Among the most promising military applications of AI is staff work. Tons of routine products—intel summaries, orders, etc.—can be generated much faster by machine. Does this mean staffs will reverse the historic trend and begin to shrink?
No: they’re about to explode in size.🧵
In the Napoleonic era, a divisional or corps staff was never more than a dozen soldiers, whereas today it’s pushing toward a thousand for formations of about the same size. Part of a general trend in tooth-to-tail ratios.
The reasons are fairly obvious: modern armies are more complicated, requiring more logistical coordination, fire control, etc.
BUT. There’s a subtler effect at play too: Jevon’s paradox. Simply stated, the more efficiently a resource can be used, the greater the demand.
It’s the story of Eli Whitney and the cotton gin. He thought he could reduce the demand for slavery by creating a labor-saving device for processing cotton. But by increasing the cotton each slave produced, he made them much, much more valuable.
Same story with staff work. The more valuable data/products/whatever that each staff member can generate, the greater the demand.
The typewriter, for instance, did not reduce the number of clerks (secretaries); it greatly increased the volume of correspondence.
This came at a convenient time, when more information needed to be sent over greater distances. But typewriters also *enabled* more complex operations, requiring more detailed orders, greater coordination, etc., and thereby fueling demand for larger staffs.
As an example, consider the situational awareness that persistent surveillance gives HQ—often better than the ground troops. Pair it with AI for threat ID, predictive firing solutions, etc., and you have several staff members micromanaging a single squad.
This is just one example, and not an especially good one—the entire point is that it’s hard to predict new uses for technology until its available in abundance. The one certainty is that that abundance will only grow demand, not shrink it.
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The gap between operations and strategy is tough to bridge because it usually overlaps with the civil-military divide. This was even harder when armies were composed of mercenaries.
The Venetians did it by employing officers resembling communist political commissars.🧵
Every Venetian army was accompanied by two officers called provveditori. This is sometimes translated as “commissioner” or “commissary”, as they oversaw army administration of the army. But they also had a political and strategic role.
Perhaps uncoincidentally, this other role is best described by the word commissar—the Russian word for commissary. Proveditors were tasked with ensuring the loyalty of mercenary captains and making sure their operations supported Venice’s overall war strategy.
The internationalization of wars in the 16th c. made strategy dependent on events far away. This meant that states needed not just accurate information, but effective analysis. But how good was their intelligence?
A 1532 report to the Venetian College gives some indication.
Francesco Maria della Rovere, Duke of Urbino and an experienced condottiere, had just been contracted as captain-general of the Republic’s armies. While he was in Venice that spring to celebrate his confirmation, he was asked about the military situation in Europe.
The Venetians were in particular worried about the Ottomans. They fought two losing wars with them in the past 70 years, losing many valuable ports around the Med to them; as recently as 1499, Ottoman cavalry had raided Venice’s Italian lands.
The takedown of a 2017 London Bridge terrorist could serve as a lesson in combined arms:
-Artillery (fire extinguisher) suppresses
-Cavalry (narwhal tusk) turns his flank
-Infantry closes
Done on the fly by three total strangers using improvised weapons.🧵
Tactics are almost always simple in their essence, an obvious response with the means available—even animals show tactical instinct: ambushes, flanking attacks, swarms, feigned retreats, etc.
The real difficulty lies in executing these maneuvers with large bodies of men.
Even a simple flanking attack is difficult in organized combat: how do you get a group of men around the enemy’s flank while maintaining formation? That’s the REAL challenge of tactics—it may have driven some of the Greeks’ organizational innovations.
In honor of the first day of the Battle of Leipzig—OTD in 1813—I’m sharing an excellent article by Michael Leggiere (next post) on the strategic miscalculations that led Napoleon to be trapped by three converging armies that outnumbered him nearly 2-to-1.
Leggiere’s argument is that Napoleon became fixated on an initial “master plan” for the campaign, and continued to pursue it long after the situation changed, detracting from his usual strategy of directly targeting the main enemy army. muse.jhu.edu/article/40473
As Napoleon assembled a new army in Saxony following the 1812 Russian disaster, he planned to sweep northeast with one wing to rescue French veterans in fortresses on the Oder & Vistula, then cut off the Russians advancing through Poland.
It’s time for the myth of Inchon to die. The landings, which occurred 74 years ago today, are credited with turning the tide of the Korean War. In truth, they distracted from the real fighting at the cost of thousands of lives, and lay the groundwork for future disaster.
🧵
On 25 June 1950, ten infantry divisions and an armored division of the Korean People’s Army crossed the 38th Parallel. They quickly overwhelmed the unprepared South Koreans and drove south. The US 21st Division, sent over from Japan, was overrun in the first weeks of July.
Already by 4 July, before US troops had their first taste of combat, C-in-C of the Far East Douglas MacArthur set his eye on an amphibious landing at Inchon, behind NKA lines. Originally set for 22 July, it was canceled in the face of US and South Korean defeats.
Since there has been so much recent focus on slowly-moving fronts characterized by attrition and positional fighting, my latest Dispatch is on the opposite: a fixed line that encouraged mobility and practically demanded decisive battle.
The Rappahannock runs 300 km through northern Virginia, flowing past Fredericksburg midway between Washington and Richmond. Although not especially wide, it has a few features that made it a natural military frontier between North and South.
Most of the Eastern Theater fighting from 1861-63 took place well to the north of the Rappahannock—from northern Virginia all the way to Gettysburg—and occasionally to its south. But the front always defaulted to the river itself.