a British spy.
The Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement of 1937
One of the important factors contributing to the big-fleet program—less to its
adoption than to the speed and direction with which it was carried out—was the
Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement of 17 July 1937. This agreement with Great Brit-
ain—traditionally the leading sea power—provided Moscow a cloak of respect-
ability in the international maritime sphere, as did its membership in the League
of Nations in the political arena. Once again, the deteriorating situation in the
Far East played a role in Stalin’s decision to come to terms with England, since
the Soviet navy could then direct the bulk of its big new warships against Japan.
It is not always easy to assess correctly the dual role that the Soviet Union
played on the international stage, first as the headquarters of a communist world
revolution, and only secondarily as an ordinary nation-state. Though it signed
international treaties with the newly created Japanese puppet state of Manchu-
ria and the new regime in Germany, Moscow had never abandoned the dream of
69
world revolution.
Under the cover of its pacifist propaganda, the Soviet Union began to rearm
soon after the victory of Nazism in Germany. In the naval field this began during
1935, when Great Britain, to accommodate German aspirations, signed in June
1935—in a clear breach of the Versailles Peace Treaty—an agreement with Nazi
Germany lifting restrictions on all ship categories, including submarines. The
Soviets saw no option but to catch up with naval rearmament, which they had
70
neglected for so long.
One of the practical signs of the seriousness of Soviet aspirations was the Anglo-
Soviet Naval Agreement of 17 July 1937, modified on 6 July 1938. The new
agreement extended the tonnage limit of capital ships to forty-five thousand
71
tons. The agreement also banned new Soviet cruisers until 1943, a proviso that
Moscow countersigned knowing that it was already in breach of it. The Soviet
Union had been invited to participate in none of the three international naval
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The Soviet shortlist seems endless, even in retrospect: complete materials for
the construction of four light cruisers; two hulls of heavy cruisers of the Admiral
Hipper class; coastal and ship guns of all calibers; torpedoes and mines; optical
range finders, fire control directors, and hydro-acoustical devices; and the entire
set of blueprints for the battleship Bismarck, the Hipper class of heavy cruisers,
the Scharnhorst-class battle cruiser, and the (never finished) aircraft carrier Graf
Zeppelin. In the early summer of 1940, the Germans reluctantly allowed the
Soviets to tow to Leningrad the half-finished heavy cruiser Lützow (renamed
Petropavlovsk), to be completed there. Stalin was hoping that by hard bargain-
ing, Hitler could be induced to sell further equipment needed for the big fleet—
“leftovers” from the unfinished third Bismarck. When the Soviets found out that
the Germans had six fifteen-inch guns and turrets in excess, two battle cruisers
of the Kronstadt class, their hulls already laid down, had quickly to be redesigned
to receive these much heavier main batteries. The new cruisers of the Chkalov
class (project 68-I), under construction in Leningrad, had similarly to be rede-
signed to receive German 150 mm guns and triple turrets.
By early 1940, the war in Europe was raging, and the race for time was be-
coming desperate; the U.S. shipyards were not delivering any battleships to the
Soviets, and the Germans were reluctant. It became obvious that the ambitious
targets of the Third Five-Year Plan could not be met. On 27 July the “big fleet”
program was reduced from fifteen battleships to ten, from sixteen battle cruisers
to eight, and to fourteen cruisers, although the plan now envisioned, for the first
84
time, two small aircraft carriers for the Pacific Fleet. The Soviet military leader-
ship began to prepare for strategic deployment in the West against possible German
attack. Stalin, however, wished to delay involvement in a general war “among impe-
rialists”as long as possible and to take advantage of the German technical assistance,
especially naval. When between the summer of 1940 and June 1941 the Soviet naval
high command wisely proposed to halt construction of capital ships to free capacity
for lighter surface craft and submarines and to save high-quality steel for other ar-
mament, Stalin stalled. When Kuznetsov asked to scrap the two battle cruisers on
the ways, still at least two years from completion, Stalin refused. He also refused to
cancel work on the Sovetskii Soiuz class and ordered the construction of the cruisers
85
to be continued regardless.
More comparative research must be done in order to prove that Stalin had pur-
sued a Soviet Flottenpolitik since the end of 1935 and that it played a central role in
the Nazi-Soviet negotiations in the late 1930s. Moreover, if that policy weighed so
heavily on Stalin’s mind and his decision making, since Nazi Germany had become
in 1939 the sole foreign supplier of vital naval equipment, Stalin must have strongly
desired to avoid war with Germany in order to win even one extra year for the com-
pletion of the big warships. Thus, the “big fleet” hypothesis would directly oppose
86
what is known as the “Icebreaker” theory, that Stalin wanted to attack Hitler first.
The big-fleet hypothesis is still plausible even if Stalin’s navy, which relied so much
on German assistance, might have been eventually used against Germany (rather
than against Japan after 1946); this factor makes Stalin’s decision-making process
even more intriguing. In 1941, however, the years required for the fleet’s construc-
tion lay ahead, and Stalin had weighty reason for keeping the Nazis busy elsewhere.
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After the Soviet victory in 1945, incredibly, Stalin resumed his dream of ac-
quiring an oceangoing fleet but found that the acquisition of battleships from
abroad was even more troublesome than before the war. Stalin, who still refused
to have aircraft carriers, decided to settle for heavy (battle) cruisers, which became
the focus of his fantasy in the last three years of his life. The resulting Stalingrad
battle cruiser, however, was never to be completed. When Stalin died, Stalingrad
died with him. The construction of cruisers, however—the launching of the Kirov
class in 1936, to which the Chapaev class was added after the war—went ahead
under full steam. It continued even after Stalin’s death in 1953 through the
Sverdlov class, the most accomplished Soviet cruiser, of which half out of the
originally planned twenty-four hulls were completed by 1960. Thereafter the
Soviet Union took a different course as a naval power, relying more on nuclear
submarines with fast missile boats. Strategically too the world geopolitical map
changed radically after World War II. The superpower rivalry between the
United States and the USSR meant that the small and technologically inadequate
Soviet navy had to face global tasks on the world oceans while still confronted
with the old limitations in its regional waters. However, all of the Soviet navy’s
former rivals, including the Germans, the Italians, and above all the Japanese,
were no longer threats after 1945. The lack of hostile neighboring naval powers
made the gradual resurgence of Soviet seapower possible.
While the Soviet Union’s strategic dilemma regarding the closed Black Sea re-
mained the same, the USSR acquired two large ice-free naval bases, Kaliningrad
(ex-Koenigsberg) in the Baltic and Port Arthur in the Far East. However, when
measured against the superior NATO and U.S. naval power in the Mediterra-
nean, the Atlantic, and the Pacific, these Soviet gains were only marginal, not
revolutionary improvements in the global strategic constellation. The idea of a big
fleet had to be abandoned and replaced by a strategy based on smaller warships,
harassing enemy shipping, and securing command of the sea by other means.
Thus in 1946, instead of a battle fleet of twenty-four new battleships and bat-
tle cruisers able to challenge capitalist navies throughout the world, the postwar
Soviet navy had only its two old and several-times-refloated ex-tsarist dread-
noughts in the Baltic, one leased Royal Navy battleship of the same age in the
Northern Fleet, and two more dreadnoughts in the Black Sea, consisting of one
ex-tsarist and one ex-Italian war-reparation battleship. It had no battleships in
the Pacific Fleet at all.
However, Stalin’s successors wisely abandoned the urge to possess huge and
expensive capital ships for showing the red flag abroad. Nikita S. Khrushchev
even denigrated his own flagship during a 1959 trip to the United States “as good
only for state visits and . . . as a missile target!” and announced that the remain-
88
ing cruisers under construction were to be scrapped. This casual dismissal of the
Soviet flagship was indeed the death knell of Stalin’s big-fleet program—but not
yet the end of the Red Navy itself. One could consider the launching of Sputnik
in 1957 to be the new watershed in the development of the Soviet navy. The new
leaders of the Soviet Union, while challenging the American superpower, looked
to space, not the sea.
Under the leadership of Admiral Sergei Gorshkov, Kuznetsov’s successor, the
Soviet navy would undergo a remarkable metamorphosis, combined with a rad-
ical modernization and expansion program. During the 1970s, the Soviets
achieved a close parity with the U.S. Navy and in some categories—like subma-
rines and small missile-carrying boats—even gained the upper hand. In 1972,
Norman Polmar, the foremost U.S. authority on the Soviet navy, stated that “to-
day the Soviet Union can boast the world’s largest and most modern surface
navy; the largest and most modern ocean research and fishing fleets.”89
By the early 1980s, while still finding it impossible to challenge the U.S. su-
premacy in large fleet carriers, Russia was still a power to be reckoned with. Less
than ten years later, however, the once-threatening Soviet navy, together with the
rest of the Soviet armed forces, began an irreversible decline. In a matter of years
the collapse of the world’s most powerful war machine was clear for all to see in
the rusting ship-graveyards of Petropavlovsk, Vladivostok, Polyarnoe,
Kronstadt, Kaliningrad, and Sevastopol. But even after more than a decade of
steady decline—as well as tragedy, such as the loss of the nuclear submarine
Kursk with its entire crew—the Russian navy still remains nuclear and the sec-
ond most powerful in the world. It overreached itself under Stalin, but under
Gorshkov it took a more innovative approach against which the United States
for a while could not find an adequate response. It is now in the hollow of a wave,
but who can tell when the next uplift will arrive?
NOTES
1. Schwendemann, Heinrich, Die wirtschaftliche it had to be assumed that England could smash
Zusammenarbeit zwischen dem Deutschen Reich the budding German naval program during its
und der Sowjetunion von 1939 bis 1941: Alter- first years after inception (hence the nickname
native zu Hitlers Ostprogramm (Berlin: Akad- of Tirpitz’s navy during the first years,
emie Verlag, 1993). English summary in Risikoflotte).
Cahiers du monde russe 36, nos. 1–2 (1995), 4. D. C. Watt’s pioneering article “Stalin’s First
pp. 161–78. Bid for Sea Power, 1933–1941,” U.S. Naval
2. See Admiral Kuznetsov’s memoirs, Krutye Institute Proceedings (June 1964), is a rare
povoroty (Moscow: Molodaya Gvardiya, exception.
1995). 5. Gabriel Gorodetsky, Grand Delusion: Stalin
3. Risk was an indispensable element of Admiral and the German Invasion of Russia (New Ha-
Tirpitz’s naval strategy to challenge England, as ven, Conn.: Yale Univ. Press, 1999).
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6. I. P. Spasskii et al., Istoriya otechestvennogo Russia’s Asian Heartland Yesterday and Today
sudostroieniya (St. Petersburg: Sudostroienie, (Boston: Hyman Unwin, 1990).
1996), vol. 1, pp. 170–71. 14. M. A. Petrov, Podgotovka Rossii k mirovoi
7. A good example that illustrates this ignorance voine na more [The preparedness of Russia
in the West is the commentary to Sergei for world war at sea] (Leningrad: Gosvoen-
Gorshkov’s relevant chapter covering the recon- izdat, 1926), p. 96.
struction of the Soviet navy, 1928–41. Although 15. Vickers had offered to build the first Russian
Gorshkov refers explicitly to the big-navy dreadnought in twenty months, which must
construction program of the late 1930s, his have offended Russian national pride. See
American commentator, Vice Admiral J. F. Spasskii, vol. 3, p. 131ff.
Calvert, decided to bypass the reference com-
pletely. See Sergei G. Gorshkov, Red Star Ris- 16. Cuniberti designed the first Italian dread-
ing at Sea (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute nought, Dante Alighieri, in 1907, which had
Press, 1974), pp. 65–75. its four triple-gun turrets on the centerline.
Westwood, p. 66.
8. In the early days of the war Novik, accompa-
nied by destroyers, led sorties to harass the 17. Admiral Gorshkov’s negative verdict on the
Japanese blockade around Port Arthur. After supposed low quality and “slavish imitation
the loss of cruiser Novik in 1904 the name of foreigners in the types of ships, often im-
was transferred to the fast destroyer built in perfect and obsolete” does not seem fair, es-
1912 in the Baltic. See also Charles E. Adams, pecially as he praises on the same page A. N.
“Der Wiederaufstieg der russischen Kriegs- Krylov, I. G. Bubnov, and others, as “greatest
marine in den Jahren 1905–1914,” Marine- Russian shipbuilders.” Cf. Sergei G. Gorshkov,
Rundschau 1 (1964), pp. 12–22. The Sea Power of the State (Annapolis, Md.:
Naval Institute Press, 1979), p. 91.
9. Evgenii F. Podsoblyaev, “The Russian Naval
General Staff and the Evolution of Naval Pol- 18. Westwood (p. 78) calls it “ the Dreadnought
icy, 1905–1914,” Journal of Military History, among destroyers.”
no. 66 (January 2002), pp. 57–69; and J. N. 19. Ibid., pp. 78–89.
Westwood, Russian Naval Construction,
20. The results of the census are neatly summed
1905–1941 (London: Macmillan, 1994), p. 34.
up and discussed in terms of global impact
10. Among his more than one hundred works on by one of Russia’s leading scientists, D.
naval strategy and history, the most fre- Mendeleev, in his masterpiece K poznaniyu
quently quoted are: Voenno-morskaya istoriya Rossii [Toward understanding Russia] (St.
[Military history; 1901]; Sovremennaya Petersburg, 1907).
morskaya voina: Morskie zametki o russko-
21. As shown by Podsoblyaev (pp. 37–70), using
yaponskoi voinei [Modern naval warfare:
extensively both the contemporary press and
Maritime notes on the Russo-Japanese War;
now accessible naval records for the period of
1905]; and Etyudy po strategii [Studies on
1905–18. See also Westwood. See also con-
strategy; 1914].
temporary reprints of the selected pre-1914
11. The legendary mutiny took place on board discussion in Voenno-morskaia ideia Rossii:
the battleship Knyaz Potëmkin Tavritchesky, Dukhovnoe nasledie imperatorskogo flota [The
glorified during the Soviet period by Sergei Russian naval idea: The intellectual heritage
Eisenshtein’s film masterpiece, made in 1925. of the imperial fleet], ed. A. E. Savinkin et al.
After the mutineers surrendered, the dis- (Moscow: Russkii put, 1999). The Navy Gen-
graced ship was renamed Panteleimon. eral Staff (known as “Genmor”) was founded
12. A. P. Semenov, Rasplata (1906, repr. St. Pe- in 1906 as part of the postwar reforms.
tersburg: Gangut, 1994). 22. Westwood, p. 8.
13. M. Rimskii-Korsakov, “Threat from the 23. Its influential journal carried the title More i
East,” Morskoi sbornik 1 (1907), pp. 61–73. ego zhizn [The sea and its life]. Ibid., pp. 8,
For the analysis of the propaganda slogan 10, 46.
“Yellow Peril” see my What Is Asia to Us?
24. Ibid., pp. 14–20; and Spasskii, vol. 3, pp. 144–
72, passim.
25. “Sobolev 2” [pseud.], “Soedinie flota” [Bring- 37. Breyer (1975), pp. 161–64; Rohwer and
ing the fleet together], Morskoi sbornik 7 Monakov, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet, pp.
(1914), pp. 207–12. 88–89.
26. Podsoblyaev, p. 52. 38. Foreign Relations of the United States: The So-
27. Weyers Taschenbuch der Kriegsflotten 1914 viet Union 1933–1939 (Washington, D.C.:
(Munich: J. F. Lehmann Verlag, 1914), pp. U.S. Government Printing Office, 1952), pp.
515–17; Nauticus 1914: Jahrbuch für Deutsch- 457–91, 670–707, 869–903; J. E. Davies, Mis-
lands Seeinteressen (Berlin: E. S. Mittler sion to Moscow (New York: Simon and
Verlag, 1914), p. 534; René Greger, The Rus- Schuster, 1941), p. 208; and Thomas
sian Fleet 1914–1917 (London: Allen, 1973), Maddux, American Relations with the Soviet
p. 9. Union 1933–1941 (Tallahassee: Univ. Presses
of Florida, 1980), pp. 86–88, 96–98.
28. Spasskii, vol. 3, p. 527.
39. A. Pokorná, “Czechoslovak-Soviet Arma-
29. The “dawn” metaphor is especially apt in that ments Cooperation in the Second Half of the
by coincidence, the Bolshevik coup known as 1930s,” Historie a vojenství (Prague), no. 5
the October Revolution began with a salvo (1982), pp. 56–77 (in Czech).
from the cruiser Aurora—named for the
Greek goddess of dawn. 40. The subhead on page 103 is the English for
the title of M. Monakov, “Zachem Stalin
30. J. Meister Greger, Soviet Warships of the Sec- stroil okeanskii flot?” Morskoi sbornik 12
ond World War (London: Macdonald and (1998), pp. 74–79.
Jane’s: 1977), pp. 15–19; Siegfreid Breyer,
Grosskampfschiffe 1905–1970 (Munich: Ber- 41. Rohwer and Monakov, Stalin’s Ocean-Going
nard and Graefe, 1979), vol. 3, pp. 119. Fleet, p. 42.
31. Mikhail S. Monakov, “Sudby doktrin i teorii” 42. David R. Stone, Hammer and Rifle: The
series in Morskoi sbornik, nos. 11–12 (1990), Militarization of the Soviet Union 1926–1933
nos. 3–4 (1991), no. 3 (1992), nos. 3–5 (1994). (Lawrence: Univ. Press of Kansas, 2000),
“Gervais” is the familiar Western rendering, p. 214.
properly Zhervé (Æåðâå). 43. Monakov, “Zachem Stalin stroil okeanskii
32. For Zof, see Morskoi sbornik 5 (1925), p. 16; flot?”
for Ludri, Morskoi sbornik 10 (1927), p. 26. 44. For patriotism, see Erwin Oberländer,
33. M. A. Petrov, writing in Morskoi sbornik 9 Sowjetpatriotismus und Geschichte: Eine
(1923), p. 48. Dokumentation (Cologne: Verlag
Wissenschaft und Politik, 1967).
34. Norman Polmar, The Naval Institute Guide to
the Soviet Navy (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Insti- 45. I. V. Kasatanov, ed., Tri veka Rossiiskogo Flota
tute Press, 1991), p. 429. 1696–1996 [Three centuries of the Russian
fleet] (St. Petersburg: Logos, 1996), vol. 2, pp.
35. Compiled from Boris V. Drashpil and Chris- 339–40.
tian de Saint Hubert, “Main Shipyards, Engine
Builders and Manufacturers of Guns and Ar- 46. The Russian phrase is bolshoi Morskoi i
mour Plate in the Saint Petersburg Area up to okeanskii flot (Pravda, 24 December 1935).
1917,” Warship International 4 (1985), pp. 47. Jürgen Rohwer, War at Sea 1939–1945
333–61; Polmar, Guide, pp. 413–28; Spasskii, (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1996),
vol. 4. p. 9
36. Compiled from René Greger, “Sowjetischer 48. Rohwer and Monakov, Stalin’s Ocean-Going
Schlachtschiffbau” [Soviet Battleship Con- Fleet, p. 62.
struction], Marine-Rundschau 71 (1974), pp. 49. Kasatonov, p. 337.
461–79; S. Breyer, “Sowjetischer Schlacht-
schiffbau,” Marine-Rundschau 72 (1975), pp. 50. Pravda, 29 November 1936, p. 3. It was also
141–63; Jürgen Rohwer and Mikhail S. Orlov’s swan song—he would vanish the next
Monakov, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet: Soviet year in the purges.
Naval Strategy and Shipbuilding Programmes 51. Monakov, “Zachem Stalin stroil okeanskii
1935–1953 (London: Frank Cass, 2001), p. 74f. flot?” p. 76; Breyer, “Sowjetischer
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Schlachtschiffbau”; and A. M. Petrov et al., 65. Willard C. Frank, “Naval Operations in the
Oruzhie Rossiiskogo Flota [Weapons of the Spanish Civil War 1936–1939,” Naval War
Russian fleet] (St. Petersburg: Sudostroienie, College Review 37 (1984), pp. 24–55, esp. p. 39.
1996). 66. Ibid., pp. 39–40.
52. Kasatonov, p. 349. 67. See ibid., p. 44, and Franco Bargoni,
53. V. N. Krasnov, “Linkory tipa ‘Sovetskii L’impegno navale italiano durante la Guerra
Soyuz’” [Soviet Union–class battleships], civile spagnola 1936–1939 [The involvement
Morskoi sbornik 6 (1990), p. 63. of the Italian navy in the Spanish Civil War]
54. Kasatonov, pp. 337–39; see also Kuznetsov’s (Rome: Ufficio Storico della Marina Militare,
testimony in A. S. Kiselev, ed., Admiral 1992).
Kuznetsov (Moscow: Mosgorarkhiv, 2000), 68. Rohwer and Monakov, Stalin’s Ocean-Going
pp. 105, 255–56; V. N. Krasnov, “Stalin- Fleet, pp. 65–66.
shchina v VMF i korablestroenii [The Stalin era 69. British Embassy Moscow to Foreign Office,
in the navy and shipbuilding], Sudostroenie 7 Annual Report for 1937, The National Archives
(1990), pp. 64–69. (TNA): Public Records Office (PRO)/Foreign
55. Kasatonov, p. 339; R. V. Herrick, Soviet Naval Office files: FO 371/23699/N 2166.
Strategy: 50 Years of Theory and Practice 70. L. Ivanov, Morskoe sopernichestvo imperial-
(Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1968), isticheskikh derzhav (Moscow: Sotsekiiz,
pp. 38–45. 1936), and an article by the same author on
56. Kasatonov, p. 343. the Anglo-Soviet Naval Agreement of 1937,
57. Ibid., p. 340. Summed up in Admiral in Morskoi sbornik 9 (1937), pp. 114–25.
Kuznetsov’s personal notes and published in 71. See British Embassy Moscow to FO: dis-
the posthumous Admiral Kuznetsov, pp. 100– patches of 17 January, 4 February, 8 July, 12
106. The STO (Sovet Truda i Oborony, the September, and 12 November 1938, TNA:
Council of Labor and Defense), within the PRO/FO 371/22820 and 22296, and FO 371/
Sovet Narodnykh Kommissarov (Council of 23699 (Alliances and Treaties).
People’s Commissars), was established be- 72. This would directly apply to the Chapaev-
tween 1922 and 1937 as nominally the highest class cruisers built in the new shipyard at
decision-making body responsible for Komsomolsk.
defense.
73. According to article 7 of the agreement, each
58. Rohwer and Monakov, “The Soviet Ocean- government was expected to furnish particu-
Going Fleet, 1935–1956,” International History lars of warships under construction within
Review 18, no. 4 (November 1996), p. 830; one month of the treaty’s coming into force,
Kasatonov (p. 345) has different figures for which the Soviets obviously ignored.
destroyers and submarines.
74. Admiralty to FO, 10 January 1939, TNA:
59. Kasatonov, p. 350; Rohwer and Monakov, PRO/FO 371/22820/A235/235/45.
“The Soviet Ocean-Going Fleet, 1935–1956,”
p. 856. 75. See in the lead article in Pravda and Izvestiya
of 17 January 1938: “The mighty socialist in-
60. Kasatonov, p. 341; Rohwer and Monakov, dustrial potential is capable of fulfilling any
Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet, p. 97. and every order of the People’s Navy Com-
61. N. G. Kuznetsov, Nakanune [On the Eve] missariat. . . . The mighty specialized ship-
(Moscow: Voienizdat, 1969), p. 282. yards (Komsomolsk, Murmansk, Arkhangel,
62. Kasatonov, p. 342. Vladivostok . . . ) that are being rapidly com-
pleted at the present time will launch ships of
63. Ibid., p. 349. all categories. . . . The vital interests of our
64. N. G. Kuznetsov, Na dalekom meridiane [At mighty Soviet land demand that we should
the distant meridian] (Moscow: Nauka, possess a powerful fleet capable not only of
1988), and Nakanune, pp. 115–84. defending itself but, in case of need, of taking
the offensive and destroying the enemy in his
own territorial waters.”
76. In Lord Chilton’s dispatch to FO, 17 January in 1938–39 to the United States on a shop-
1938 (TNA: PRO/FO 371/22296/N 360 and ping trip—without success).
N465). 81. See in particular D. C. Watt, “The Initiation
77. Pravda, 3 July 1938. of the Negotiations Leading to the Nazi-Soviet
78. Naval Attaché to Admiralty, Dispatch no. 7 of Pact: A Historical Problem,” in Essays in
8 July 1938 (TNA: PRO/FO 371/22296/N). Honour of E. H. Carr, ed. Chimen Abramsky
and Beryl J. Williams (London: Macmillan,
79. For Commander Yevseev, Krasnoj flot of 16 1974), pp. 152–70.
August 1938. The Ludri School was named
after M. I. Ludri, who died in the Gulag; see 82. One of the first works dealing with the naval
The Times (London) of 31 August 1938, aspects of Russo-German relations was
which lists some of the most prominent vic- Gerhard Weinberg, Germany and the Soviet
tims of the Navy. He perished together with Union 1939–1941 (Leiden, Neth.: E. J. Brill,
Professors Gervais and Petrov, among others. 1954).
80. The Voroshilov Naval Staff College was the 83. L A. Bezymensky, “Sovetsko-Germanskie
former Imperial Nikolaev Naval Academy in Dogovory 1939g.: Novye dokumenty i starye
St. Petersburg—the highest educational insti- problemy” [The Soviet-German pact of 1939:
tution for naval officers. The purge of the New documents and old problems], Novaia i
professors of the naval academy was one of noveishaia istoriia [New and newer history] 3
the widest in the ranks of the Soviet armed (1998), pp. 3–26.
forces; it led to the destruction of practically 84. Schwendemann, p. 102; Rohwer and
the entire faculty, under the pretext that they Monakov, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet, p. 113.
had taught the wrong doctrines. The Naval 85. Rohwer and Monakov, “The Soviet Ocean-
Academy did not recover until the 1960s. See Going Fleet, 1935–1956,” p. 861, and Stalin’s
memoirs by Kuznetsov and others. According Ocean-Going Fleet, pp. 110–43.
to The Times of 31 August 1938, the following
naval officers perished in the purges: Admiral 86. For the best update see Teddy Uldricks’s re-
Orlov, commander in chief (C-in-C) of the view article “The Icebreaker Controversy: Did
navy; Admiral Zhivkov, C-in-C Baltic Fleet; Stalin Plan to Attack Hitler?” Slavic Review
Admiral Ludry, head of the Naval Academy; 58, no. 3 (1999), pp. 626–43.
Admiral Ivanov; Admiral Viktorov, Orlov’s 87. From the Kuznetsov Family Archives, origi-
successor; Admiral Muklevich, head of naval nal; published posthumously in Admiral
construction; Admiral Kozhanov, C-in-C Kuznetsov, ed. A. S. Kiselev (Moscow: Mos-
Black Sea Fleet; Admiral Kireev, C-in-C Pa- gorarkhiv, 2000), p. 105.
cific Fleet; Admiral Dishenov, C-in-C North-
88. Leningradskaya Pravda, 23 March 1960. The
ern Fleet; and Admiral Kadatsky, C-in-C of
scrapping applied to a dozen Sverdlov-class
the Far Eastern Amur Flotilla. Among the few
cruisers under construction.
survivors from the former tsarist navy were
Admiral Galler, the chief of naval staff, and 89. Norman Polmar, Soviet Naval Power: Chal-
his first deputy, Admiral Isakov (who traveled lenge for the 1970s (New York: Crane, Russak,
1974).
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SPACE WEI QI
The Launch of Shenzhou V
Joan Johnson-Freese
Chinese name Yang Liwei,” that has not proven to be the case in the United
2
States, at least not initially. Indeed Yang’s flight was almost a nonevent for
Americans, among whom it was unable to compete for public attention with
other priorities, from the war in Iraq to the baseball playoffs. Clearly, however,
external players, especially the United States, will significantly influence the fu-
ture path of China’s space program. This is especially true given the anticipated
plans to reinvigorate the U.S. manned space exploration program. What the
United States plans to do is important, but in the context of geostrategic politics
how is even more important. While a space race is not a foregone conclusion, it is
a possibility.
In this game of Wei Qi, the next move goes to the United States, which has
three basic options. It can do nothing, which equates to sending congratulations
and then continuing a policy that has excluded China from cooperative space ef-
forts. This option would likely result in China’s setting its own course in space
and working with countries other than the United States. Alternatively, the
United States can throw down the gauntlet and commence with a new manned
space race, announcing unilateral plans and forcing China into a pace it likely
cannot afford. Or the United States can initiate an incremental program of space
cooperation among China, itself, and other international partners. This option
has the potential to reinvigorate the American manned space program and
shape the future direction of China’s space efforts. It is important to remember
too that while Wei Qi involves two players, and while this discussion focuses on
the United States and China, there are other players simultaneously involved, inter-
acting with both countries as well. This complication both expands and influences
the options of the United States and China, and it means that Washington’s next
move will be significant on the larger geostrategic gameboard.
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to the United States on that issue. Even in the usually contentious area of
China-Taiwan-U.S. relations, on 10 December 2003 President George W. Bush
welcomed Premier Wen Jiabao to Washington, calling him a “partner” in diplo-
macy and in a statement warning Taiwan against changing its relationship with
3
mainland China. Since space activity has always been somewhat of a barometer
of larger U.S.-China relations, the current period is one of both particular un-
certainty and opportunity.
The Chinese, while advocating a treaty to ban space weapons, have also pur-
4
sued antisatellite technology. Kinetic-energy weapons, jammers, parasite satel-
lites that can surreptitiously attach themselves to other satellites, and
high-powered ground-based lasers are all on the Chinese menu of options being
pursued. The Chinese are also interested in navigation satellites, which can en-
hance missile targeting capabilities.5
China has recently partnered with the European Union (EU) on the Galileo
navigation satellite system being developed by the EU as an alternative to the
6
American Global Positioning System (GPS). China has committed approxi-
mately $259 million in hard currency to this project, a system that is worrisome for
Washington even without Chinese involvement because of its potential to interfere
technically with GPS. Signing on to Galileo early gives China a stakeholder posi-
tion, and it will be working with EU countries on both technical and manufac-
7
turing aspects of the program. Clearly, China is taking a two-track approach to
space matters: discouraging international activity in space weapons while ac-
tively pursuing countermeasures and options of their own. The latter has been
the focus of respective U.S.-China space posturing.
program created a positive focal point for national pride to counter negative
1989 Tiananmen Square images.
China has not, however, sent a man into space because Jiang Zemin is a space
visionary, yearning to explore the heavens as an expression of humankind’s es-
sential nature. Jiang is a pragmatist, a skilled politician and a technocrat who as-
cended to power by maneuvering his way through the Byzantine maze of China’s
power structure. His support for the manned program—publicly evidenced by
his visit to Johnson Space Center in October 2002, his presence at the March
2003 launch of the Shenzhou III unmanned precursor, and ultimately more im-
portantly, through sustained government funding—has been a calculated risk.
Domestic pride and international prestige, economic development (including
skilled jobs and expanded science and engineering educational programs), and
dual-use technology development are all proven reasons for pursuing manned
space programs. Jiang understood that if space successes are spectacular, so too
are space failures. Not only were national goals on the line but his own position
relative to his successor as president, Hu Jintao. Failure would be devastating.
As it turned out, success may have had personal implications as well—one of
the few surprises of the carefully choreographed launch was the absence of Jiang
Zemin. Although he had been scheduled to speak to the taikonaut during the
launch and offer congratulations afterward, he was conspicuously missing from
the launch site and media events. While a disaster would have certainly reflected
poorly on Jiang, apparently being poised to accept credit, even by inference, pre-
sented issues as well for him. It was Hu Jintao at the launch site who spoke to
Yang before the launch, Hu on the phone during the flight, and Hu there to pro-
claim the mission a complete success afterward. Twice on CCTV (China Central
Television) news on the evening of the flight Hu spoke, saying that he was repre-
senting Jiang. People’s Daily reported that “in a phone call to [General] Li Jinai,
chief commander of China’s space program, Jiang said, ‘I am very happy and ex-
cited to hear that our country’s first manned space flight has turned out to be a
11
complete success.’” CCTV also showed footage of the Chinese defense minis-
ter, General Cao Gangchuan, talking to Yang in orbit. Cao too said he was repre-
senting Jiang. But it was clearly Hu that dominated the news that Wednesday
12
night, with CCTV airing long portions of his two speeches on the space launch.
Jiang’s absence at the pre- and postlaunch events possibly indicated ambiguity
about how the Chinese leadership wants the launch perceived. Since Jiang’s sole
remaining formal post is that of chairman of the Communist Central Military
Commission, a visible role for him might have sent too loud a message about mili-
tary involvement. Although the Chinese want the United States to view the Chi-
nese military capabilities with respect, they do not want it to view this launch as a
threat that requires a response. But since both People’s Liberation Army (PLA)
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Generals Cao and Li were in attendance, perhaps Jiang’s absence primarily indi-
13
cates Jiang’s further distancing from power, pari passu with Hu’s rise.
Pride and Prestige
The 1957 launch of Sputnik was a huge psychological boost for both the Soviet
people and the Soviet government during the Cold War, and conversely a huge
blow to both the people and the government of the United States. Pride, and a
consequent “rallying-around” in the Soviet Union after Sputnik (as experienced
as well in the United States after the Apollo moon landing), also translated into
credibility and hence governmental legitimacy. Credibility and legitimacy are im-
portant considerations in Beijing. One Chinese official stated of the Shenzhou V
launch, “This is not America where money comes from the taxpayers. This is
money of the Communist Party—they would do with it what they decide. It is
14
great they are investing in something that makes us proud.” Beijing’s interest in
manned spaceflight for reasons of domestic pride and international prestige par-
allels its interest in bringing the Olympics to Beijing in 2008. Indeed, Yang carried
15
an Olympic flag with him into orbit, unfurling it ceremoniously upon his return.
Six centuries ago a Ming dynasty inventor, Wan Hu, is said to have strapped
rockets onto his chair and ordered his assistants to light them. When the smoke
cleared, Hu and the chair were, not surprisingly, gone. Yang Liwei has now joined
Wan Hu as a space hero. A statue of Yang is already planned in his home province,
Liaoning, a rust-belt region ripe for the revitalization Yang is intended to inspire.
The Shenzhou V capsule will be displayed at the Millennium Monument in Beijing,
where crowds estimated in the thousands celebrated at the time of the launch.
Most celebrations appeared largely choreographed, as opposed to the many
celebrations that spontaneously erupted when Beijing was named the 2008 Olym-
pic host city. The space mission was both an event meant to be filmed and shown
to the world, and one directed by and supported from the top levels of govern-
ment. Having planned celebrations at the Millennium Monument rather than in
Tiananmen Square also deflected comparisons with or reference to other times in
Tiananmen that were neither celebratory nor reflective of national pride and unity.
The diminutive (and now promoted) Colonel Yang’s biography reads like
“the right stuff ”—thirty-eight, college-educated, fighter pilot, selfless wife,
adoring son. He is described as having been a bright youth and a bit of a mischief
maker. In postlaunch interviews he is personable, connecting well with average peo-
ple. His political credentials must also be assumed impeccable, as he is both the new
poster boy for the Chinese leadership and the role model for China’s youth.
Launching a man into orbit is a technical feat not achieved by any of the other
regional space contenders, including Japan and India, and it carries with it
significant leadership cachet. Officials from around the world, and particularly
the region, sent congratulatory telegrams to President Hu Jintao. In India, how-
ever, space officials downplayed the technical aspects of China’s launch, confi-
dently asserting that India could do the same if it chose to, which they said it did
not. Economics and need (what can a manned mission achieve that an un-
16
manned mission cannot?) were cited as reasons for that choice. However, In-
dian prime minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee congratulated China on its success and
publicly encouraged Indian scientists to work toward a manned lunar mission.
“Those who wonder what could be achieved by such space missions simply want
17
the status quo to continue,” he proclaimed prior to the launch. It is unclear to
or about whom he was speaking—the rest of the world, his own scientific com-
munity, or perhaps both. Just two days after China’s taikonaut launch, India
launched into orbit its most sophisticated remote sensing satellite to date. The
lack of consequent fanfare certainly validated Beijing’s manned spaceflight ap-
proach for maximum prestige value.
Initial Japanese responses to the launch varied. Some space officials discounted
the technical significance of the event while nonetheless congratulating China.
One Japanese official spoke directly in geostrategic terms. “Japan is likely to be the
one to take the severest blow from the Chinese success. A country capable of
launching any time will have a large influence in terms of diplomacy at the United
Nations and military affairs. Moves to buy products from a country succeeding in
18
manned space flight may occur.” Space Activities Commission member Hiroki
Matsuo candidly stated that “discussions on manned space flight have long been
simmering in Japan,” and he further implied that the launch would likely trigger a
reconsideration of Japanese goals for space development. One woman on the
street was quoted in Japanese media coverage as saying, “It’s unbelievable. Japan
19
lost in this field.” While Japan’s “losing” to China through Yang’s launch was
more perception than reality, China’s success juxtaposed against power failures on
both the Japanese environmental satellite Midori-2 and its first Mars probe,
Nozomi, as well as the November launch failure of two spy satellites, has already
20
resulted in calls for a reexamination of the Japanese program.
Clearly, China has established at least the perception of being the regional
technology leader, and other countries will feel some necessity to respond. Japan
and India are both technically capable of manned programs if they can muster
and sustain the political will, but that political will is often elusive in democra-
cies. Safety considerations increase the cost of a manned-rated spacecraft by a
factor of about ten. Furthermore, public opinion polls have consistently shown
that while people like the idea of manned spaceflight, they do not highly priori-
tize it compared to other concerns of government, such as schools, roads, health
care, and defense. Space is seen as relatively expendable.
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Internationally, China has joined the United States and Russia in an exclusive
club of countries capable of manned spaceflight. It has regained what it consid-
ers its rightful place among the world’s technology leaders, a place that China
claims on the basis of a long historical legacy as the country responsible for gun-
powder and fireworks. But prestige alone is insufficient for justifying the expen-
ditures inherent in a manned space program. Pragmatic domestic returns are
necessary as well.
Development
Among his other tasks as a hero, Yang is expected to stir China’s youth to pursue
educational programs in science, engineering, and technical careers, to give
them hope of someday being involved with the space program. In both the
United States and Japan, the “best and the brightest” university students are
known to join companies based on recruiters’ hype about involvement in space
programs. Though the graduates may spend their careers making washing ma-
chines, pride in association with space efforts seems relevant in both education
and career choices.
Education is important to China because a space program generally, and a
manned program specifically, fits in with Beijing’s plans for economic develop-
ment. In the late 1950s and early 1960s Europe joined the space race because it
believed that space equaled technology, technology equaled industrialization,
and industrialization equaled economic growth. China’s 2000 space white paper
expresses much the same view.
The Chinese government attaches great importance to the significant role of space
activities in implementing the strategy of revitalizing the country with science and
education and that of sustainable development, as well as in economic construction,
national security, science & technology development and social progress. The devel-
opment of space activities is encouraged and supported by the government as an in-
tegral part of the state’s comprehensive development strategy.21
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caught the attention of the Chinese was the report’s statement that space would
inevitably become a battleground for which the United States would be remiss
not to prepare, the unspoken assumption being that preparation meant the de-
24
velopment of space weapons. Second, the United States that year held its
25
first-ever space war game, called SCHRIEVER I. In that well-publicized game,
American forces were pitted against an opponent threatening a small island
neighbor of about the size and location of Taiwan. It did not take the Chinese long
to conclude that they in turn would be remiss not to prepare for the inevitability
of U.S. development of space weapons, of which they might be the target. A Hong
Kong news service quoted a Chinese official that same year as saying, “For coun-
tries that can never win a war with the United States by using the method of tanks
and planes, attacking an American space system may be an irresistible and most
26
tempting choice.” Both China and the United States see space assets as so valu-
able to their national security equation that any advance in the capabilities of one
country is viewed by the other as not just a threat but as a setback.
Recent U.S. attention to the concept of “negation” has only increased Chinese
concerns. Negation refers to actively denying the use of space for intelligence
purposes to any other nation at any time. Because it bolsters even further the
idea of U.S. space dominance, it is not just the Chinese who are upset by this con-
27
cept but allies as well.
So the question becomes, what has the Chinese military gained as a result of
its manned space efforts? One set of benefits is relatively indirect. In a 21 Octo-
ber 2003 article in People’s Daily, Zhang Qingwei, deputy commander of China’s
manned space project and president of CASC, gave specific information about
28
both the rocket and the capsule. He said that China had achieved break-
throughs in thirteen key technologies, including reentry lift control of manned
spacecraft, emergency rescue, soft landing, malfunction diagnosis, module sep-
aration, and heat prevention. Earlier Chinese publications have cited additional
areas of technical advancement, including computers, space materials, manu-
facturing technology, electronic equipment, systems integration, and testing.
Spacecraft navigation, propulsion, and life support were specifically cited for
29
potential application to dual-use civil/military projects. Moreover, the Chinese
military will benefit from experience in areas such as on-orbit maneuvering,
mission management, launch-on-demand, miniaturization, and computational
analysis. Experience extends not just to building hardware but program man-
agement and integration as well.
For the Shenzhou program, China took a workhorse Russian Soyuz design to
make its own. Both spacecraft have a service module housing the propulsion sys-
tem, a command module, and an orbital module with a docking ring. Both
Shenzhou and the Soyuz TM are capable of carrying three taikonauts/cosmonauts.
The Shenzhou orbital module, however, has a second set of solar panels, en-
abling it to remain in orbit independently for prolonged periods. The Russians
worked closely with the Chinese, who, having no manned spaceflight experi-
ence, bought selected Russian systems, including life support (notably the pres-
surized suit worn by the taikonauts) and upgrades. However, the price was often
too high, and in some cases China built its own technology in order to under-
stand better the fundamentals involved.
Shenzhou, then, bears an uncanny resemblance to the Soyuz spacecraft;
nonetheless, differences are apparent. A chart (see table 1) published with Zhang
Qingwei’s interview with People’s Daily provides comparisons. In that interview
Zhang also suggested that Shenzhou has more in common with second-generation
spacecraft produced by both the Soviet Union and the United States, such as the
Gemini or Soviet Voskhod spacecraft, than the first-generation Mercury (or, it
could be added, Vostok). Another figure (reproduced as table 2) in People’s Daily
30
corroborates that view, which has been independently cited in the West as well.
Direct military benefits for
TABLE 1
COMPARISON BETWEEN “SOYUZ TM” AND “SHENZHOU” the Chinese from expanded
space capabilities include up-
Project Soyuz TM Shenzhou
grades to their Jiquan launch
Launch mass (T) 7 7.8
site and to their entire tracking
Maximum cabin 31
diameter (m)
2.2 2.5 system. Further, and notwith-
Reentry mode Semi-ballistic Lifting standing that both the U.S. and
Precision of landing site Circle with a radius Theoretical deviation the Soviet militaries have been
smaller than 30 km 15 km ±9 km unable to identify important
Reentry overload peak (g) 3–4 3.24 advantages of a man in space
Source: “Advantages of ‘Shenzhou’ Spacecraft, ‘Long-March’ Carrier Rocket,” People’s Daily, 21 over unmanned systems, the
October 2003.
Chinese seem determined to ex-
plore that premise for them-
32
selves, likely through the use of the orbital module at some later date. The
Shenzhou III precursor mission in March 2002 left its orbital module aloft,
where it remained for six months. It is believed to have carried sophisticated
electronic equipment; the Chinese stated that the equipment was an Earth-science
radiometer; others believe that the module carried a significant electronic
33
intelligence-collection payload. Shenzhou V also left its orbital module aloft,
unmanned, likely again carrying militarily relevant equipment. At some point,
the Chinese may leave a taikonaut in orbit for a period of time. Clearly, they are
intent on getting the maximum return from their investment and will explore all
potential uses of the Shenzhou hardware.
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POSTLAUNCH OBSERVATIONS
Together, all of these factors make manned space a high-yield program for the
Chinese. The Chinese realize that seeking parity with the United States in space
technology is unreal-
TABLE 2
FIRST U.S., CHINESE, AND SOVIET SPACECRAFT: istic. They are, how-
MAIN TECHNOLOGICAL INDEXES ever, determined not
to allow the technology
Project Mercury Vostok Shenzhou
gap to grow any fur-
Launch mass (T) Around 1.4 Around 4.7 7.8
ther; Program 921 is
Maximum cabin
1.8 2.3 2.5 part of that effort. In
diameter (m)
Reentry mode Ballistic Ballistic Lifting the short term, the re-
Power Storage turns they have reaped
Storage battery Solar cell array
battery
have clearly met their
Structure Attached section, orbital
Cabin, brak- Reentry module,
module, reentry module,
expectations (the only
ing module instrument module
propelling module disappointment being
Source: “Advantages of ‘Shenzhou’ Spacecraft, ‘Long-March’ Carrier Rocket,” People’s Daily, 21 October 2003.
that Yang was unable to
see the Great Wall from
space). It is the longer term for which experts and pundits both inside and outside
China are now making “best guesses.”
A clue regarding what the Chinese would like from the United States in re-
sponse to their taikonaut launch is the docking ring on the Shenzhou orbital
module. That ring technically enables the Shenzhou to dock with either the
space shuttle or the International Space Station (ISS). The ISS has been a partic-
ular thorn in the side of the Chinese. According to the NASA website, “The ISS
continues the largest scientific cooperative program in history, drawing on the
resources and scientific expertise of 16 nations.” While inability to provide a
meaningful contribution might previously have been enough to justify China’s
exclusion from that collaboration, it did not stop American cooperation with
other, often developing, countries where political benefits were considered sub-
stantial. Shenzhou V has now demonstrated China’s ability to contribute to
manned spaceflight programs. The only remaining “glitch” is politics.
The U.S. Reaction
While the rest of the world immediately heaped praise on China after the launch,
the United States was more circumspect. Bill Nelson (a Democrat from Florida,
and in 1986 a space shuttle astronaut) offered congratulations “on behalf of the
Senate” during the flight: “My hope is that China will become a partner in our
ongoing international efforts, such as the International Space Station, to make
34
technological advances and to help solve mysteries of outer space.” NASA Ad-
ministrator Sean O’Keefe also sent his congratulations to China that day, calling
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Earth, development of science and technology, and progress of planet Earth’s civili-
zation. Russian-Chinese space cooperation is an important trend in bilateral rela-
tions. It is making progress, it has good prospects for the future and, undoubtedly, it
will bear more fruit for the benefit of our nations. Please pass our congratulations
and good wishes to all those who contributed to the project to build a manned space-
39
craft and, of course, to the first Chinese cosmonaut.
Putin here calls China a modern state and a full-fledged member of the interna-
tional space community, and seeks extended bilateral space cooperation. The
United States, in contrast, is ambivalent about congratulating a communist gov-
ernment and welcoming China to the international space family.
The pictures presented to the world on 15 October 2003 were of a smiling
Yang Liwei and the Shenzhou V capsule successfully returning from orbit. The
images were not only peaceful but contrasted starkly with the U.S. situation at
the time—the shuttle still grounded, leaving the United States reliant on the
Russians to ferry crews and supplies to the International Space Station, and the
American space community still waiting for the high-level space directive prom-
ised when the Columbia investigation concluded.
Not since President John F. Kennedy and the Apollo program has the United
States had a real space vision or NASA a clearly defined mission. Presidential
tapes released in 2001 evidenced to a surprised American public what the space
policy community had long known—that even Kennedy was not an inspired vi-
sionary regarding space but a pragmatist using space as a Cold War tool capable
of yielding returns in multiple areas. Without a justifying reason, usually tied to
foreign policy or strategic posturing, manned spaceflight is an orphan. The
Clinton administration utilized manned space as a way to build bridges with
Russia after the Cold War and to keep large numbers of Soviet rocket/missile en-
gineers employed and out of the international job market. Hence, the American
and Russian manned space programs were merged.
So, did the Shenzhou V launch catapult the Chinese past the United States in
space? No. In terms of technology and potential, the United States holds unquali-
fied first place. Indeed the U.S. military space assets and capabilities are far ahead
of everyone else’s. A May 2003 report from the Council on Foreign Relations
stated that China is at least two decades behind the United States in military tech-
40
nology and ability. A U.S. military report issued in July 2003 predicted that it will
be 2010–20 before the Chinese manned program is likely even to begin to contrib-
ute to improved military space systems.41 Constrained economic resources signifi-
cantly limit Chinese activities in space, manned or otherwise.
Perceptions of a U.S. decline in space capabilities are usually based on two
premises: that the United States no longer has the capability to reach the moon
and is now limited to low-Earth orbit, and that the Chinese have independently
achieved success with their manned space program. True, the United States no
longer has the capability for a manned moon mission. That is because the Amer-
ican public—without a strategic vision, pragmatic or otherwise—has not seen it
as a priority, and elected politicians understand that. Generally speaking, one of
the strengths of democracy is that the people get what they ask for, and in the
United States that has not included manned spaceflight. The independent Chi-
nese success is attributable to a conservative, incremental program, with the
benefit of starting farther up the learning curve than the United States and Rus-
sia before it, and of sustained top-level political and economic support.
Working alone was in part a matter of choice, and in part the result of China’s
early exclusion from cooperative American outreach programs for historical
reasons ranging from Mao’s outrageous statements on the viability of nuclear
war to the Cultural Revolution, human rights, and Tiananmen Square. That ex-
clusion has been perpetuated by a combination of factors, including the overall
status of U.S.-China political relations; the penchant of the Chinese for secrecy
and their disinclination for reciprocal information sharing; the fact that the
Chinese program was a completely military enterprise until 1998; and residual
issues and attitudes from the Cox Committee Report. Further, until recently
there was a strong feeling that China did not have much to offer in terms of ei-
ther money or space technology.
The bottom line is that American space capabilities have not declined but that
the United States has chosen to put its money and efforts elsewhere. In areas re-
lated to the military, U.S. capabilities have significantly increased. In other areas,
the nation has simply changed direction—which can be considered good or bad,
depending on perspective.
Shenzhou VI
Immediately following the triumphant return of Yang Liwei, the Chinese an-
nounced that a Shenzhou VI launch, carrying three taikonauts, would likely follow
“within a year or two.” Although the interim is longer than some people, including
this author, anticipated, it is really not surprising. More than anything else, eco-
nomics will drive the Chinese timetable. There are, however, other factors as well.
Domestically, the Chinese want time for celebration. Yang Liwei is a hero, and
a hero needs to be seen and made known. A special trip to Hong Kong was ar-
ranged for him, to do more “rallying” there. Before dimming his status by pro-
moting a successor, the Chinese government wants to take full advantage of the
hero worship and credit by association.
Externally, this period also provides China time to trawl for new partnerships
of all types. Europe will likely be a main target. On 14 October 2003, the day
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before the launch, China published a strategic policy paper stating that the Eu-
ropean Union is the world’s rising superpower, poised to overtake both the
42
United States and Japan as the biggest trade and investment force in China. For
their part, Europe is likely to welcome the Chinese. On launch day, the director-
general of the European Space Agency (ESA) sent the warmest possible congrat-
ulations to China, declaring that the “mission could open a new era of wider
43
cooperation in the world’s space community.” On a broader basis, closer ties
with China benefit countries like France and Germany not only for the potential
lucrative market they offer but as a potential combined strategic counterweight
to American power, which is seen in Europe since Operation IRAQI FREEDOM as
44
increasingly unilateral.
Finally, China is in no hurry. The fifteenth of October 2003 is a significant mile-
stone in an already long and eventful history—and although the Chinese have no
election cycles to consider, politicians are always anxious to rest on their laurels.
Secrecy versus Publicity
Commentaries before and after the launch of Shenzhou V described China as
45
having taken a “clandestine approach” to space. That impression has been re-
flected elsewhere as well. Indeed it is because of the obfuscation that has been the
Chinese pattern, modeled after their former Soviet mentors, that this author’s
own 1998 book on the Chinese space program is subtitled “A Mystery within a
46
Maze.” But for many who have followed the program over time, quite contrary
characterizations come to mind about this launch—such as, “amazingly open.”
For months prior, China was uncharacteristically and refreshingly open with
information. Websites were opened, glossy images were released and mass-
distributed, and press releases abounded.
The reason for China’s uncharacteristic approach is simple—you cannot get
publicity without publicity, and you cannot sell products without advertising.
To be seen as a country capable of potentially both selling space hardware and
producing assorted high-tech goods for the world, China must change its image.
This event was expected to go a long way in that regard. After the commercial
launch failures in the 1990s involving launchers from the same Long March fam-
ily that carried the Shenzhou V aloft, China very much wanted and needed to re-
establish the Long March reputation for reliability, and Yang’s launch certainly
provided a highly visible opportunity.
When the Chinese first announced they would broadcast the launch live on
CCTV and then backpedaled “on the advice of space experts,” Chinese Internet chat
rooms buzzed with complaints, which were reported in the People’s Liberation Army
47
Daily newspaper. Chinese citizens wanted to watch the launch broadcast live, and
they let those feelings be known. Such open discontent greatly differs from what
would have been possible in China ten years ago and appears to represent a crack in
the government stranglehold on information technology and expressions of public
opinion. The decision not to go with a live broadcast was, however, not surprising.
The inherent technical risks of space flight are substantial, and the subsequent
risks to the Chinese leadership outweighed the payoff of a live broadcast. Once
Yang—whose selection was not finalized until sixteen hours prior to liftoff and
whose identity was not known until launch—was off the ground, coverage picked
up almost immediately. If China broadcasts live and allows foreign reporters at
Jiquan for the next event, that will be an indication of Chinese confidence in its
technology and its people.
Image Issues
The launch followed on the heels of a critical plenary session of the Communist
Party Central Committee in Beijing. At that meeting a wide-ranging economic
reform package designed to ease China into a full market economy was en-
dorsed; it was seen as the beginning of Hu’s personal stamp on the government,
and of his consolidation of power. The high-tech nature of the program fits
closely with the new image Hu wants to promote of China as a modern, “wired”
country, and it fits in as well with China’s new, urban image of itself.
Sound bites on the “socialist market economy” are provided to the urban
population that has moved rapidly from waving little red books in Tiananmen
Square to logging-on in Internet cafes. The Chinese “get” globalization—for six
months in 2001, the best-selling book in China was How to Get Your Child into
48
Harvard. The launch of Yang Liwei very much kept with this new image and di-
rectly linked it to the Communist Party. The message—that China is good, pow-
erful, and modern—was consistently conveyed throughout the launch.
Internationally and regionally the spillover was considerable, perhaps even
more than China had hoped for.
During his flight Yang displayed miniature flags of both China and the United
Nations. The latter was clearly a political message. The United Nations has long
advocated exploration of space “for the good of all mankind,” so in this way
China was reaching out to developing countries in particular. It also symboli-
cally acknowledged the role of the UN in global affairs, at a time when the
United States was perceived as ignoring wishes of the UN in Iraq.
One point that clearly posed a dilemma for Beijing was how much to play up
the military significance of the flight. The peaceful nature of the program’s pur-
poses was consistently stressed. Nonetheless, Hu Jintao at one point called Yang
Liwei a “warrior,” and several officials and media reports chose to juxtapose
Yang’s flight with the Chinese development of the atomic bomb, missiles, and sat-
ellites. Indeed, Chinese officials proudly pointed out that Yang’s launch had
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49
occurred thirty-nine years to the day after China exploded its first atomic bomb.
Further, high-level PLA officers were visible throughout the mission, and it was
General Li Jinai who officially ordered then Lieutenant Colonel Yang to depart.
China is also walking an image tightrope with respect to economics. While
wanting to be seen as the regional technology leader, China reaps pragmatic ad-
vantages from being considered a developing country. The ambiguity became
apparent when a Japanese foreign ministry official raised postlaunch questions
about why Japan was providing developmental assistance to a country with such
50
advanced technological capability.
At the Bangkok APEC meeting three days after the launch, President Hu gra-
ciously accepted warm congratulations on Yang’s flight, an achievement that
played into China’s shifting regional image. China’s reputation was changing
from that of regional bully to potential leader. One prominent Thai business-
man was quoted in the New York Times as saying, “The perception is that China
is trying to do its best to please, assist, [and] accommodate its neighbors while
the U.S. is perceived as a country involved more and more on its own foreign
51
policy agenda, and strong-arming everyone onto that agenda.” The Chinese
appear increasingly interested in balancing perceptions of unilateral strength
with those of multilateral cooperation.
Technology Achievements versus Scientific Leaps
The Chinese success in launching and bringing back a taikonaut does not repre-
sent a quantum leap in science. Textbooks have taught the basics of rocket sci-
ence for fifty-plus years. What the Chinese have demonstrated is a maturing of
their own rocket engineering skills. Rocket engineering is basically a matter of
close attention to thousands of minute details required to make an ultracomplex
system work the first time and every time. More rockets today fail from human
error than faulty designs. The Chinese recognize both the inherent dangers of
52
spaceflight and the fact that “a tiniest mistake might lead to total failure.” The
success of the Chinese in rocket engineering is an achievement, even a break-
through, for them, but that success does not equate to ability to leapfrog past
American capabilities.
The Chinese are acutely aware of their dependence on others for certain sci-
entific “core techniques.” A postlaunch article in People’s Daily pointed out that
China is considered “with Brazil and India, in the ‘marginal countries in science’
which ranks at the fourth layer among the ‘core countries in science,’ ‘powerful
53
countries in science’ and ‘under-developed in science.’” Obviously that is not
where it wants to be, and they are relying heavily on space to push China up the
science learning curve, as it has done for other countries.
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keep-it-cheap basis like the Chinese. The question raises the very real issue of
balancing the desire to develop more technology beyond current capabilities—a
reusable spaceplane, for example—with the need to work more cost-efficiently—
58
using, say, simple, man-rated capsules.
China into further opening the door to meaningful information sharing and co-
operation in areas of mutual interest, the United States has remained
intransigent.
Apparently, since rumors of consideration of a reinvigorated U.S. manned
space effort began within two months of the successful Chinese launch, Wash-
ington realized that “doing nothing” was not an option. If the United States ig-
nored the Chinese launch, China would simply seek out and likely find other
countries more favorably disposed to working with it. That would leave the
United States in the seeming position of having been “caught,” if not overtaken,
by the Chinese in a manned space race driven by public perceptions, as well as
the very real likelihood of more unwanted partnerships, of the Galileo variety,
between China and third nations or groups, with the United States increasingly
the odd man out. Although the American public was apathetic about Yang
Liwei’s flight, the fickle nature of the public meant that could change. If the Chi-
nese continued with manned space activity and the United States continued on
an ambivalent path, the latter would eventually have to decide if it were comfort-
able with an overall first place in space but gold medals for China in manned
space exploration and development. China’s technology would not have out-
paced that of the United States, but its sustained political commitment would
have. With the status quo not being an option, the relevance of how the United
States would reinvigorate its program becomes critical. Simply announcing in-
tent says little, as the devil is always in the details.
The United States can declare a space race, unilaterally developing a
long-awaited manned program to return to the moon or a manned Mars mis-
sion, or some combination of the two. However, it is unlikely that the ISS
partners would support a program developed without their input; in fact,
their post–Shenzhou V congratulatory messages, especially those of Russia and
Europe, suggest that they would support no program that excluded the Chinese.
Further, the continuing financial and technical problems of the still-incomplete
ISS make it unlikely that its sponsors will be anxious to commit themselves, even
if invited, to an expanded manned program. ISS is struggling. Debate followed
the 20 October 2003 arrival of the fresh crew at the station when it was disclosed
that some NASA staff felt the station unsafe, because air, water, and radiation
monitors, medical devices, and some other systems were ailing or broken. NASA
management itself declared the overall station safe, at least temporarily. Clearly,
however, ISS needs immediate attention and possibly additional funding.
The benefits to the United States of a competitive approach are the same
kinds it enjoyed earlier with Apollo—prestige, technology development, and
jobs in aerospace. At the risk of losing face and allowing the technology gap to
grow, China would be pushed to put more money into its manned program and
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at a faster rate than it would otherwise have, thereby diverting it from military
programs. It would be the equivalent of forcing the Soviet Union to spend
money to counter Strategic Defense Initiative (“Star Wars”) technology. There
are three drawbacks to this approach: Can the United States afford this kind of a
program and maintain the requisite political will to fund it through completion?
Is this really the best long-term strategy for long-term U.S.-China relations?
Does, finally, the United States want to reinforce the view that it prefers
unilateralism to multilateralism?
It can be argued that the United States does not really need to stay the course
and bring a new space race to a conclusion; the Star Wars program was never
completed but still significantly impacted the Soviet Union. But to start with
anything less than full commitment sets up the program for failure. U.S. history
is replete with visions and programs set forth from podiums and later forgotten.
Further, programs are funded in support of policies. Historically, programs sup-
porting policies primarily addressing political competition stand on tenuous
ground. Apollo was such a program; when the policy of political competition
with the Soviets changed, the reason for the program vanished, and its funding
became precarious. Indeed, the last planned Apollo missions were canceled,
even though prior missions had been astounding technical successes. From the
Apollo and post-Apollo programs to Star Wars, the national aerospace plane to,
unfortunately, the International Space Station, success has often been defined in
terms other than program completion or potential for developmental
follow-on.
Chinese officials often state that they will take an approach to space designed
for long-term development and infrastructure, rather than one based on the
Apollo model, which they characterize as visiting the moon and then abandon-
ing the effort. Any new manned space program undertaken by the United States
ought to be part of a continuing plan for development, not one with primarily
short-term political goals. That being the case, the desire and ability to carry the
economic burden alone must be considered. With a rising deficit, eighty-seven
billion dollars as the first rebuilding bill in Iraq, an economy still in recovery, and
the ongoing costs of the war on terrorism, that the American people would be
willing to pay the entire bill for a manned space exploration program—no mat-
ter how much they conceptually liked it—is doubtful. As pointed out, manned
space has been consistently viewed by the public as a good thing to do but low on
the list of funding priorities.
Although wrapping a manned space program within a larger strategic vision
is important and useful, political competition as a basis for that vision offers
short-term motivation rather than long-term staying power, unless a race with
China is in the best interests of the United States. But if spending the Soviets into
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simply not possible for the United States. American and Chinese interests fre-
quently overlap—on North Korea and the global war on terror, for example, not
to mention economics. While the U.S.-China trade deficit looms large in bilat-
eral relations, even that represents engagement between the two countries that
cannot be ignored and is indeed likely to expand. Further, other countries are
clearly interested in working with China on space, regardless of the American
stance. Therefore, the United States can either be involved and retain some mea-
sure of control through leadership, or watch from the sidelines.
The United States has an opportunity to step in, much as it did with Russia af-
ter the fall of the Soviet Union, and use space cooperation to its advantage.
Bringing China incrementally into the larger international family of space-faring
nations, to include eventually International Space Station participation and po-
tentially even more, would not force the ISS partners to choose between working
with China or the United States. Cooperation would tend to generate support
for an international lunar or Mars mission, and it would establish the United
States as the multinational mission leader. The United States should craft a new
directive for the American space program, one based on the inclusion of other
countries. An inclusive vision will give the nation an opportunity to assume the
mantle of leadership in a mission that could inspire the world. On the larger,
geostrategic Wei Qi board, cooperation is the best position for the United States
and the future.
NOTES
1. Some Chinese use the word yuhangyuan China’s Bei Dou Satellite System,” Jane’s In-
rather than taikonaut. telligence Review (October 2003).
2. Cited by John Pomfret, “China’s First Space 6. “China Joins EU Space Program to Break
Traveler Returns a Hero,” Washington Post, U.S. GPS Monopoly,” People’s Daily Online,
16 October 2003, p. 1. 27 September 2003.
3. David E. Sanger, “Bush Lauds China Leaders 7. Dean Cheng, “China and the International
as ‘Partners’ in Diplomacy,” New York Times, Space Community: A Brief Overview,” Chi-
10 December 2003. At one point, the Chinese nese Military Update (October 2003).
had considered sending Yang Liwei to the 8. For background on the Chinese program see
United States with Wen Jiabao; they decided Joan Johnson-Freese, “China’s Manned Space
against it when the situation between China Program: Sun Tzu or Apollo Redux?” Naval
and Taiwan became touchy in November. War College Review 56, no. 3 (Summer 2003),
4. See Phillip Saunders et al., “China’s Space pp. 51–71.
Capabilities and the Logic of Anti-Satellite 9. The Chinese number their programs. The
Weapons,” available at cns.miis.edu/pubs/ first two numbers, for example, indicate that
week/020722.htm. it was started in 1992.
5. Regarding China’s own navigation system, 10. The earlier program, called Shuguang (Dawn),
see Geoffrey Forden, “Strategic Uses for was canceled due to difficulties with both
technology and funding.
11. “China Declares Manned Spaceflight Success- 26. Available at American Foreign Policy Coun-
ful,” People’s Daily Online, 16 October 2003. cil, www.afpc.org/crm/crm331.htm.
12. Pomfret, “China’s First Space Traveler Re- 27. Loring Wirbel, “U.S. ‘Negation’ Policy in
turns a Hero,” p. 1. Space Raises Concerns Abroad,” EE Times, 22
13. Not only Jiang was absent but Wu Bangguo, May 2003.
head of the National People’s Congress and 28. “Advantages of ‘Shenzhou’ Spacecraft, ‘Long-
considered to be “Jiang’s man.” March’ Carrier Rocket,” People’s Daily, 21
14. Antoaneta Bezlova, “Science: By Launching a October 2003, available in English at
‘Taikonaut,’ China Enters the Space Race,” fpeng.peopledaily.com.cn/home.shtml.
Global Information Network, 15 October 29. See the June 2000 issue of Xiandai Bingqi, the
2003, p. 1. monthly journal of a military technology re-
15. Yang also carried other commemorative search institute, referenced in James Oberg,
items, as well as crop seeds from Taiwan. “China’s Great Leap Upward,” Scientific
American.com, www.sciam.com, 15 Septem-
16. “India Can Match China’s Space Programme,” ber 2003.
Times of India, 16 October 2003.
30. “Advantages of ‘Shenzhou’ Spacecraft,
17. “Indian Prime Minister Hails Chinese ‘Long-March’ Carrier Rocket.” For the West-
Manned Space Flight,” Agence France Press, ern citation, Craig Covault, “Shenzhou
18 October 2003. Solos,” Aviation Week & Space Technology, 20
18. “China’s Launch of Manned Spacecraft Wel- October 2003, p. 22.
comed in Japan,” Japan Economic Newswire, 31. Swedish engineer and analyst Sven Grahn
15 October 2003. provides interesting tracking data on the
19. Ibid. Shenzhou V mission, at www.svengrahn.pp.se/
histind/China12/Shenzhou5.html. Also, in
20. “Rocket Carrying Two Spy Satellites De-
November 2003 the republic of Kiribati,
stroyed,” Mainichi News, 29 November 2003;
where one of China’s two external tracking
Kyoko Takita, “Japan Must Look Again at
sites is located, recognized Taiwan diplomati-
Space-Market Strategy,” Yomuri Shimbun, 14
cally. That created significant issues for
November 2003; “Lack of Expertise Dogs
China—breaking relations with Kiribati in
Space Program,” Yomuri Shimbun, 24 No-
response risked forfeiting the tracking site.
vember 2003; Yohio Shioya, “A Political Step
Philip P. Pan, “Tiny Republic Embraces Tai-
to the Stars,” Nihon Keizai Shumbun, Nikkei
wan, and China Feels Betrayed,” Washington
Weekly, 3 November 2003.
Post, 27 November 2003, p. A15.
21. Available at Spaceref.com., www.spaceref.com/
32. The Air Force Manned Orbiting Laboratory,
china/china.white.paper.nov.22.2000.html.
MOL, for example, was canceled in the 1960s.
22. NASA, particularly during Apollo, was
33. Craig Covault, “Chinese Milspace Ops,” Avi-
known for its youthful culture. Since the
ation Week & Space Technology, 20 October
1990s, however, NASA has faced difficult
2003, p. 26.
workforce issues. See U.S. Senate, Statement
by NASA Administrator Sean O’Keefe, “NASA 34. “Congratulations to the Chinese,” Congressio-
Workforce Issues,” Governmental Affairs nal Record, 15 October 2003.
Committee, 6 March 2003. 35. Available at International Information Pro-
23. Jack Kelly, “U.S. the Leader in War Plans for grams, usinfo.state.gov/topical/pol/terror/
Space: Gaining the Ultimate Highground,” texts/03101506.htm. Challenges to the report,
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, 28 July 2003. though significant, have been largely ignored,
leaving the findings to become fact. While a
24. The report is available at www.defenselink.mil/
significant toll has been taken to the once-
pubs/spaceabout.html.
budding Chinese commercial launch industry
25. See, for example, Thomas E. Ricks, “Space Is since that action, the U.S. satellite industry
Playing Field for Newest War Game,” Wash- has been hit hard too, since the United States
ington Post, 29 January 2001, p. 1. does not have a monopoly on satellite
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36. “Bush, China’s Hu Seek Nuclear-Free Penin- 46. See Joan Johnson-Freese, The Chinese Space
sula,” remarks to the press in Bangkok, avail- Program: A Mystery within a Maze (Malabar,
able at usinfo.state.gov/topical/pol/terror/ Fla.: Orbit Books, 1998).
texts/03101900.htm. 47. Bezlova, “By Launching a ‘Taikonaut,’ China
37. “Bush Congratulates China on Successful Enters the Space Race.”
Space Mission,” White House Office of the 48. Michael Moore, “New Trends in Globalisa-
Press Secretary (Bangkok, Thailand), 19 Octo- tion,” Associação Portuguesa para o Desen-
ber 2003, available at usinfo.state.gov/xarchives/ volvimento da Comunicações, www.apdc.pt/
display.html?p=washfile-english&y=2003&m actividades/eventos/conferencia/rtf/
=October&x=20031019113108uhp0.7477075 Menin.pdf.
&t=usinfo/wf-latest.html.
49. “From A-bomb to Shenzhou V,” Xinhua
38. On 20 October 2001, a People’s Daily article News Agency, 17 October 2003.
entitled “Chinese Astronaut Took ‘Electronic
50. “China’s Launch of Manned Spacecraft Wel-
Secretary’ to Space,” stated, “The [U.S.] Pres-
comed in Japan.”
ident was quoted by Reuters as saying that he
did not see China’s space program as a threat, 51. Jane Perlez, “Asian Leaders Find China a
but rather as a sign that the Asian giant is More Cordial Neighbor,” New York Times, 18
emerging as a sophisticated country.” “Bush October 2003.
Says China’s Space Program Not a Threat,” 52. “How Far Are We Away from a Space
Reuters, 18 October 2003. Power?” People’s Daily Online, 23 October
39. “Putin Welcomes China as New Member of 2003.
Space Powers Club,” Global News Wire: BBC 53. Ibid.
Monitoring International Reports, 16 October
54. “China Manned Moon Trip by 2020,” CNN.
2003.
55. Leonard David, “China Outlines Its Lunar
40. Adam Segal et al., Chinese Military Power,
Ambitions,” Space.com, space.com/
available at www.cfr.org/pdf/China_TF.pdf.
missionlaunches/china_moon_030304.html,
41. U.S. Defense Dept., Annual Report on the 4 March 2003.
Military Power of the People’s Republic of
56. Hamish McDonald, “Chinese Cheer Their
China: Report to Congress, 28 July 2003, avail-
Taikonaut,” The Age (Melbourne), 17 Octo-
able at www.4law.co.il/Lea1.pdf.
ber 2003, p. 10.
42. “China’s EU Policy Paper,” People’s Daily
57. For imagery and explanations of the site, see
Online, 13 October 2003. See also Ambrose
GlobalSecurity.org, www.globalsecurity.org/
Evans-Pritchard, “EU Viewed by China as
space/world/china/jiuquan.htm.
World Power to Rival U.S.,” UK Daily Tele-
graph, 14 October 2003. 58. Warren E. Leary, “Not So Fast, Lawmakers
Say about Plans for Spaceplane,” New York
43. “ESA Director General Salutes China’s First
Times, 28 October 2003.
Human Space Flight,” Press Release, 15
W hen, on 11 April 1900, the U.S. Navy bought the Holland, named for its
designer, that little submarine joined a fleet consisting of two armored
cruisers, six monitors, seven first and second-class battleships, and seventeen
each of protected cruisers, gunboats, and torpedo boats. At sixty-four tons the
Holland was not the smallest vessel then possessed by
Now a sponsored research scholar at the Naval War the Navy, but at fifty-four feet it was the shortest.
College, Professor Uhlig served afloat in 1945–46 in a Though many of the ships in the not-very-old and
mine test craft and an aircraft carrier; graduated from
not-very-large U.S. fleet of 1900 would last for years
Kenyon College (B.A. in history, 1951); and for over
twenty years was an editor—eventually senior edi- afterward (the Holland would not be among them), all
tor—at the U.S. Naval Institute. In 1981 he became would be obsolete when the “Great War” broke out
editor of the Naval War College Press (which produces
this journal). Additionally, he wrote descriptions and
only fourteen years later. So would all those ships still
commentaries on almost all the annual Global War being built in 1900, and all those yet only concepts—
Games of the time and, for several years, was head of and not only in the U.S. Navy but in all navies. Tech-
the College’s Advanced Research Program. He retired
in 1993. nology was moving swiftly.
Using both the spoken and written word, he has par- Among those types of warship that made up the
ticipated in the never-ending debate about the future American fleet at the beginning of the twentieth cen-
and past of navies, especially those of the U.S. Navy,
tury, the submarine alone would survive until the be-
including a recent article “Fighting at and from the
Sea: A Second Opinion,” in the Spring 2003 issue of the ginning of the twenty-first century. In what size,
Naval War College Review, as well as classroom and shape, or any other particular the submarine will
conference discussions.
make it into the second half of this century, we cannot
The author is indebted to Rear Admiral W. J. Holland,
Jr., USN (Ret.), for rediscovering a manuscript both he know, but we can be confident that survive it will.
and the admiral had forgotten. The submarine would prove itself to be a revolu-
tionary instrument of naval war. But the submarine
© 2004 by Frank Uhlig, Jr.
Naval War College Review, Spring 2004, Vol. LVII, No. 2 was not the only such instrument of war to appear at
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UHLIG 147
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that time. Within less than five years two other instruments of similar import to
those concerned with the struggle for mastery of the sea would make their ap-
pearance. In 1899 the Italian inventor Guglielmo Marconi demonstrated, first to
the British and then to the U.S. Navy, the practicality of wireless radio communi-
cations both between ships at sea and between ships and shore. No one needed
to tell the navies the value of this. In the U.S. Navy alone, by the end of 1904 there
were fifty-nine radio sets in use afloat and ashore. During the Russo-Japanese
War, which began that year, both sides used radio; in addition, the Russians en-
1
gaged in communications intelligence.
Meanwhile, in December 1903 two Ohio bicycle manufacturers, Wilbur and
Orville Wright, were to show the world that manned, powered, controlled flight
in a craft heavier than air was another practical thing. The first use of such a
practical thing in war took place in Libya in 1911 during an Italian war against
the Ottoman Empire. The first naval use was by the Americans at Vera Cruz,
2
Mexico, in April 1914.
Both electrical communications over a distance and manned flight had had
long histories before Marconi and the Wright Brothers demonstrated their
achievements. It was in 1844 that Samuel F. B. Morse began to communicate via
telegraph between Washington and Baltimore. By then men had been flying—in
balloons—for years. The first
Germany edged toward ordering its submarine manned flight, by the Montgolfier
captains to torpedo without warning any ship, brothers, over Paris, took place in
regardless of flag or nature, that came within 1783. Manned flight it was, but it
their sight. was barely controlled by those on
board, for they were lifted by hot
air and driven by the wind. Submarines also underwent a long history of devel-
opment before John Holland could demonstrate to the U.S. Navy that he had a
reliable warship, able at its captain’s command to move, steer, shoot, submerge,
and surface.
For more than a century before the Holland’s time, inventors, not often with
naval help, had been trying to develop a practical submarine. One of the earliest
such was David Bushnell of Connecticut, who in 1776, before there was a United
States, built a balloon-shaped undersea craft, the Turtle, which was driven by a
hand-cranked propeller. The craft’s one-man volunteer crew, Sergeant Ezra Lee,
attacked HMS Eagle, a sixty-four-gun ship of the line then at anchor in New
York Harbor. The weapon was a time bomb that Lee was to screw into the ship’s
bottom. Unfortunately for both Bushnell and Lee, the latter found it impossible
to fasten his weapon to the Eagle’s bottom. Both the Eagle and the Turtle sur-
vived their brief encounter unharmed.
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Admiral Sir Arthur Hezlet, was to write in 1967, America was “the true home of
4
the submarine.”
Nearly a century before the Holland’s arrival on the scene, Sir John Jervis, Lord
St. Vincent and First Lord of the Admiralty, opposed in 1804 the support given by
the prime minister, William Pitt the Younger, to a proposal by an American inven-
tor, Robert Fulton, to build a submarine for Britain to use in its seemingly endless
war against the French Revolution and then Napoleon. Pitt, he said, “was the
greatest fool that ever existed to encourage a mode of war which those who com-
5
manded the sea did not want, and which, if successful, would deprive them of it.”
St. Vincent’s view prevailed over that of the prime minister. Robert Fulton was
out of luck. But St. Vincent, already recognized as a superb combat commander
and commander in chief, showed himself in this moment—though not in this
moment alone—a fine strategic thinker. He also showed himself a man with a
clear sense of the potential course of a nascent technology. Britain’s decision to do
nothing to encourage the development of the submarine was sound policy, and,
with some wavering in the 1880s, it remained in effect for ninety-six years.
By 1900 the time to replace that policy had come. In 1898 Britain, the world’s
greatest naval power, and France, the world’s second such power, had nearly
gone to war after a lapse of nearly a century, this time over clashing colonial am-
bitions in Africa. French naval maneuvers that year had shown that despite their
many imperfections, submarines might indeed deprive Britain of its command
of the seas, at least off the enemy’s coast. Thus, in order to learn all it could about
submarines, in 1900 the Admiralty ordered five for its own fleet—113-tonners, to
be almost identical to the seven A-class boats (SS 2 through SS 8) John Holland
6
had designed for the U.S. Navy.
Political changes in the first fourteen years of the twentieth century were as
radical as those in technology. Though many individuals were involved, their
chief instigator was the German emperor Wilhelm II. Largely owing to that un-
suitable ruler’s words and actions, and those of the men he chose to hold high of-
fice under him, Germany, once Britain’s friend, had become not only its rival for
commercial and naval supremacy at sea but its potential enemy ashore. As a con-
sequence, Britain began to extend the hand of friendship to its old foe, France,
the revenge-seeking enemy of Germany. It even accepted France’s alliance with
imperial Russia, a loathed tyranny that for long had been Britain’s opponent in
an often obscure struggle for influence in Central Asia. But France and Russia,
the second and third naval powers in 1900, had by 1914 fallen to fifth and seventh
place respectively. The Germans had risen to second place, the Americans to third,
and the Japanese to fourth. Italy and Austria-Hungary were sixth and eighth.
France’s need above all for a strong army was the main reason its navy had
fallen so badly; the Russian navy had fallen because in war against Japan (1904–
1905) it had been beaten soundly. In any case, neither France nor Russia was
likely to have kept its place in the face of the ambitious German (and, for a few
years, the American) building program. Still, the world’s second and third navies
together would not quite have matched the British numerically, for in modern,
battle-worthy ships—that is, in general, those built after the commissioning of
HMS Dreadnought in 1906—by 1914 the German fleet was about 60 percent as
7
large as the British, and the American fleet about half the size of the German.
By 1914 all those navies had submarines, and none more than the British. Ac-
cording to Paul G. Halpern’s A Naval History of World War I, Britain had seventy-
three. Its allies, France and Russia, had fifty-five and twenty-two respectively.
8
Germany had twenty-eight. The distant, and neutral, United States had thirty.
The newest submarines in all navies (except the French, where some of the latest
boats were still surface steamers) were driven when on the surface by the com-
plex but comparatively safe internal combustion engine invented by the German
engineer Rudolph Diesel, for whom the engine was named. British manufactur-
ers seemed able to produce a diesel equal to the German originals. Other coun-
tries did less well. American manufacturers were to produce disappointment
after disappointment until just before the Second World War. When it worked,
the diesel provided submarines with enormous endurance at sea. For submerged
propulsion, the electric battery, which provided power for only the briefest time
before it needed recharging, was still the only way to go. Whatever their power
plants, in 1914 the main weapon of almost all submarines was the torpedo,
though some submarines carried mines instead. Most of the new submarines also
carried a small deck gun, three inches or so in caliber, but soon to grow.
Originally, British submarines had been intended to replace controlled mines
for the defense of harbors and to protect the coast from prowlers and invaders.
In war they were to prove unsuccessful in those roles, but by then they had gone
well beyond them. Now the submarines were to advance several hundred miles
from their bases and ambush German warships in waters the Germans thought
of as their own. They did these things and, despite often-ineffective torpedoes
and poorly designed mines, did them well. They did them in the North Sea, in
the Baltic (where no other British warships could go), and they did them in the
Dardanelles and Sea of Marmara during the otherwise unsuccessful Allied at-
tack on the Turkish Straits in 1915. German submarines, or “U-boats,” were ac-
tive in the same way against the British fleet, with similar results. Throughout
the war submarines on both sides were to sink many more large warships than
surface warships managed to sink; unlike those sunk by surface warships, how-
ever, all the submarines’ victims among large ships were obsolete pre-
9
dreadnoughts and armored cruisers.
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In a third task, that of serving as distant scouts for the fleet, the submarines of
both fleets were to fail repeatedly. That failure stemmed mainly from their low
speed compared to the rest of the fleet and from the necessity to submerge when
in the presence, or anticipated presence, of enemy fighting ships. They could
neither transmit nor receive radio signals while in that state; they had to surface
first and then rig cumbersome aerials before they could use their radios (and
then unrig them before diving). The result was that for any combined operation
they had to sail long before the rest of the fleet and, as soon as they entered hos-
tile waters, dive or be ready to dive, thus falling effectively out of touch with their
10
commander in chief.
The big thing German submariners learned was that they need not focus on
the powerful British Grand Fleet, a fleet of many types of fighting ship centered
on an all-new battle line of dreadnought battleships. Though that fleet existed
mainly to ensure Britain’s ability to snuff out German overseas trade—about
which the German submarines could do nothing—and to ensure Britain’s abil-
ity to protect Allied and other friendly shipping from German raiders, it soon
11
proved itself ineffective against, even fearful of, German submarines.
Shipping was almost exclusively owned privately and manned by civilians. It
included everything afloat that was not part of the fighting fleet—passenger lin-
ers (some of them, eventually almost all of them, converted during the war into
troop transports), cargo ships, oil tankers, colliers, and the rest. Those were the
ships that moved Allied armies across both broad oceans and the narrow seas,
that kept those armies (and the fighting fleets too) supplied and resupplied; that,
inbound, carried the raw materials from which factories fashioned arms and
ammunition and, even more important, the food that every Briton, soldier,
sailor, and civilian alike, ate; and
Vice Admiral Sir Arthur Hezlet was to write in that, outbound, carried the mined
1967 that America was “the true home of the and manufactured goods that did
submarine.” so much to pay for the essential
imports and the other costs of
war. In contrast to Britain, France was able to feed its own people, but in other
respects it shared Britain’s dependence on imports from abroad.
However, we should not underestimate the influence of the Grand Fleet. First,
under its protection, except in the unreachable Baltic, Britain’s blockading
cruisers ended all of Germany’s enormous seaborne international trade. During
the first year or so of this blockade the cruisers captured more merchant ships
from the Germans than the British lost to the U-boats. Those captured ships
went into British employment, with the result that despite early U-boat suc-
cesses, the size of the British merchant marine actually increased in the first year
of the war. Moreover, the cruisers detained over seven hundred neutral
merchant ships filled with cargoes bound for Germany. The British took those
12
cargoes for their own use. Second, the Grand Fleet provided the cover behind
which the small warships assigned to protect British shipping could do their
work. Without the distant presence of that fleet, those small warships would
likely soon have perished under the guns of German cruisers.
By the middle of 1915 the British windfall of captured German ships and
seized cargoes had come to an end. But the blockade of Germany did not end;
neither did the cover under which the antisubmarine forces worked.
Effectively for the first two years of the war Britain itself was under no block-
ade. Self-satisfied, the Admiralty cut back severely the construction of new mer-
chant ships in favor of new warships and delayed endlessly the repair of existing
merchant ships in favor of repairs to warships. In so doing, the Admiralty squan-
dered the work of its blockading cruisers. It did so for it had not anticipated the
disaster at sea about to befall Britain and its allies.13
Meanwhile, the U-boats came to cruise independently in the approaches to
British and French ports, the places all Allied merchant ships had to sail from and
return to; others trespassed even closer and stealthily laid mines in the fairways. To
employ a useful term only recently created, from the beginning the U-boat cap-
tains had information dominance over their victims, for the latter knew nothing
of any U-boat’s whereabouts until a submarine’s skipper chose to make his pres-
ence known by means of a challenge, a shell, or a torpedo. The submarine captain
would likely attack with his deck gun, or board and sink his victim with a bomb
placed deep inside. If a merchantman were armed, he would submerge and attack
it with a torpedo. The U-boats’ numbers were small at first—only thirty in Febru-
14
ary 1915 but fifty-two in March 1916, and more were on the way.
The British responded to what before long would become an assault on their
very existence by building dozens, then scores, eventually hundreds, of mine-
sweepers, sloops (that day’s equivalent of a modern frigate), and destroyers.
Their purposes were to open the channels and keep them open, and to patrol the
seaward approaches to the ports (out to four or five hundred miles) in order to
find and sink the U-boats before the latter could find and sink the merchant
ships. But men in small ships with no sensors except their eyes, hunting for other
small ships that wished not to be found except on their own terms, could not of-
ten succeed. The U-boats had information dominance over them too. They were
small ships—few of the U-boats in that war displaced as much as a thousand
tons surfaced; the best of their opponents, the war-built sloops and destroyers,
were not much bigger than that.
Haltingly—eagerly on the part of the kaiser’s admirals and generals, reluctantly
on the part of his politicians and statesmen—Germany edged toward ordering its
submarine captains to torpedo without warning any ship, regardless of flag or
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nature, that came within their sight. That is, they were to engage in “unrestricted
submarine warfare.” When unsought consequences developed, chiefly in the form
15
of anger expressed by the American government, Germany edged back.
After two years of intense, seemingly unending warfare on two enormous
fronts that were across the Continent from each other (one in Russia, the other
in France) and of the ever-worsening effects of the British blockade, against
which they were helpless, by the summer of 1916 the major figures in the German
government, civilians included, could see no hope of victory except by means of
an unrestricted submarine assault against British, other Allied, and neutral ship-
ping. (The neutrals were included because they carried about 30 percent of Brit-
ain’s imports.) In October, with ninety-six submarines, the German government
moved forward again. In February 1917 they went all the way.16
Appalled by the destruction of many civilian lives in sunken passenger
ships—notably the Cunard liner Lusitania, attacked in May 1915 with a loss of
1,200 lives, 128 of them U.S. citizens—the Americans had already made clear
their opposition to any unrestricted submarine attacks. But the Germans were
desperate, and they believed that even if the Americans entered the war, they
could not be effective enough soon enough to save the Allies. The Americans de-
clared war on 6 April 1917.
Perhaps because they believed in the maxim that “the best defense is a good
offense” (strategic and operational thought in those days seems not often to have
risen above the level of appealing maxims), the Royal Navy preferred patrolling
(hunting) for U-boats, which they saw as being on the offensive, over gathering
merchant ships into convoys escorted by sloops and destroyers, which they in-
terpreted as being on the defensive. Undeterred by the patrols, the U-boats kept
on sinking ships. By the spring of 1917 one merchant ship in four that cleared a
17
British port would fail to return; the Germans calculated that the end of the war
18
at sea was nigh. Gloomily, the British reached the same conclusion. When that
end came, the Allied position on the eastern front (disintegrating), on the western
front (shaky), everywhere, would collapse. The war would end in German victory.
In the nick of time the British and their new associates, the Americans,
adopted the escorted convoy. The most authoritative comment on this is Grand
Admiral Karl Doenitz’s succinct observation in his memoirs that “the German
19
submarine campaign was wrecked by the introduction of the convoy system.”
In another passage Doenitz tells us that when the convoys went into effect
the oceans at once became bare and empty; for long periods at a time the U-boats,
operating individually, would see nothing at all; and then suddenly up would loom a
huge concourse of ships, thirty or fifty or more of them, surrounded by a strong es-
cort of warships of all types. The solitary U-boat, which most probably had sighted
the convoy purely by chance, would then attack, thrusting again and again and
persisting, if the commander had strong nerves, for perhaps several days and nights,
until the physical exhaustion of both commander and crew called a halt. The lone
U-boat might well sink one or two of the ships, or even several; but that was but a
poor percentage of the whole. The convoy would steam on. In most cases no other
German U-boat would catch sight of it, and it would reach Britain, bringing a rich
cargo of foodstuffs and raw materials safely to port.20
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transports on the return voyage.) Many of those transports were former Ger-
man passenger liners interned by their owners in American harbors in order to
avoid capture by blockading British cruisers.
Eventually there were two million American soldiers in Europe. They never
became as skilled as were the experienced French, British, and German soldiers,
but through their weight of numbers and their vigor they helped defeat the
Germans on the western front. The defeat in France, and other military failures
in Italy, the Balkans, and southwestern Asia, combined with the “total demoral-
ization of an underfed nation” caused by the blockade, led to revolution in the
German, Hapsburg, and Ottoman empires, the flight of old rulers to exile, and a
23
call from Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg for an armistice. So ended the
war, on 11 November 1918.
That “total demoralization of an underfed nation” was among the objectives
the desperate Germans had hoped their U-boats would achieve against Britain.
The U-boats came close, but then, as we have seen, their effort was “wrecked by
the convoy system.”
In fact, the “convoy system” was the naval share of a great civil-naval effort begin-
ning in Britain in 1917 aimed at overcoming the U-boats. Civilian leaders drove the
Admiralty to repair damaged and worn-out merchant ships and to build new ones;
they also centralized and made orderly the hitherto helter-skelter scheduling of
ships’ sailings, made ports and railways more efficient, and established a system of
food rationing throughout the kingdom, so that despite the U-boats, everyone had
24
enough—just enough—to eat. Theirs was a great achievement.
Still, with only a few thousand officers and men (about a thousand to start with,
five thousand lost, and thirteen thousand serving at the end), manning from begin-
ning to end only about 350 small ships (of which half had been lost by war’s end in
November 1918), the Imperial German Navy’s U-boat arm had nearly overcome
an alliance that eventually included almost the entire world outside of Germany
25
and its principal allies, the decrepit Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires.
That was an impressive performance by a very small number of people at a
time when navies measured their manpower in the hundreds of thousands and
armies measured theirs in the millions. In four years that small number of offi-
cers and men sank five thousand ships. No submarine campaign since then has
matched that number. The average size of that vast, unfortunate armada of
sunken ships was 2,400 gross tons—not large, but collectively they came to
26
twelve million gross registered tons, and that is a lot. The most successful sub-
marine commander in any navy, any war, was Lother von Arnauld de la Periere,
who, in the Mediterranean with his 685-ton U-35, sank more than 435,000 gross
tons of shipping—put another way, 194 ships. Many of those ships went down as
27
a result of fire from Arnauld’s single 4.1-inch gun. Clearly, in reaching those
numbers Arnauld had no convoy escorts with which to contend. Also, plainly,
most of his victims were small ships engaged in the coastal and short-sea trades.
Nowadays a single tanker, or perhaps two together, might measure 435,000 tons.
There was still another impressive performance: This simple, practical in-
strument of war, employed directly upon shipping—the object around which
naval war revolves—achieved its effect in the most brutal fashion. Because all
too often they dared do it no other way, submarines torpedoed merchant ships,
including passenger liners, without warning. Then, because they had no way of
rescuing those who had survived the blast, they left them to the mercy of chance.
Chance is not often merciful.
It was the brutality associated with the sinking of ships by submarines that
was a primary cause, perhaps the primary cause, of the U.S. declaration of war
on Germany and Austria-Hungary in 1917. Without the participation of the
Americans, probably there would have been no allied victory—at best, after the
Royal Navy’s defeat of the U-boats, a standoff on the western front followed by a
negotiated peace motivated by ex-
For more than a century before the Holland’s haustion on both sides as well as,
time, inventors, not often with naval help, had in Germany’s case, the urgent
been trying to develop a practical submarine. need to end the blockade. So, do-
ing it the only way they could, the
submarines nearly brought victory to their side. But by doing it the only way
they could, they brought their own side down to defeat. For them it was a situa-
28
tion without solution.
What about the other two revolutionary instruments that revealed them-
selves at about the same time as the submarine, the wireless radio and the
heavier-than-air craft? By the summer of 1914 both had managed to show them-
selves as practical instruments of war. It was not until the autumn of that year
that the submarine managed to show that it too was a practical instrument of
war. In the “Great War,” radio communications and one of its offspring, com-
munications intelligence, were to play major roles in the deployment of forces
strategically, operationally, and tactically, especially for the Allies, but not so ef-
fectively as the Allies might have hoped in their struggle against the U-boats, for
the latter were always better informed about their enemies than their enemies
were about them. The submarine’s impact on the war, then, was greater than that
of radio and its derivatives. As for aircraft, though in the war of 1914–18 they
were built and used by the hundreds of thousands, they had little influence on
29
the course of events, either afloat or ashore. Both radio (and its derivatives)
and the aircraft, however, would have enormous impact on events yet to come—
in this writer’s view, even greater than that of the submarine.
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NOTES
1. Vice Admiral Sir Arthur Hezlet, Electronics 13. Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power, pp.
and Sea Power (New York: Stein and Day, 104–106; Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, p.
1975), pp. 32–34; John D. Alden, The Ameri- 21; John Tetsuro Sumida, “Forging the Tri-
can Steel Navy (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Insti- dent: British Naval Industrial Logistics, 1914–
tute Press, 1972), p. 234. 1918,” in Feeding Mars: Logistics in Western
2. David Brown et al., The Guinness History of Warfare from the Middle Ages to the Present,
Air Warfare (Enfield, Middlesex, U.K.: ed. John A. Lynn (Boulder, Colo.: Westview,
Guinness Superlatives, 1976), pp. 6–7; 1991), pp. 223–31 and table 10.8, p. 248.
Archibald D. Turnbull and Clifford L. Lord, 14. Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, pp. 15, 26.
History of United States Naval Aviation (New 15. Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power, pp.
Haven, Conn.: Yale Univ. Press, 1949), pp. 85–92; Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, pp. 25–
41–42; Jack Sweetman, The Landing at 30; Halpern, A Naval History of World War I,
Veracruz: 1914 (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Insti- pp. 291–310, 333–34.
tute Press, 1968), pp. 146, 148–52.
16. Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power, pp.
3. Hezlet, Electronics and Sea Power, pp. 1–15. 85–92; Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, pp. 31–
4. Ibid., p. 12. 46; Halpern, A Naval History of World War I,
5. Ibid., p. 3. pp. 335–39.
6. For an excellent discussion of these matters, 17. “One merchant ship in four”: Hezlet, The
see Nicholas A. Lambert, Sir John Fisher’s Na- Submarine and Sea Power, p. 88; Halpern, A
val Revolution (Columbia: Univ. of South Naval History of World War I, p. 340.
Carolina Press, 1999). 18. Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, pp. 44–45;
7. In August 1914 the Royal Navy had twenty Elting E. Morison, Admiral Sims and the
full-sized dreadnought battleships and nine Modern American Navy (Boston: Houghton
battle cruisers, the Imperial German Navy Mifflin, 1942), p. 342 (conversation between
had thirteen and four, and the U.S. Navy the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Jellicoe,
eight and zero. For full coverage of the fleets RN, and Rear Admiral W. S. Sims, USN, 10
of that time see Robert Gardiner, ed. dir., April 1917), and pp. 348–49 (opinion of
Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships 1906– Prime Minister David Lloyd George, 22
1921 (London: Conway Maritime, 1985). April).
8. For the British, see Paul Halpern, A Naval 19. Grand Admiral Karl Doenitz, Memoirs: Ten
History of World War I (Annapolis, Md.: Na- Years and Twenty Days, trans. R. H. Stevens
val Institute Press, 1994), p. 8. Other figures with David Woodward (Annapolis, Md.: Na-
derived from Conway’s. val Institute Press, 1990; New York: Da Capo,
1997), p. 19.
9. Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power, pp.
19–42. For sinkings of major warships by 20. Ibid., p. 4.
submarines, see H. W. Wilson, Battleships in 21. Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power, p. 98.
Action (London: Sampson Low, Marston, n.d. 22. Rear Admiral William Sowden Sims, U.S.
but probably 1926), vol. 2, pp. 341–43. Navy, in collaboration with Burton J.
10. Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power, pp. Hendrick, The Victory at Sea (London: John
40–42. Murray, 1921), p. 63; James C. Fahey, “Our
11. Admiral of the Fleet Sir John Jellicoe, The World War Destroyers,” Our Navy (mid-
Grand Fleet 1914–1916: Its Creation, Develop- November 1938), pp. 4–9, 53. Sims says that
ment, and Work (London: Cassel, 1919), pp. on 5 July 1917 there were thirty-four U.S. de-
141–58; Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea stroyers in the war zone. Fahey, giving ships’
Power, pp. 29–30; V. E. Tarrant, The U-Boat names and dates, says thirty-five were in, or
Offensive, 1914–1945 (Annapolis, Md.: Naval operating from, Queenstown by 2 July.
Institute Press, 1989), p. 11. 23. “Total demoralization”—Louis Guichard
12. Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, pp. 21, 25. [Lt., French Navy], The Naval Blockade 1914–
1918, trans. Christopher R. Turner (London: of the attack on, defense of, and use of sea-
Philip Allan, 1930), p. 310. borne trade by all participants in the war.
24. Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power, pp. 25. The figure of one thousand is the author’s es-
104–105; Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, pp. timate. Other figures are from Hezlet, pp.
50–51; Sumida, “Forging the Trident: British 101–102.
Naval Industrial Logistics,” table 10.6, p. 247. 26. Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, p. 153.
For the contributions of those in civilian
fields of endeavor, such as in improving Brit- 27. Ibid., pp. 36, 146.
ish seaport and railroad productivity, and in 28. See R. H. Gibson and Maurice Prendergast,
the limiting and fair distribution of Britain’s The German Submarine War 1914–1918
imports of food from overseas, see C. Ernest (London: Constable, 1931), p. 330, quoted in
Fayle, Seaborne Trade, vol. 3, The Period of Tarrant, The U-Boat Offensive, pp. 73–74.
Unrestricted Submarine Warfare (London:
29. Brown et al., History of Air Warfare, p. 55.
John Murray, 1930). Fayle covers all aspects
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COMMENTARY
Evelyn M. Cherpak
The Naval War College Library’s naval historical collection, located in Mahan
Hall, is the depository for college archives, manuscript collections, and oral his-
tories that document the history of the institution, naval warfare, and the pres-
ence of the U.S. Navy in Narragansett Bay. During the past year, several
historically significant manuscript collections and single items have been ac-
quired. One such collection relates to the career of the college’s founder and first
president, Rear Admiral Stephen B. Luce. It consists of his warrant to master
dated 15 September 1855 and his commission to lieutenant dated 16 September
1855, both signed by President Franklin Pierce and Secretary of the Navy James
C. Dobbin; his commission to commodore dated 25 November 1881, signed by
President Chester A. Arthur and Secretary of the Navy William H. Hunt; and a
certificate appointing Luce as U.S. Commissioner General to the Columbian
Historical Exposition in Madrid, Spain, in 1892, with signatures of President
Benjamin Harrison and Secretary of State James Blaine. Letters of appointment
to master and lieutenant, a letter from the U.S. Naval Academy Board of Exam-
Evelyn M. Cherpak is curator of the Naval Historical iners in 1849 indicating that Luce passed his exams,
Collection, the Naval War College Library’s archives and a three-page holograph history of his ship and
and special collections division. She received her Ph.D.
shore assignments dating from 1849 to 1865, written
in history from the University of North Carolina and
has published over thirty historical and bibliographical by Luce himself and dated 14 July 1866, complete the
articles. She is the editor of A Diplomat’s Lady in acquisition. These items fill a gap in the College’s
Brazil: Selections from the Diary of Mary Robinson
holdings on its founder and are important for institu-
Hunter, 1834–1848, published in 2001 by the Newport
Historical Society, and The Memoirs of Admiral tional history.
H. Kent Hewitt, issued in 2004 by the Naval War Papers of enlisted men are rare finds; hence, the
College Press.
William H. Sellers Collection, which documents his
Naval War College Review, Spring 2004, Vol. LVII, No. 2 naval career as a chief yeoman from 1887 to 1922, is
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CHERPAK 161
Naval War College: Full Spring 2004 Issue
command. There are several signal books, copies of track charts, and the admi-
ral’s flag-rank commissions; instructions for the conduct of ships of war; gen-
eral instructions and notes for courts-martial; and sailing instructions for the
east coast of North America. There is also an unpublished biography of
Whitshed entitled Admiral of the Wooden Navy, prepared by Captain Kurtz. A log
from the HMS Thetis and HMS St. Vincent that belonged to the admiral’s grand-
son and namesake, and several copies of the Dublin Chronicle containing articles
covering the American Revolution complete the holdings.
This is a remarkable collection of a flag officer of the Royal Navy during the
latter part of the eighteenth century and early nineteenth century, when Great
Britain possessed the most formidable navy in the world.
Researchers interested in visiting the Naval Historical Collection should con-
tact the curator, Dr. Evelyn M. Cherpak, at (401) 841-2435, fax (401) 841-7790,
or cherpake@nwc.navy.mil for an appointment. The collection is open Monday
through Friday, 0800 to 1630, except for federal holidays.
REVIEW ESSAY
Vickie B. Sullivan
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communication, and strategy. It is in this part of the book that Lord’s judgment,
a result of his own experiences in political life, is brought to bear in an especially
fascinating manner. For instance, his treatment of intelligence generally, and his
criticisms of the CIA particularly, give the reader the sense that Lord knows of
what he speaks. He wishes to see, for example, intelligence agencies concern
themselves less with general information and more with secrets that are “opera-
tionally useful to leaders.”
Although Lord can be said to be something of a Machiavellian in showing the
continuing need, even in a modern liberal republic, for a single powerful leader,
ultimately it is neither a Machiavellian understanding nor even a modern sensi-
bility that informs Lord’s approach to politics—either its practice or its goals.
Machiavelli, of course, is famous for his definition of a virtù that is able to act
against conventional morality informed by classical philosophical or Christian
traditions. Aiming too high, intoned Machiavelli, can result in one’s “ruin”
rather than one’s “preservation.” As a result, Machiavelli maintains that “it is
necessary to a prince, if he wants to maintain himself, to learn to be able not to
be good, and to use this and not use it according to necessity” (The Prince, p. 61).
Indeed, Lord acknowledges in perhaps the most Machiavellian of his chapters,
“Modern Founders,” that “it is not necessary to go to the end of [the] road
with” Machiavelli in supporting the use of “unscrupulous thugs” to achieve the
greatest political results.
This particular parting of the ways with Machiavelli reveals a more fundamental
departure that plants Lord even more firmly with the classics against the moderns
and the contemporary approach to politics. He uses the term “statecraft”to describe
the type of educated, thoughtful leadership he envisions. What guides the statesman
is prudence, very much akin to Aristotle’s phronesis—the ability of a leader of out-
standing moral character to evaluate practical situations and make wise deci-
sions: “Perhaps the fundamental lesson of all this is that at the end of the day there
is no substitute for prudence in political leaders. Inseparable from prudence in the
sense we have been using that term are both substantive understanding of the
principles of statecraft and good moral character.” By advocating prudence as the
fundamental characteristic of leaders, Lord eschews social science, modeled on
modern natural science, that seeks to formulate universal and precise theories to
explain political phenomena. Instead, he advocates an approach to political science
that is “practically useful rather than scientifically exact.”
Lord uses recent history, particularly the deeds of great leaders, and philoso-
phy to inform his reader’s judgment. Reading Lord’s The Modern Prince is an
important step in an education that fosters political prudence.
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IN MY VIEW
NO GUN RI
Madame:
Stephen F. Davis, Jr.’s review of No Gun Ri: A Military History of the Korean War
Incident [Naval War College Review, Autumn 2003, pp. 177–78] gives undue
credit to a clumsy pastiche of factual errors, baseless speculation, and contrived
theories masquerading as military history. Clearly, author Robert Bateman seeks
only to defend the 7th Cavalry Regiment (with which he served in peacetime) by
discrediting the Associated Press report on U.S.-inflicted deaths of Korean civil-
ians in July 1950.
Speaking not for AP but as a secondary participant in the project, I share my
colleagues’ exasperation with the persistent and willful distortions of their work
on No Gun Ri by a clutch of self-interested critics, who mainly recycle each oth-
ers’ opinions about a story that few of them seem ever to have actually read.
While Bateman did that much, he remains deplorably ill informed about basic
journalism. His absurd claim that AP published its story knowing the informa-
tion was “inconsistent or incorrect,” and reviewer Davis’s suggestion of a “free
press run amok,” represent an affront to all AP staffers, for whom professional
integrity is no less important than it is for military people.
AP is not a supermarket tabloid; it’s a global organization responsible to
thousands of newspaper members and other subscribers. It doesn’t take sides,
conduct crusades, or gratuitously smear institutions such as the U.S. military.
The arduous two-year No Gun Ri project is fully described in The Bridge at No
Gun Ri, a 2001 book by the same reporting team, and its basic findings were af-
firmed by the Army inspector general’s report in January 2001.
While Davis calls it “interesting” that Bateman made no effort to contact
Korean survivors or witnesses, “appalling” might be a better word for purported
“historical research” that totally ignores the victims of a mass killing. Bateman’s
“translation problems” excuse is beyond lame, but it pales beside his unsup-
ported, and truly repugnant, allegation that Korean peasants who suffered
grievously in war spent the next fifty years creating “tainted testimony” and de-
manding compensation out of sheer greed.
Had reviewer Davis thoroughly compared Bateman’s book with the AP stories
it tries to debunk, he would have found, as we did, more than a hundred fac-
tual mistakes, irrelevancies, significant omissions, misquotations, and other
failings—in sum, a sloppy mishmash that wouldn’t get past any marginally
competent copy editor. Limited space permits only a few examples.
First, to support his contentions, Bateman shamelessly invents people—
South Korean “guerillas” (sometimes “guerrillas”), a GI “platoon,” an “excitable”
officer who “garbled” a phone message (he may have meant “excited,” but either
way he could not know this). Wannabe “war hero” Edward Daily was never AP’s
“main witness” but an incidental figure deep in the story and was elevated to No
Gun Ri poster-boy by others—two major newspapers that showcased his melo-
dramatic words on page 1 and a TV network that flew him to Korea for an inter-
view. (Daily had managed for years to dupe other 7th Cavalry veterans, including
Bateman, about his Korea exploits before the media ever heard of him.)
Bateman’s claims that two other ex-GIs lied about being at No Gun Ri are
groundless. One man’s medical records show he remained on duty despite a mi-
nor wound, and in the other case, Bateman misread a morning-report entry of
“eff ” (effective date) as “off.”
Bateman conjures up imaginary “armed men” hiding among refugees and
attributes the finding of two weapons—a Japanese rifle and a Soviet-type sub-
machine gun—to a “nearby platoon” of GIs making a “sweep of the refugees” to
create what he strangely calls “some of the only documentary evidence” of an en-
emy presence at No Gun Ri. In fact, neither Korean survivors nor U.S. unit rec-
ords confirmed any local guerrillas (or “northern infiltrators”) at No Gun Ri.
As for the weapons, the sketchy report does not say who found them, when,
where (“nearby” with respect to . . . what?), or even whether they were in firing
condition. Amazingly for a historian, Bateman makes no attempt to corroborate
these details or the actual existence of his mystery “platoon” but leaves readers to
puzzle over the rest of his “documentary evidence.”
Bateman all but ignores AP’s discovery in U.S. archives of numerous high-
level orders to stop civilian movements at all costs in the war’s early months, and
he never mentions the key fact that a 7th Cavalry regimental log that would es-
tablish whether such orders were received at No Gun Ri is inexplicably missing
from government archives.
While AP never said how many died at No Gun Ri but cited various U.S. and
Korean estimates ranging from under a hundred to four hundred, Bateman uses
tortured reasoning—but no evidence—to settle on “around 25,” including “at
least two guerrillas,” although none were identified.
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IN MY VIEW 167
Naval War College: Full Spring 2004 Issue
Rather than accept that similar memories might simply reflect shared experi-
ence at No Gun Ri, Bateman advances another unsubstantiated theory of Korean
survivors “contaminating” each other’s minds with recollections either false or a
“montage” of other, unrelated events. Nor, apparently, does it occur to him that
former soldiers might conveniently forget or even lie about an incident that con-
ceivably could return to haunt them legally after fifty years.
Some of Bateman’s assertions are outrageous, as when he says AP “inflated
the amount of research” it did. The AP team used computer-assisted reporting
techniques, and a staff researcher spent months filing Freedom of Information
requests, exploring official archives, and tracking down sources in several states.
Some assertions are fantasy, as when he transforms a battalion commander’s re-
port of “a vehicle, possibly a tank,” into “a section of tanks [that] blasted through”
his position. Some are just silly, as when he chides AP for claiming to have inter-
viewed “more than 24 generals”—actually a college reporter’s mistake.
Finally, questioning deaths at No Gun Ri by saying that aerial photos didn’t
show bodies or graves, he ignores villagers’ statements that bodies collected out-
side the railroad tunnel were stacked inside, covered with dirt, and buried later.
Nor does he mention annual memorials in local villages, something he could
have witnessed if he had ever gone there.
RICHARD PYLE
Associated Press, New York
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BOOK REVIEWS
Three years of George W. Bush’s presi- into two hundred pages, this book, by
dency have dramatically altered the two Clinton administration National
world’s geopolitical stage. Following the Security Council staffers, is a readable,
tragic events of 9/11, American military balanced, and concise work that ex-
power was used to topple the Taliban in plains the present administration’s the-
Afghanistan and Saddam Hussein’s re- ory behind the practice. These two
gime in Iraq. At the same time, the authors, who know as much about how
United States has irked some of its long- foreign policy is translated into action
standing allies through its use of force, as anyone, have accomplished an em-
blunt political statements, and rejection pirical analysis of the actions and state-
of international agreements such as the ments of President Bush and his
ABM Treaty, the Kyoto Protocol (on advisers, discovering and articulating
global warming), and the International the worldviews behind their decisions.
Criminal Court. Along the way they also debunk some
Discerning a coherent foreign policy commonly held beliefs.
framework guiding these actions has Daalder and Lindsay deliberately focus
been difficult. The most authoritative their analysis on President Bush. They
source has been the national security claim that rather than his being manip-
strategy of 20 September 2002, and ulated by his advisers, Bush is the key
most of the president’s advisers have decision maker when it comes to for-
published articles in the leading foreign eign policy, basing his actions on his
policy journals and newspapers. These deep personal convictions and a coher-
writings, however, present contrasting ent worldview that:
views, leaving some with the impression
• An America unconstrained
of a president who is attempting to bal- (unbound) by alliances, traditions,
ance several disparate policies. and friendships is safer
Enter America Unbound by Ivo Daalder • American power should be used for
and James Lindsay. Exhaustively docu- America’s, and hence the world’s,
benefit
mented, with 477 footnotes squeezed
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equally likely that the attacks had noth- tangentially touches another potential
ing to do with coercion and were sim- category of “failure” that should have
ply a form of reprisal. been explored in greater depth and
Three of the final four cases, written by might skew the percentage of failures
William Drennan (Korea), Robert S. attributed to coercive diplomacy. One
Ross (China-Taiwan), and Martha of Art’s prescriptions for policy makers
Crenshaw (war on terror), are very is that coercive diplomacy should never
good. Both Drennan’s and Crenshaw’s be attempted unless one is willing to go
work deserve special mention. Drennan to war if the effort fails. Sound advice,
advances the argument that it was but even a state that has already decided
North Korea, not the United States, to go to war should perceive a long-
that successfully employed coercive di- shot attempt at coercive diplomacy not
plomacy in the Korean nuclear crisis, as a policy failure per se but merely as
and he offers compelling justification an option with a chance, however small,
for his conclusion. Crenshaw takes on of a large payoff with potentially no cost.
the extremely topical and thorny issue Art distills the findings of this book into
of whether coercive diplomacy has even six guidelines for practitioners who
a remote chance of success when em- wish to employ coercive diplomacy.
ployed against extremely dedicated Four of these were initially postulated
nonstate actors. The well laid out con- by Alexander George; their wisdom is
clusion is that it is not possible to use reconfirmed by the research in this
coercive diplomacy directly against work. Two additional guidelines are de-
such actors but it is possible to use co- scribed as prerequisites for having a
ercive diplomacy against state actors chance at successfully utilizing coercive
that may also be involved. diplomacy. “Demonstrative denial” is a
In many ways Art’s final chapter is the form of coercive diplomacy that works
capstone piece of the book—as it better than “limited punishment.” The
should be. One of his major conclu- other type of coercive diplomacy has al-
sions is that efforts to use coercive di- ready been mentioned. These guidelines
plomacy fail two out of every three are far more than just a reiteration of
times. To his credit, he takes care to “common sense” or “good diplomatic
temper this finding with caution. For practices,” but true aids and cautions to
example, he admits that leaders may decision makers and should not be
embrace a strategy of coercive diplo- taken lightly.
macy to convince a domestic audience The United States Institute for Peace
that “everything has been tried” to gain should be commended for backing this
support for war, rather than any effort project, which deserves an audience
to truly change the target’s behavior. both inside academia and inside the
Thus some historical examples of Beltway.
“failures” of coercive diplomacy may
RICHARD NORTON
have been initiated with no expecta- Naval War College
tion of international success. He also
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previous book chronicled Indian naval and how those may bolster even further
developments, this work deftly outlines India’s trade ties.
the maritime dimensions of India’s se- He goes on to discuss India’s rights and
curity—economic, political, and mili- interests in its exclusive economic zone,
tary—and suggests the development of the maritime portions of India’s long-
an overall policy framework to tie them standing rivalry with Pakistan, and the
together. rise of such new, nonstate security is-
Roy-Chaudhury is currently a Fellow sues in the Indian Ocean as piracy and
for South Asia at the International In- arms and narcotics trafficking. He high-
stitute for Strategic Studies (IISS) in lights the changing capabilities of four
London. This book was written while countries with naval presence in the
he was a research fellow at the Institute Indian Ocean, making the case that
for Defense Studies and Analysis more traditional security issues remain
(IDSA), a think tank funded by India’s salient and indeed may grow in their
Ministry of Defense. While at IDSA, maritime dimensions. He then essen-
Roy-Chaudhury specialized in naval tially picks up from his earlier book and
and maritime security affairs, and the describes the Indian Navy’s moderniza-
combination of his time in this envi- tion over the decade of the 1990s. Here
ronment and his previous studies he notes that despite increasing mari-
makes him eminently qualified to pro- time security issues and increased atten-
duce a volume on such a subject. tion paid to the navy, the recommended
The author outlines India’s impressive force structure outlined in 1964, consist-
economic growth in the last decade ing of fifty-four principal combatants,
and the international, particularly has yet to be reached. Where Karnad
maritime, implications of that trend. attributes shortfalls in India’s nuclear
In essence, India has become more de- forces primarily to a lack of political will,
pendent on trade for its prosperity, Roy-Chaudhury makes a more mixed
and, in turn, it has become more reliant case for the navy’s shortfall. He notes the
on such imported resources as crude lack of funding over the years, the col-
oil, with consumption of petroleum lapse of India’s primary supplier (the
products rising during the 1990s more Soviet Union) in the early 1990s, and
or less at the same rate as India’s gross the slow transition of India from a buyer
domestic product—about 7 percent per of combatants to a builder.
annum. Roy-Chaudhury picks up the Roy-Chaudhury concludes, after a dis-
concerns of his first book about the im- cussion of naval cooperation, that the
portance of a viable national merchant various dimensions of India’s security
fleet in addition to a navy for a coun- that rely on the sea are growing more
try’s security, noting that India’s rap- important, not less. Therefore, he rec-
idly growing trade is not being met by a ommends that the Indian government
similar growth in either India’s mer- as a whole, not just the navy or the
chant fleet or port handling capacity. Ministry of Defense, adopt a national-
The author describes a range of interna- level maritime security policy, essentially
tional economic groupings to which an updated and expanded ocean policy
India became a member in the 1990s statement. He was brought into the
National Security Council Secretariat to
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theory is offered to help the reader un- to read in small type sizes. The book
derstand how to break the will of also lacks an index, which makes find-
fanatics. ing items quite a feat, and the footnotes
In a long, intricate work there are do not correlate with the text.
bound to be contradictions, but when Effects Based Operations is presented in
they cut to the core of the argument, the first person plural. Employment of
they become disconcerting. For exam- the first person plural has two serious
ple, one reads: “In effects-based opera- drawbacks—consistency and advocacy.
tions, therefore, actions and their On some pages “we” takes on at least
effects are not and cannot be isolated. three separate meanings—U.S. decision
They are interrelated.” But later the au- makers, the author himself, and the au-
thor writes, “If those disproportionate thor and his reader. In other places
effects are to shape behavior in the di- “we” appears to refer to the U.S. Navy,
rection we want, however, we must fig- and elsewhere to U.S. military forces.
ure out first how to trace the path of an This proves rather confusing for the
action to a certain effect, and then how reader, who is continually challenged to
to plan the right actions to set the chain discern to whom the author is referring.
in motion.” Use of the first person, moreover, gives
None of this means that effects-based this book the tang of an in-house, parti-
operations should not be pursued— san staff study rather than a dispassion-
only that Smith does not have it quite ate analysis.
right. Better, one should think carefully Finally, the bibliography is thin, omit-
about EBO in terms of objectives. Rear ting such important works as General
Admiral Henry Eccles provided in these David Deptula’s Effects-Based Opera-
pages over twenty years ago the key in- tions: Change in the Nature of Warfare
sight in this regard: “The objectives rep- (Aerospace Education Foundation,
resent ‘the effect desired,’ what one is 2001) and Paul Davis’s Effects-Based
seeking to achieve by the use of military Operations (EBO): A Grand Challenge
force.” Eccles guides one to the recogni- for the Analytical Community (RAND,
tion that the selection of objectives pro- 2001).
vides the desired effect—hence the basis All in all, this book was a disappoint-
for effects-based warfare. Of course, ment, weighed down by its length, its
one can select objectives for which the complexity, and its many flaws.
effects either are monumentally diffi-
ROGER W. BARNETT
cult to achieve or can never be clearly
Professor Emeritus
determined. To change the will of, say, Naval War College
Osama Bin Laden falls squarely in this
latter category.
Unfortunately, the publisher of this
book did not do Smith or his readers any
favor by printing the text in a sans-serif Voorhees, James. Dialogue Sustained: The Multi-
font in a fully justified format. There is level Peace Process and the Dartmouth Conference.
a reason why books and newspapers use Washington, D.C.: United States Institute of
Peace Press, 2002. 470pp. $24.95
serif fonts—“kerning” of letters and
words makes them significantly easier
For over thirty years, the Dartmouth This work is also important because it
Conference has been a multifaceted describes the continuing value of the
arena for sustained dialogue between process. Yevgeny Primakov, a long-time
the United States and the Soviet Union participant, expressed this well when he
(later the Russian Federation). The con- wrote to Saunders during the book’s
ference, structured in plenary meetings preparation: “The whole history of the
and task forces, enabled the two super- Dartmouth meetings demonstrates the
power adversaries to edge slowly to- usefulness of such non-official group[s].
ward greater understanding. It was one . . .[F]ormal contacts do not exclude
of the earliest efforts to engage the Sovi- the necessity of non-official exchange of
ets outside of official channels, and it opinions in particular between those
succeeded, although sometimes in Cold people who have the capability to re-
War fits and starts, by bringing together port their impressions and conclusions
a consistent group of experts. after such exchanges to the highest state
In his detailed history of the Dartmouth officials.”
Conference, James Voorhees connects Furthermore, the process has had valu-
first-person reflections and memories able offshoots, such as the Inter-Tajik
of the participants with documentation Dialogue, which Saunders cochaired
of Dartmouth planning and reporting. from its inception. The dialogue has
He also undertakes a thorough review been effective in resolving what seemed
of the literature and engages two long- to be an intractable civil war in
time conference participants, Harold Tajikistan. Dartmouth, in short, has
Saunders and Vitaly Zhurkin, to ana- given birth to some productive notions
lyze the lessons learned. of conflict resolution, and Voorhees,
All three are well placed to reflect upon Saunders, and Zhurkin describe their
the value of the Dartmouth process. potential well.
Voorhees is an associate of, and The book’s shortcomings are in two
Saunders is the director of international areas. First, its description of government
affairs at, the Kettering Foundation, the policy making falls prey to oversimplifi-
institution that funded the conference cation. Anyone who believes that politi-
for many years and served as its intellec- cal appointees stick to making policy
tual “home.” Zhurkin, director emeritus and professional bureaucrats stick to
of the Institute of Europe in the Russian implementing it has never watched the
Academy of Sciences, began his partici- British television comedy Yes, Prime
pation with the conference in 1971. Minister, the classic program that
The result is a book that brings the chronicles relations between minister
Dartmouth process alive against the and mandarin in the British govern-
backdrop of key events in the U.S.- ment. Its lessons apply equally well in
Russian relationship, beginning in the Washington, and probably also in Mos-
1950s and extending almost to the pres- cow. That aside, if the book had ac-
ent day. In that respect, it is good read- knowledged more of a symbiotic
ing for anyone interested in the history relationship between political appoint-
of the Cold War. ees and bureaucrats in the policy-
making process, it might have granted
an even more influential role to the
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was the sort of America he always pic- graduates, to the astonishment and
tured when he explained . . . his best admiration of his peers. There is the
hopes for the country. A place where ev- “reluctant leader,” who only wants to
eryone tried their hardest. A place where play football but is transformed into a
people—or at least most people—looked first-rate tactical leader who leads a
out for each other. A place where peo- rag-tag orienteering team to a moral
ple—intelligent, talented people—said victory.
honestly that money wasn’t what drove Not all of Lipsky’s stories are inspira-
them. A place where people spoke tional, however. He also discusses,
openly about their feelings and about without judgment, a very real phenom-
trying to make themselves better.” enon in the military—the gap between
The author followed a class at West teaching high standards and values, and
Point from first (plebe) year through practicing them. So objective are
graduation. Lipsky finds that the stu- Lipsky’s observations that one wonders
dents there experience elements of cam- if he realizes what he’s reporting. The
pus life not unlike those on civilian most moving story, and a prime exam-
campuses: sex, cliques, the Internet, al- ple of high standards and values, is the
cohol, and in a very minor way, drugs. one of a department head—a combat
He also learns to appreciate the acad- veteran lieutenant colonel who sets for
emy’s motto: “Duty, Honor, and Coun- cadets exceptionally high standards and
try.” As one student reflects on the inspires them to achieve those stan-
experience, he states that “becoming a dards (one cadet preserved the stub of
military officer isn’t just a profession, this officer’s cigar in a plastic bag as an
it’s a calling.” Lipsky illustrates how life icon). When one of the colonel’s subor-
at West Point is not easy. The tension dinate officers produces a highly con-
and stress between the normal tempta- troversial and politically incorrect
tions of modern American life and the report, the colonel takes responsibility
peculiar structures, strictures, and for it, protecting his subordinate from
norms necessary to become a commis- an investigation that could end his
sioned U.S. Army officer sometimes career. However, for his actions, the
prove too much. colonel was dismissed from the Army
However, those who persevere make for because he “failed to exhibit the three
the most interesting stories. We learn Army values: Honor, Respect, and Loy-
of the “golden boy,” a self-motivated alty.” There is true irony.
cadet who finds himself unable to chose Still, this is a small affair in the effort to
infantry as a branch and anguishes mold character at West Point. Let the
whether he should “take five and fly” cynicism and skepticism wait for now.
to live with his true love or follow the This work is a testimony to the eternal
calling. There is the “sad sack,” who, hopefulness and idealism of youth.
because he has a terrible time perform- Read it and remember.
ing physical tasks, is routinely targeted
JONATHAN E. CZARNECKI
by his tactical officers for separation Associate Professor, Joint Maritime Operations
and yet stubbornly hangs on and Naval War College, Monterey Program
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This work is the sequel to Pulitzer The author shows that the most costly
Prize–winning author Robert Massie’s strategic failure, however, was the Ger-
Dreadnought: Britain, Germany, and the man resumption of unrestricted sub-
Coming of the Great War (Random marine warfare. By no means is this a
House, 1991). It is a sweeping narrative groundbreaking interpretation, but in
of World War I at sea. While it focuses these pages the course of action leading
primarily on the struggle between the to the decision is made clear. The fail-
main German and British fleets, it also ure of the vaunted High Seas Fleet to
examines the German U-boat cam- carry out its anticipated task of whittling
paign, other revolutions in undersea down the Grand Fleet painted the Ger-
weaponry, the pivotal role of good in- mans into a strategic corner from which
telligence, and the broad geographic they eventually saw unrestricted subma-
scope of the war. The book provides a rine warfare as their only alternative.
clear sense of how important the clash Despite these explanations of strategy,
of British and German navies was to the Castles of Steel is also a readable and
war’s eventual outcome, and it illus- dramatic work. The narrative rushes
trates how Winston Churchill’s dra- along, with a desperate hunt for the en-
matic description of Admiral John emy in the vast Pacific, with fleets and
Jellicoe, commander in chief of the squadrons that speed toward each other
British Grand Fleet, as “the only com- without a hint of the other’s presence,
mander who could lose the war in an and with battle cruisers that appear out
afternoon” could be an accurate one. of the mist to shell unsuspecting coastal
This is also a cautionary tale of failures villages and then slip quietly away. Ac-
and missed opportunities. In the earli- tion in the North Sea, the book’s pri-
est stages of the conflict, we see both mary theater, culminates in a gripping
sides baffled when their opponent’s ac- four-chapter account of Jutland. Mean-
tions do not match prewar assump- while, the fog of battle makes command
tions. The German naval strategy, for and control difficult, even with the new
example, was based on the certainty technology of wireless communication.
that the British would immediately at- In the words of British admiral David
tack the German fleet or institute a Beatty, the war at sea became “a conflict
close-in blockade. When this did not with the unexpected,” despite the best-
happen, Massie writes, “the premise on laid plans. The reader can sense the
which the Germans had based their drama and urgency born of this uncer-
strategy was overturned.” Consequently, tainty on every page.
German admirals “discovered that they Yet while acknowledging the great nar-
did not know what to do.” When the rative allure of vast fleets fighting for
German fleet, on the other hand, did not control of the seas, some readers might
come charging out for a fight, the British question the relevance of such a lengthy
public, expecting another Trafalgar, analysis. After all, was it not the overall
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remains of this city are located south of Tyre in 332 BC, the Phoenicians refitted
Masul, Iraq) successfully defended their a large transport ship as a floating
city from a Roman attack by the use of chemical firebomb with sulfur, bitu-
clay-pot bombs likely filled with scorpi- men, pitch, and kindling material. The
ons and other venomous insects gath- Phoenicians ignited the ship just before
ered from the surrounding desert. it struck a pier on the fortified island;
Hannibal catapulted earthenware jars the pier was destroyed.
filled with venomous snakes during a Greek fire, an ancient predecessor of
decisive naval battle against King napalm, was a weapons system used to
Eumenes of Pergamum between 190 attack ships during naval engagements.
and 184 BC. Pressurized distilled naphtha was
One of the greatest current concerns in pumped through bronze tubes aimed at
homeland defense today is the protec- ships. The delivery system was capable
tion of food and water supplies from of shooting liquid fire from swiveling
intentional contamination. Mayor pre- nozzles mounted on small boats. It was
sents evidence that purposeful poisoning first used to break the Muslim navy’s
of food and water sources as a military siege of Constantinople in AD 673, and
tactic was once commonplace. The ear- again saved the city from this fleet in AD
liest documentation of poisoned drink- 718. From the seventh century, the
ing water referenced is from Greece in Byzantines and Arabs formulated varia-
590 BC, when hellebore was used to poi- tions on Greek fire, which resembled
son the water source of the city Kirrha napalm, for “it clung to everything it
by the Amphictyonic League, causing touched, instantly igniting any organic
the inhabitants to become “violently material—ship’s hull, oars, rigging,
sick to their stomachs and all lay unable crew, and their clothing. Nothing was
to move. The Amphictyons took the immune.” A paper published for
city without opposition.” Aeneas the Napoleon claims to have rediscovered
Tactician in 350 BC wrote a siegecraft the lost recipe for Greek fire, with the
manual recommending that military disturbing title “Weapons for the
commanders “make water undrink- Burning of Armies.”
able” by polluting rivers, lakes, springs, A thread throughout Mayor’s history is
wells, and cisterns. A more recent anal- unease or taboos associated with bio-
ogy is presented with the Iroquois’ use logical and chemical weapons. Victims
of animal skins to cause illness in the of Hercules’ poison arrows included
water supply of over a thousand French Chiron, a centaur who taught the medi-
soldiers during the eighteenth century. cal arts to humans, and Hercules’ son,
The earliest recorded use of incendiary Telephus. Such instruments violated
weapons was of flammable arrows by the “traditional Hindu laws of conduct
Persia against Athens in 480 BC. Chemi- for Brahmans and high castes, the
cal additives soon followed in order to Laws of Manu.” In 1139 the Second
enhance burning characteristics against Lateran Council decreed that Greek
more sturdy defenses. The use of fire fire and similar burning weapons were
and incendiary material was an impor- “too murderous” to be used in Europe.
tant tool during early naval battles. A modern chemical weapon tragedy re-
During Alexander the Great’s siege of counted by Mayor is the 2 December
1943 German bombing of the SS John Despite all the opportunities and re-
Harvey, which was docked in Bari, Italy, sponsibility, Arafat has not brought the
secretly holding two thousand M47A1 Palestinian people peace, victory, or an
sulfur mustard (H) bombs. The explo- independent state. His failures and his
sion exposed U.S. personnel and Italian own vision of the “struggle” have cost
citizens to chemical weapons, which re- the Palestinians dearly. When, in 2000
sulted in hundreds of deaths. at Camp David, he was offered a recog-
This work imparts seminal information nized Palestinian state on generally rea-
on the use of biological and chemical sonable terms, he walked away. His
weapons in the ancient world, and as rejection of the offer ignited the current
such it provides an outlook missing intifadah.
from much current thought about this This fresh dissection of Arafat should
era. It is highly recommended. be of great interest to Review readers
looking for insight as to why the United
ZYGMUNT DEMBEK
Lieutenant Colonel, MS, USAR States has often appeared “eager to give
Author of Biological Weapons Defense (Humana Arafat another chance” in its own quest
Press, 2004)
to broker a lasting Middle East peace.
For years, no matter how many times
Arafat proved unreliable, the United
States found reasons to give him an-
other chance. Either he is indispensable
Rubin, Barry, and Judith Colp Rubin. Yasir Arafat: to the peacemaking process, or he is the
A Political Biography. New York: Oxford Univ.
lone remaining roadblock. If the United
Press, 2003. 354pp. $27.50
States is ever to break this maddening
The Palestinian people would have been cycle, it must first know Arafat for who
better off as citizens of Israel. That is a he really is.
conclusion one can reach after digesting
The Rubins’ portrait of Arafat may be
the political biography of Yasir Arafat
the most intimate to date, exposing him
by the veteran Middle Eastern writer-
to the reader and asking questions that
reporter team of Barry Rubin and
beg for answers. How did such a man
Judith Colp Rubin.
become the leader of his people? What
The book is clear on its takeaways. To human “tools” does Arafat exploit?
understand Arafat, you must under-
If one reads only a single chapter, make
stand the “struggle” as well as his rec-
it “Being Yasir Arafat.” Reading like a
ord of failure. Arafat now holds the
psychological profile from a CIA dos-
record for creating, and remaining the
sier, this chapter not only details some
leader of, the planet’s longest-running
of Arafat’s most intimate behavior,
revolutionary movement, while at the
habits, beliefs, and idiosyncrasies but
same time failing to bring the Palestin-
goes on to connect the dots to provide
ian struggle to a successful conclusion.
the why of his behavior: Why does
In his adult life, Arafat has spent five Arafat forever wear the traditional Arab
decades as a revolutionary, forty years kaffiya head garb, and why is it folded a
as chief of his own group, thirty-plus certain way? Why does he always sport
years as a leader of an entire people, and the scruffy beard? Why is he always
seven years as head of a government. dressed in a military uniform when he
https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/nwc-review/vol57/iss2/1 192
Navy’s new special-mission SEAL (sea, about what I had done in the war.”
air, land) combat teams. While there, Kerrey also learned that he
After more arduous training in weap- had been submitted for the Medal of
ons and tactics, Kerrey was soon sent to Honor for his last mission. Not feeling
Vietnam. He writes, “To say that I deserving, he was told by friends that
barely had a clue about what I was do- “no one ever does,” and that he must
ing in Vietnam understates the case.” “accept this award for everyone who
He led two SEAL missions in Vietnam should have been recognized but was
in early 1969 that redefined and trans- not.” Kerrey’s chronicle of his recovery
formed his life. In the first mission, he with other critically wounded is per-
led his six-man squad at night into the haps the most poignant and memorable
small village of Thanh Phong, where portion of this eloquent memoir. He
high-level Vietcong were suspected of was discharged from the Navy in De-
meeting. The resulting firefight, in cember 1969, determined to make the
which women and children were killed, most of his second chance and “begin
caused Kerrey to feel “a sickness in my his second life with gratitude.”
heart for what we had done.” He states, Kerrey’s candid and moving story starts
“The young, innocent, man who went and ends with a quest, but he does not
into Vietnam died that night. . . . I had offer a neat resolution for the anguish
become someone I did not recognize.” caused by his violence in Vietnam. Al-
On his next mission, just over two though unable to find out enough in-
weeks later, his right foot was nearly en- formation about his uncle’s death in the
tirely blown off. Kerrey writes, “With Philippines in 1944, he was perhaps
difficulty I pulled myself upright so I able to keep his promise to his father
could direct my men.” He tied off his after all, by honoring his uncle as a sol-
mangled leg with a tourniquet and in- dier “who should have been recognized
jected himself with morphine. His war but was not.” Kerrey was also able to
had lasted barely two months. come to terms with his experiences dur-
Kerrey had much of his right leg ampu- ing the war. Kerrey’s spare and haunt-
tated. He then started the long and ing story is a meaningful addition to the
painful process of recovery at the Phila- literature of war.
delphia Naval Hospital. He chose Phila- WILLIAM CALHOUN
https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/nwc-review/vol57/iss2/1 194
https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/nwc-review/vol57/iss2/1 196
NEWPORT PAPERS
Subscribe (free of charge) to our Newport Papers monograph series or obtain
copies of specific titles by contacting the editorial office at (401) 841-2236 or
press@nwc.navy.mil.
1. “Are We Beasts?” Churchill and the Moral Question of World War II “Area Bombing,”
by Christopher C. Harmon
2. Toward a Pax Universalis: A Historical Critique of the National Military Strategy for
the 1990s, by Gary W. Anderson
3. The “New” Law of the Sea and the Law of Armed Conflict at Sea, by Horace B.
Robertson, Jr.
4. Global War Game: The First Five Years, by Bud Hay and Bob Gile
5. Beyond Mahan: A Proposal for a U.S. Naval Strategy in the Twenty-First Century, by
Gary W. Anderson
6. The Burden of Trafalgar: Decisive Battle and Naval Strategic Expectations on the Eve
of the First World War, by Jan S. Breemer
7. Mission in the East: The Building of an Army in a Democracy in the New German
States, by Mark E. Victorson
8. Physics and Metaphysics of Deterrence: The British Approach, by Myron A. Greenberg
9. A Doctrine Reader: The Navies of the United States, Great Britain, France, Italy, and
Spain, by James J. Tritten and Luigi Donolo
10. Chaos Theory: The Essentials for Military Applications, by Glenn E. James
11. The International Legal Ramifications of United States Counter-Proliferation Strategy:
Problems and Prospects, by Frank Gibson Goldman
12. What Color Helmet? Reforming Security Council Peacekeeping Mandates, by Myron H.
Nordquist
13. Sailing New Seas, by J. Paul Reason, with David G. Freymann
14. Theater Ballistic Missile Defense from the Sea: Issues for the Maritime Component
Commander, by Charles C. Swicker
15. International Law and Naval War: The Effect of Marine Safety and Pollution Con-
ventions during International Armed Conflict, by Sonja Ann Jozef Boelaert-Suominen
16. The Third Battle: Innovation in the U.S. Navy’s Silent Cold War Struggle with Soviet
Submarines, by Owen R. Cote, Jr.
17. The Limits of Transformation: Officer Attitudes toward the Revolution in Military
Affairs, by Thomas G. Mahnken and James R. FitzSimonds
18. Military Transformation and the Defense Industry after Next: The Defense Industrial
Implications of Network-centric Warfare, by Peter J. Dombrowski, Eugene Gholz, and
Andrew L. Ross
19. The Evolution of the U.S. Navy’s Maritime Strategy, 1977–1986, by John B. Hattendorf.