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3-29-2019

Air Power and Warfare: A Century of Theory and History

Tami Davis Biddle Dr.

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 Strategic Studies Institute
and
U.S. Army War College Press

AIR POWER AND WARFARE: A CENTURY

OF THEORY AND HISTORY

Tami Davis Biddle

March 2019

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ISBN 1-58487-805-3

vi
 FOREWORD

In this detailed but concise monograph, air power

expert Tami Davis Biddle walks us through our cen-
tury-long experience of air power as an instrument
of warfare. Using the twin pillars of theory and his-
tory, she explains the expectations that were held for
aircraft in war and then examines how those expecta-
tions played out in the actual realm of practice. This
monograph, which focuses primarily on the most con-
troversial aspect of air power, coercive bombing, takes
a chronological approach that starts with World War I
and comes all the way to the present day. By contrast-
ing theory and practice, she identifies the overarching
themes that have run through history and pinpoints
those moments when the gaps between theory and
practice have been largest. Her narrative mainly (but
not exclusively) follows the experience of the U.S. Air
Force. By the middle of World War II, the predeces-
sor institution, the U.S. Army Air Forces, was invest-
ing more in aircraft than any other nation. The United
States continued that pattern after the war, maintain-
ing a large standing Air Force designed to deter threats
to American interests, and to take a leading role in
fighting the nation’s wars.
Each decade brought new capabilities and new
expectations. Americans embraced aviation technology
and were at the forefront of its rapid development as
an instrument of military power. Not infrequently, air
power proponents expected more from it than it could
deliver on its own. Not every war that the Americans
fought after 1945 was suited to the dominant ways and
means of American air power. The ability to coerce
an enemy rests heavily on an accurate calculation of
enemy will, and determination to sacrifice in order to
hold or gain a stake. The tendency of Americans to

vii
assume that they could successfully coerce—through
numbers and power—has not always served them
well. Biddle explains, however, those times when coer-
cive air power has been effective in the last century
and details the conditions undergirding that effec-
tiveness. Moreover, she argues that early air theorist
Giulio Douhet was right in one particular respect: the
nation that wins and holds “command of the air” has
an immense advantage in conventional warfighting.
Biddle agrees with air theorist Robert Pape’s argument
that gaining air superiority is a sui generis function,
distinct from the application of coercive air power, but
that such superiority facilitates the subsequent use of
coercive air power, and forms a crucial foundation for
its success.
In trying to discern where expectations and out-
comes were misaligned, and why, she hopes to help
sharpen the critical thinking skills of strategists. She
explains that successful coercion relies on highly
detailed knowledge of the actor or actors one seeks to
coerce. If those seeking to use aerial bombing for coer-
cion use intelligence that lacks insight and nuance—
or relies on mirror-imaging—then they will often find
themselves facing bigger or thornier challenges than
they expected. They will find, as well, that civilian
populations are often more robust and resilient than
air power theorists—and air forces generally—expect
them to be, and that local coercive mechanisms can
overwhelm more remote ones. Experience from the
past tells us that war economies are usually less frag-
ile and more adaptable than anticipated, and that, for
a variety of reasons, air forces are rarely at liberty to
carry out a bombing campaign in the way that they
would prefer.

viii
 Biddle explains that gaining and holding air supe-
riority over a battlespace became so much a part of
the American style of warfighting that the U.S. mili-
tary tended to assume it was a permanent fixture of
the American way of war. However, this assumption,
unfortunately, is no longer sound. Highly accurate
and relatively inexpensive defensive systems have
changed the game rather dramatically in recent years.
The United States cannot be certain of air superiority
in a wide range of scenarios now, even when facing
adversaries that are not considered near-peer com-
petitors. Addressing this situation and finding ways
to maintain dominance in the air power realm will be
high priority tasks for the U.S. Air Force in the years to
come. In addition, its ability to make headway on this
front will impact U.S. military effectiveness across the
board.
Looking forward to the next 25-30 years, Biddle
argues that air power—the way we think about it and
what we expect of it—will go through a period of flux
as the technology of the information age begins to take
full effect. In some scenarios, our current knowledge
and our legacy systems will retain their full utility; in
others, they will retain only partial utility. As we move
forward to environments increasingly characterized by
anti-access/area denial (A2/AD), we will be forced to
rethink many of our most fundamental assumptions,

ix
and to develop new methods and platforms designed
to deter potential adversaries, to protect our interests,
and to prevail in the event of war.

DOUGLAS C. LOVELACE, JR.

Director
Strategic Studies Institute and
U.S. Army War College Press

x
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TAMI DAVIS BIDDLE is professor of history and

national security strategy at the U.S. Army War College
(USAWC), Carlisle, PA. She was chair of the USAWC
Faculty Council from July 2014 to July 2016, and is cur-
rently the director of the USAWC’s “Theory of War
and Strategy” course. She was the 2011-2013 Hoyt S.
Vandenberg chair of aerospace studies at the USAWC;
the 2005-2007 George C. Marshall professor of military
studies at the USAWC; and the 2001-2002 Harold K.
Johnson visiting professor of military history at the
U.S. Army’s Military History Institute. Previously, she
taught in the department of history at Duke Univer-
sity, where she was a core faculty member of the Duke
University-University of North Carolina Joint Program
in Military History. Her research focus has been war-
fare in the 20th century, in particular the history of air
warfare. She has published articles and book chapters
on civil-military relations, grand strategy, the law of
war, and U.S. national security since World War II. Her
book, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare: The Evolution of
British and American Ideas about Strategic Bombing, 1914-
1945 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002) was
a Choice Outstanding Academic Title for 2002 and was
added to the Chief of Air Staff’s Reading List, Royal
Air Force (RAF). She is currently writing Taking Com-
mand: The United States at War, 1941-45 for Oxford Uni-
versity Press. Recently, she has written Grand Strategy:
What Students and Practitioners Need to Know (Strategic
Studies Institute, USAWC, 2015), and the chapter on
Anglo-American strategic bombing for the first volume
of the Cambridge History of the Second World War (2015).
She is a recipient of the U.S. Army’s Superior Civilian
Service Award. She is a former trustee of the Society

xi
for Military History; and she is a member of the Orga-
nization of American Historians, the RAF Historical
Society, and the RAF Club (London). She received her
Ph.D. in history from Yale, and has held fellowships
from Harvard, the Social Science Research Council,
and the Smithsonian Institution’s National Air and
Space Museum.

xii
 SUMMARY

In this monograph, Tami Davis Biddle analyzes the

historical record of air power over the past 100 years.
Her survey, designed for the student of strategy, is
intended to provide both a concise introduction to the
topic and a framework for thinking intelligently about
air power, particularly aerial bombing. Her primary
aim is to discern the distinction between what has been
expected of air power by theorists and military institu-
tions, and what it has produced in the crucible of war.
Throughout this monograph, Biddle encourages stu-
dents to focus primarily on the assumptions underpin-
ning theories about what aerial bombing, in particular,
might achieve, and why. Such assumptions are pow-
erfully influenced by attitudes, ideas, capabilities, and
fears prevailing at the moment when a given theory is
articulated.
After their arrival on the scene in the early years
of the 20th century, airplanes posed institutional chal-
lenges to all military organizations seeking to employ
them. Immediate questions arose: How should they
be used? Who should control them? How will they
interact with other military instruments? None of the
questions had simple or straightforward answers,
and every military institution had to work out solu-
tions tailored to its own needs. Early in World War I, it
became obvious that airplanes were powerful military
instruments offering important advantages to those
who employed them well, and acute disadvantages to
those who failed to do so. They immediately proved
their worth in a wide range of activities, including
reconnaissance, surveillance, communication, artillery
spotting, ground attack, and short- and long-range
bombardment. The value of airspace was immediately

xiii
evident, prompting the creation of “fighter” airplanes
designed to protect one’s airspace and deny it to one’s
enemies.
Aerial bombing was the most dramatic new inno-
vation made possible by heavier-than-air flight, and
the one bearing the highest burden of expectation. Both
short- and long-range bombing received preliminary
and inconclusive trials during World War I, and this
fueled ongoing speculation and debate throughout the
interwar years. World War II provided an extensive
test of air power, and aerial bombing especially, but
it did not resolve ongoing debates about the ability of
bombers to win wars independently, as some claimed
they might do.
Aerial bombing, Biddle argues, cannot control
the ground. It is fundamentally a coercive activity in
which an attacker seeks to structure the enemy’s incen-
tives—using threats and actions to shape and constrain
the enemy’s options, both perceived and real. It is an
important and much-utilized military instrument for
both deterrence and compellence. However, its abil-
ity to produce results varies, and students of strategy
must understand the circumstances under which it is
more or less likely to achieve particular results or polit-
ical ends.
Biddle points to the assumptions embedded in the-
ories of aerial bombing articulated before and during
World War II, and assesses whether these assump-
tions eventually aligned with actual wartime experi-
ence. Relying principally on the extensive experience
of the postwar U.S. Air Force, she undertakes similar
analyses with respect to the many bombing campaigns
that organization waged from the 1950s through to
the present day. She explains and assesses the work
of some of the more prominent air power theorists of

xiv
the recent past, including John Boyd and John Warden.
In trying to discern where expectations and outcomes
were misaligned, and why, she hopes to help sharpen
the critical thinking skills of strategists.
She explains that successful coercion relies on
highly detailed and nuanced knowledge of the actor or
actors one seeks to coerce. Because of this, those seek-
ing to use aerial bombing for coercion will often find
themselves facing bigger or thornier challenges than
they expected. They will find, as well, that: civilian
populations are often more robust and resilient than
air power theorists—and air forces generally—expect
them to be; that local coercive mechanisms can over-
whelm more remote ones; that war economies are usu-
ally less fragile and more adaptable than anticipated;
and that, for a variety of reasons, air forces are rarely
at liberty to carry out a bombing campaign in the way
that they would prefer.
Looking forward to the next 25-30 years, Biddle
argues that air power—the way we think about it and
what we expect of it—will go through a period of flux,
as the technology of the information age begins to take
full effect. In some scenarios, our current knowledge
and our legacy systems will retain their full utility; in
others, they will retain only partial utility. Moreover,
as we move forward to environments increasingly
characterized by anti-access/area denial (A2/AD),
we will be forced to rethink many of our most funda-
mental assumptions, and to develop new methods and
platforms designed to deter potential adversaries, pro-
tect our interests, and to prevail in the event of war.

xv
 AIR POWER AND WARFARE: A CENTURY OF
THEORY AND HISTORY
When political actors want to achieve aims and
protect interests in the international system, they typ-
ically turn to diplomatic, informational, military, and
economic tools. Among military planners, this set of
tools is typically referred to as the “DIME.” Within
each subcategory, there are theories for how to max-
imize the utility of each instrument. As we evaluate
any military subcategory, we must ask ourselves:
What leverage does it offer those who employ it? What
are its primary strengths and limitations? How does
it interact with other instruments of power (both mili-
tary and non-military)? Can it be used independently?
What are the advantages and risks of doing so?
Military instruments typically stand in the back-
ground, reinforcing other tools and being called into
play if those tools fail to achieve desired results. Land-
power, sea power, and air power—with the recent
addition of space and cyber power—all bring differ-
ent types of leverage to the table. The strategist must
understand them all, and must understand how they
interoperate. The purpose of this monograph is to
identify and analyze theories for the employment of
air power. The focus here is principally—albeit not
exclusively—on the experience of the United States.
Since World War I, the United States has relied on air-
craft extensively for purposes of both deterrence and
warfighting. This national experience is wide-ranging
and varied, and thus offers a good opportunity to test
theory against reality.
If one is to understand air power—or any instru-
ment of power—one must understand the assump-
tions that underpin the mechanism linking its use to

1
the achievement of a particular political end or goal.
A theory is a basic hypothesis about causation: if we
use X (air power), then we achieve Y (desired polit-
ical aim). This formulation forces us to focus on the
assumptions inherent in the linkage between X and
Y. If, for instance, we make a claim about the utility
of aerial bombing, we must understand what is at
the heart of that claim—what is the mechanism link-
ing the instrument of power to the achievement of a
desired outcome? To argue—as U.S. planners did in
World War II—that attacking ball bearing factories
in Germany will undermine the German war effort,
one must first be able to answer several fundamental
questions, including: Are ball bearings central to the
Germany war effort? Are they a scarce commodity,
one not easily replaced? Then, just as importantly, one
must ask: Is it tactically and operationally possible to
attack ball bearing production and storage sites?
How aircraft might help achieve political aims,
and who ought to employ aircraft for such purposes,
developed into one of the most contentious and sus-
tained military debates of the 20th century. Echoes
of the struggle exist still, especially in budget battles
within nations. At this point, we have more than 100
years of experience with air power as a military instru-
ment, and this historical record has given us a strong
sense of where theories have either aligned with or
departed from expectations. The analysis is of partic-
ular significance at this moment in time, as changes
in technology force us to rethink what we know and
understand about the use of air power. Our existing
knowledge (and legacy systems) will retain full util-
ity in some scenarios and partial utility in others. By
2030, we are likely to see the beginnings of dramatic
change. After that date, even our most fundamental

2
imperatives, like the need for air superiority in a
battlespace, will require new thinking, new methods,
and new means of execution as we face the spread of
anti-access/area denial (A2/AD) environments. In the
coming decades, aerial platforms are likely to become
smaller, and manned aircraft are likely to be relied
upon less and less frequently. If we can understand
our past experience with nuance and skill, we will
enter the future with a clearer perspective and more
confidence.

SOME KEY THEMES

Strategist Colin Gray has specified that range and

reach, speed of passage (unrivaled except by ballistic
missiles and spacecraft), freedom of choice in move-
ment, and flexibility of concentration are the advan-
tages of air power. While the movement of aircraft can
be inhibited politically by rights to airspace, aircraft
have fewer limitations on movement than armies and
navies. Still, Gray observes, “the all-vector menace
posed by an enemy in the air is somewhat alleviated
by the fact that whatever his choices of routes, he has
to arrive over or close to targets whose value is well-
known.”1 Among the limitations of air power, Gray
lists: gravity, expense, impact of weather, brevity of
presence, and the inability to come to sustained grip
with an enemy. Recently, remotely piloted aircraft
(RPA)—also known as drones—have alleviated some
of the problems associated with brevity of presence. In
addition, ever-improving all-weather capabilities have
enabled aircraft to fly in conditions that previously
would have been prohibitive.2 Speed, however, may
in the future become less of an asset than it is now.

3
 When implemented well, air power offers enor-
mous advantages. Lord Tedder, who had commanded
Allied air forces in World War II prior to the Nor-
mandy landing, explained:

in order even to begin to wage war successfully, it is

necessary to arrive at the situation in which the enemy air
opposition is unable to interfere effectively with our own
operations—that is what we mean by air superiority.3

Owning air superiority meant, for instance, that Allied

troops could land successfully on D-day in 1944; it
meant that South Korean and U.S. forces driven into
the Pusan perimeter in 1950 would not be pushed into
the sea. It meant that the United States and its allies
could operate in the Gulf war (1991) and the Iraq war
(2003) without much concern about the Iraqi Air Force.
Holding on to control of its airspace in 1940 meant
that Britain could continue to fight Germany in World
War II, and the United States could station assets there
once it joined the war.
Air superiority is necessary because airspace is
valuable. From the moment airplanes made their first
appearance, they proved to be potent military instru-
ments. Right away, they enabled a view directly over
and behind enemy lines. This allowed for the track-
ing of enemy movement, and the targeting of enemy
assets. In modern expressions of this role, new air- and
space-based platforms gather detailed intelligence and
provide ongoing surveillance of enemy systems and
behavior. Related to this, aircraft contribute to the com-
munications realm; they have performed in this role
using everything from early wireless sets to sophisti-
cated radios, and from the airborne warning and con-
trol system (AWACS) to Link 16. Air- and space-based
mechanisms are heavily relied on to provide timely,

4
vital intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance
(ISR) to commanders.
Aircraft have been and will remain powerful tools
in the joint fight. They bring crucially important assets
to the table for the joint commander: the means for
achieving air superiority, reconnaissance, commu-
nication, battlefield air attack, and interdiction. Air
power supports naval power in winning and hold-
ing command of the sea, and helps crucially in pro-
tecting a nation’s borders, coastlines, and airways. Air
power can assist land and naval forces in denying an
adversary’s ability to successfully achieve its aims in
battle.4 (For instance, part of the role of contemporary
North Atlantic Treaty Organization [NATO] forces
is to threaten to deny Russia successful invasion of
NATO-member states—and air forces have a key mis-
sion in this.) To contend with an enemy possessing
air assets, one must have air assets too, including air
defenses (over the battlefield and the homeland). An
army without air power is desperately vulnerable on
its “overhead flank” if it is fighting an enemy that pos-
sesses air power. Air lift and air mobility are crucial
assets for any commander. Aircraft are essential tools
in providing humanitarian aid in disaster zones, and
in search and rescue missions of all types.
From the earliest days of aviation, airplanes also
have engaged in the direct destruction of enemy assets
and interdiction of enemy materiel at both short and
long ranges. “Strategic bombing” is an umbrella term
referring to the bombing of enemy assets far from the
line of battle, usually on the enemy home front (indus-
tries, infrastructure, centers of communication, and
the general population). Throughout its history, the
utility of this form of air power has been hotly con-
tested. Such bombing can take place as part of a larger

5
campaign (for example, the Anglo-American com-
bined bomber offensive in Europe or the Gulf war
air campaign), or it can be utilized on its own (as in
NATO’s 1999 war in the Balkans or limited, highly
specific strikes on enemy assets). In recent years,
modern air theorists have sought to impose forms of
paralysis on an enemy; they focus less on destruction
than on degrading normal processes of communicat-
ing and functioning.
The earliest advocates of long-range bombing
expected that it would have a physical impact as well
as a moral or psychological impact. However, air theo-
rists have varied in their assumptions about what cre-
ates the linkage between bombing (as a threat or an act)
and the attainment of a political aim. In his important
book Arms and Influence, Nobel Prize-winning econo-
mist Thomas Schelling delineated two ways of using
violence to achieve desired ends. If using brute force,
an attacker imposes his will on an enemy without the
need for cooperation. When a state lands an army on
foreign shores, defeats the enemy military’s services,
and occupies the land, it is using brute force. There
is no need for cooperation by the opponent. By con-
trast, coercion involves manipulating the behavior of
an adversary by structuring its incentives (manipulat-
ing costs and benefits through threats and action). It
requires cooperation from an opponent.5
Air and naval instruments of power are principally
coercive, and thus require a particularly sophisticated
understanding of the adversary, including their will,
weak points, and resilience. Some air theorists have
focused on threatening/imposing punishment on
an enemy in order to achieve political aims; others
have focused on destroying specific resources central
to an enemy’s war effort. Punishment, as a coercive

6
strategy, relies on the threat of (or imposition of) pain
and loss, and the creation of social upheaval. These, in
turn, create effects that push an actor to sue for terms
or concede a stake. When it comes to strategies that
threaten punishment, nuclear weapons are the ne plus
ultra in this realm: no weapon has ever been able to
threaten punishment like nuclear weapons can.6
Building on Schelling’s work in his influential book
Bombing to Win (1996), Robert Pape introduced four
categories of coercive air strategies: punishment; risk
(holding back on striking some valuable targets while
making clear one may do so if there is no negotiation
or concession); denial (weakening or smashing an ene-
my’s military forces so that his security is degraded);
and decapitation (striking an enemy’s key leadership
and telecommunications assets).7 Pape imposed his
theoretical taxonomy after the fact, and his categori-
zation is by no means used or accepted by all those
who write about air power. Few air power theorists
have been sufficiently specific and articulate about
how they link action and outcome, and thus historians
are keen to avoid oversimplification or mischaracteri-
zation. However, the taxonomy Pape created is useful
for the strategist: it highlights important assumptions
embedded in theories of aerial bombing and offers a
practical starting point for discussion and analysis.
Pape also argued that gaining and holding air
superiority is not a separate (fifth) category of coercive
air strategy. Instead, he insisted that air superiority is
a prerequisite to the implementation of all of the other
coercive air strategies, because “aircraft cannot sys-
tematically place bombs on any target set if air opera-
tions encounter strong opposition from enemy forces.”
And, in a comment that parallels Sir Julian Corbett’s
thinking on sea power, he added, “Air superiority

7
need not extend over the enemy’s entire territory, but
only over the target set the attacker intends to strike
and the air corridors to it.”8
Ever-improving technologies have supported
increasingly sophisticated forms of precision strike.
Bombing capability has advanced with evolving
methods for target acquisition, penetration of enemy
airspace, and self-protection. Twenty-first century
bombers are light years ahead of their primitive World
War I ancestors. Missiles and modern RPAs support
highly precise strike options without placing a pilot
in harm’s way. Many forms of naval power, most
especially cruise missiles, can be—and will be—used
in coercive air campaigns from stand-off distances.
However, naval and marine air assets will usually be
employed in direct support of sea-oriented operations
or ground and/or amphibious operations—and will
be vital to their success. In the future, though, airspace
will be guarded by increasingly sophisticated and pre-
cise defense platforms and networks, and this fact will
pose challenges to even the most advanced offensive
aerial platforms.

THE EARLY YEARS

For centuries before the Wright brothers’ first flight

in 1903, humans had tried to imagine all of the future
roles that airplanes might play—as both military and
non-military instruments. During World War I, air-
craft underwent revolutionary, telescoped changes
driven by the intensely competitive demands of the
war. In 1914, warplanes were primitive machines held
together by wire and twine; by 1918, large, sophisti-
cated four-engine bombers had been developed and
used. These new instruments had major institutional

8
and organizational ramifications for all modern mil-
itary services—and the institutional transformation
this entailed was far from painless. Prewar expecta-
tions tended to influence the interpretation of wartime
experience. Since the interpretation of data and evi-
dence is heavily conditioned by what people expect
to see, observations are colored by social, cultural, and
political influences. Prior to the outbreak of World
War I, civilian writers typically held higher expecta-
tions for air warfare than military planners did. The
latter were generally conservative, expecting an air-
plane’s main or sole contribution to be reconnaissance.
However, a minority—officers who came to hold for-
mative roles in the development of air power and thus
came to hold an institutional stake in the future of air
warfare—emerged from the war with strong convic-
tions and bold claims about the revolutionary impact
of the airplane in war.
During World War I, airplanes proved their worth
in a variety of realms. Indeed, nearly every modern
mission of aircraft received at least a rudimentary
trial between 1914 and 1918. As many had expected,
airplanes proved to be extraordinary reconnaissance
tools, revolutionizing the way that intelligence was
gathered, and how the battlespace was monitored and
utilized. Indeed, the obvious value of airspace created
an instant need for instruments that could both seek it
out (over enemy territory) and preserve it (over one’s
own territory). This led directly to the rise of fighter
aircraft—and to their rapid development during the
war. They have remained crucially important aerial
assets ever since, with fighters and fighter tactics
becoming increasingly sophisticated.
The relatively primitive state of communications
technology in 1914 meant that air-to-ground and

9
air-to-air contact was limited, but it improved gener-
ally over the course of the war. Such communication
increasingly allowed for artillery spotting and tar-
geting. Battlefield air attack was a difficult and risky
operation in World War I, but when done successfully,
it brought impressive results. Tactics for the employ-
ment of aircraft over the battlefield were worked out
in the same way that the tactics for modern combined
arms were worked out between 1914 and 1918—
through intensive trial and error. By the end of the
war, a body of doctrine existed for all modern uses of
aircraft.9
The World War I record of long-range (“strategic”)
bombardment was mixed. The hardware and tools
needed to make it a viable proposition—including
engines, airframes, navigation methods, and bomb
development—were primitive at the outset of the
war. By 1917, the Germans had twin- and four-engine
bombers capable of waging attacks on Britain, but
these were limited in number. By that time the Brit-
ish were developing a large bomber to be used over
Berlin in 1919, but the war ended before it could be
brought into service. The Italians also developed a
large bomber during the course of the war.10
Not only was it difficult for the attacking bombers
to reach their targets with their primitive navigation
methods, but it was also difficult for them to bomb
accurately. Moreover, limited numbers of planes put a
ceiling on the damage that could be achieved through
air attacks. However, by 1917 to 1918, several mili-
tary institutions had theories and plans for long-range
bombing. Some theoretically inclined planners in the
Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) and newly indepen­
dent Royal Air Force (RAF), for instance, argued for
sustained attacks on key targets in the German war

10
economy, including munitions, chemicals, and the
steel industry. American observers were impressed
by this focus on potential bottlenecks in the enemy
war economy; indeed, they incorporated these ideas
into their first plan for strategic bombing, compiled
in 1917 but never implemented.11 These ideas would
take hold and develop in the 1930s as the “industrial
fabric” theory (or “industrial web” theory) at the U.S.
Air Corps Tactical School.
The impact that World War I’s bombing had on an
enemy’s civilian morale was difficult to interpret, and
observers tended to draw from it what they expected
to see. Because long-range attacks were neither heavy
nor sustained, they did not compel civilians to pres-
sure their governments to sue for peace. What they did
do, however—especially in the case of Britain—was to
embolden civilians to demand better air defenses, and
to call for retaliation against attackers. Nervous about
civilian morale under air attack, many British elites
assumed that these public demands were fueled by
panic and terror. However, a close look at the primary
sources indicates, instead, that the British public was
indignant, not terrorized. Much prewar writing, influ-
enced by racist and social Darwinist theories, antici-
pated that urban laborers, women, and Jews would be
particularly vulnerable. This proved not to be the case,
although many British elites who had been steeped
in these ideas continued to look at events through
narrow lenses influenced by social attitudes.12
For their part, the Germans were disappointed
with the impact of long-range bombing. While they
knew their effort had been limited in resources and
scale, they realized, too, that they had not been able
to seriously undermine the British war economy or
reduce the British will to fight. However, the very fact

11
that long-range bombing had been a marginal effort
compared to the vast ground war meant that the
wartime experience was not the end of the story but
rather the beginning. During the interwar years, those
making bold claims for air power gained degrees of
legitimacy for a variety of reasons. The war had indi-
cated that technological advancement could take place
in a highly telescoped way. Many observers thus
concluded that the technological development of air
power would be fast and relentless—and offensive
capabilities would outstrip defensive ones. Moreover,
many assumed that some of the most daunting weap-
ons of the war, including chemicals and gas, would be
teamed with air power.13
Air advocates argued that all modern states would
have to embrace airplanes as essential tools of war
and deterrence, insisting that those who failed to do
so would put themselves at an enormous disadvan-
tage in the ongoing competition among nations. Air
power—long-range bombing especially—would
restore offensive operations to the battlefield, and
would offer the prospect of directly undermining the
enemy’s all-important “will to fight” by strikes on his
homeland. One would be able to leap over the army
and navy and go right to both resources and popular
will. It is interesting to note here that offensive opera-
tions had not in fact disappeared from the battlefield.
By 1917, armies had begun to work out the basics of
modern combined arms, restoring the offensive on
land. This was manifest in the German offensive of
March 1918, and in the subsequent ground offen-
sives led by the Americans in 1918. However, many
writers, traumatized by the trench stalemate of 1914-
1917, assumed that the offensive on land was largely
dead. Another common misapprehension of interwar

12
theorists was that the German Army and Navy had
not been defeated; instead, its population had lost the
war due to war-weariness and defeatism.

GIULIO DOUHET

Perhaps the most outspoken and assertive initial

advocate for air power was the Italian, Giulio Douhet.
Born into a military family, Douhet first became an
artillery officer. Prior to the start of World War I, he
commanded the Italian Army’s aviation section.
During the war, he recommended breaking the land
war stalemate with Austria by using a 500-plane
bomber force. Because his proposal also contained
a sharp critique of Italian military leaders, he was
court-martialed, but he was recalled to service in 1918
to head the Italian Central Aeronautical Bureau.14 His
1921 book, The Command of the Air, painted a graphic
vision of societal collapse in the face of air attack.
Indeed, it was the futurist drama he conveyed, rather
than the analytical rigor of his ideas that gave Douhet
a lasting place in the canon of air warfare.15 A poet,
painter, playwright, and amateur novelist, Douhet
brought to bear on his work “the intense modernist
fascination with the latest advances in science and
technology . . . prevalent in prewar Italian protofascist
avant-garde culture.”16
Both British and American airmen had developed
indigenous theories of air warfare before Douhet pub-
lished, but The Command of the Air was cited widely—
especially in the 1930s after it had been widely
translated—and used to support apocalyptic visions
of air warfare. Douhet’s vision stressed the offensive;
indeed, he referred to aircraft as the offensive weapon
par excellence: “Nothing man can do on the surface of
the earth can interfere with a plane in flight. . . . All

13
the influences which have conditioned and charac-
terized warfare from the beginning are powerless to
affect aerial action.” He stressed that “the battlefield
will be limited only by the boundaries of the nation,
and all of their citizens will become combatants since
all of them will be exposed to the aerial offensives of
the enemy.”17
Douhet also largely dismissed the potential of
ground defenses. As Phillip Meilinger has noted,
“Douhet sarcastically concluded that ground fire
might down some aircraft, much like muskets shot in
the air might occasionally hit a swallow, but it was not
a serious deterrent to air attack.”18 Once an air force
had fought for and won command of the air, it would
be free to exploit the situation “with forces capable of
defeating the material and moral resistance of the ene-
my.”19 Such bombing forces, he believed, would be so
effective as to force an enemy government to sue for
terms.
Much of the power of Douhet’s vision came from
his linkage of airplanes and chemical warfare. During
World War I, gas weapons had evoked a sense of
dread in the public mind. Douhet asked, “How could
a country go on living and working under this con-
stant threat, oppressed by the nightmare of imminent
destruction and death?” He was impressed by the pos-
sibilities of attack against those of “least moral resis-
tance,” such as factory workers.20 His vision was one
of technological determinism:

The brutal but inescapable conclusion we must draw is

this: in the face of the technical developments of aviation
today, in case of war the strongest army we can deploy . . .
and the strongest navy we can dispose . . . will provide no
effective defense against determined efforts . . . to bomb
our cities.21

14
The one virtue of this bombing, he explained, was that
at least wars would now be shorter: civilians would
not endure for long the privations imposed on them
by air.
Douhet was not systematic or analytical about tar-
geting, but he cast a wide net that included industry,
transport, infrastructure, communication, and seats
of government. He believed that a violent offensive
waged relentlessly against a range of important tar-
gets, using explosive, incendiary, and gas bombs,
would do the most to destroy the enemy’s will.22 His
writing put great emphasis on coercion by punish-
ment. However, Douhet’s perspective was narrow; he
saw only the evidence that supported his view. As his-
torian Michael Sherry has pointed out, his ideas rested
on crude extrapolation, and, like many other interwar
prophets of air power, he failed to see how it “might
evolve unpredictably, strengthening the defense as
well as the offense, creating its own futile charges and
bloody stalemates.”23

SIR HUGH TRENCHARD

Hugh Montague Trenchard served as a field com-

mander for the British Army’s Royal Flying Corps
during World War I. He would ultimately become
known as the “Father of the RAF,” although this was
ironic, since he initially opposed the creation of a sep-
arate air service in Britain. RAF independence, final-
ized in 1918, resulted largely from public demands
for better air defense, and for retaliation following
German air attacks on Britain. Trenchard was called
on to be the first head of a British long-range bom-
bardment force in 1918; however, he received few air-
planes and had little ability to implement any kind of

15
systematic bombardment of Germany. It was clear to
him, though, that the British Government and public
expected to see results; he thus felt a need to justify
the use of resources given to him, even if meager. He
argued expediently both during and after the war that
the psychological effect of bombardment was much
greater than the physical effect.24
Named post-World War I Chief of the RAF, Tren-
chard became a convert to and defender of an inde-
pendent air force. After the war, the British Army
and the Royal Navy sought to regain control of their
air arms. To head this off, Trenchard sought a ratio-
nale for independence. He argued that an attacking
air force would be in a position to undermine an ene-
my’s will to fight by placing pressure directly on the
enemy population. Attacks on enemy “vital centers”
would cause the enemy population to call for better
air defenses, as the British had done in World War
I. The heavier and more persistent these offensive
attacks, the more the enemy would be driven on to the
defensive by popular cries for protection. The enemy’s
increasing defensive effort would place it on a slip-
pery slope from which it would not be able to recover.
Many of Trenchard’s ideas were articulated in
the May 1928 memorandum on: “The War Object of
an Air Force.” He argued for attacking enemy mate-
riel, undermining enemy will, and disrupting enemy
communications. He combined ideas about attacking
enemy military assets and communications (forms of
denial) with ideas about undermining enemy will. He
argued:

I would state definitely that in the view of the Air Staff the
object to be sought by air action will be to paralyse from the
very outset the enemy’s productive centres of munitions

16
 of war of every sort and to stop all communication and
transportation.25

He believed that the “moral effect” (psychological

effect) of air attacks to be “very great.”26 The idea of
“paralyzing” an enemy would be echoed, later on, by
air power theorists in the United States.
Trenchard saw great value in the ability of aircraft
to “pass over the enemy navies and armies, and pen-
etrate the air defenses and attack direct the centres
of production, transportation and communication
from which the enemy war effort is maintained.”27 He
believed that each belligerent would “set out to attack
direct those objectives which he considers most vital
to the enemy. Each will penetrate the defenses of the
other to a certain degree.”28 Once this has taken place:

The stronger side, by developing the more powerful

offensive, will provoke in his weaker enemy increasingly
insistent calls for the protective employment of aircraft.
In this way he will throw the enemy on to the defensive
and it will be in this manner that air superiority will be
obtained, and not by direct destruction of air forces.29

Like Douhet, Trenchard felt there was no question

about whether bombers would appear in the next war:

Whatever we may wish or hope, [he argued] . . . , there

is not the slightest doubt that in the next war both sides
will send their aircraft out without scruple to bomb those
objectives which they consider the most suitable.30

The only answer was preparation and an offensive

spirit. Trenchard also argued that his air force could
make key contributions to the policing of parts of the
British Empire that were otherwise difficult to govern.
He advocated using air power coercively—threaten-
ing and using bombardment against those peoples

17
who resisted British domination. Some modern writ-
ers have drawn interesting parallels between British
“air control” policies and contemporary use of RPAs
by the United States.

BILLY MITCHELL

William L. “Billy” Mitchell, son of a wealthy Wis-

consin senator, enlisted as a private in the U.S. Army
during the Spanish American War and later gained
a commission. He served successfully in the Signal
Corps and began taking flying lessons at the age of
38. Mitchell went to France in 1917 and helped pave
the way for an American air contribution to the war.
A tireless and flamboyant leader, he rose quickly to
Brigadier General, commanding all American air
units in France. Despite his rapid rise, he alienated
many with his aggressive, arrogant style, which con-
tinued after the war. He feuded with the Army, and
his aerial attacks on stationary battleships in 1921 and
1923 placed him in the midst of a passionate fight with
the Navy. His harsh criticism of the crash of the Navy
dirigible Shenandoah, which, he argued, had resulted
from “an almost treasonable administration of the
national defense,” ultimately led to his court-martial
and ouster from the Army.31
Mitchell devoted the rest of his career to making
a public case for air power and an independent U.S.
Air Force. More an advocate and enthusiast than a
true theorist, Mitchell was tireless in his quest for
aerial resources, and for “air-mindedness” among the
American people. Mitchell’s style is apparent in his
1925 book, Winged Defense: The Development and Pos-
sibilities of Modern Air Power—Economic and Military.

18
His arguments are similar in style to those of Alfred
Thayer Mahan. He wrote:

The air-going people actually form a separate class. They

are more different from landsmen than are landsmen
from seamen. At the present time, the air-going people
in the national services are not accorded the position nor
the rank to which the importance of their duties entitles
them.32

He added, “The world stands on the threshold of the

‘aeronautical era.’ During this epoch the destinies of
all people will be controlled through the air.”33
Like Douhet, he downplayed ground-based air
defenses:

The only defense against aircraft [he argued] is by hitting

the enemy first, just as far away from home as possible.
The idea of defending the country against air attack by
machine guns or anti-aircraft cannon from the ground is
absolutely incapable of being carried out.34

He was prescient in foreseeing that air superiority

would have to be won through a battle between air
forces: “Great contests for air control will be the rule
in the future. Once supremacy of the air has been
established, airplanes can fly over a hostile country at
will.”35
He added:

How can a hostile air force be forced to fight, it may be

asked, if they do not desire to leave the ground? The
air strategist answers: ‘By finding a location of such
importance to the enemy that he must defend it against a
bombardment attack by airplanes’.36

Here again he was prescient, sensing that enemy fight-

ers might in some instances have to be lured into the

19
air. Like Douhet, he believed that aircraft would make
wars more intense, and thus shorter in duration:

The menace [of air power] will be so great that either a

state will hesitate to go to war, or, having engaged in war,
will make the contest much sharper, more decisive, and
more quickly finished. This will result in a diminished
loss of life and treasure and will thus be a distinct benefit
to civilization.37

With respect to the details of targeting, Mitchell’s

vision was—like Douhet’s and Trenchard’s—rather
all-encompassing: “Air forces will attack centers of
production of all kinds, means of transportation,
agricultural areas, ports and shipping; not so much
the people themselves.”38 However, he was inconsis-
tent: at times, he prioritized denial and decapitation
(of communications); at other times, he appeared to
emphasize punishment.
Douhet, Trenchard, and Mitchell were revolu-
tionary in their thinking: their work reflected an
unbounded enthusiasm for air power and an impa-
tience with those who took a more evolutionary and
integrated approach to warfighting. Douhet and
Mitchell insisted on a battle for air superiority. All
three theorists expected that civilian populations
would hold up poorly in the face of bombing, and
expected that the threat of bombing might deter wars
or shorten them.

THE INTERWAR ERA

Douhet, Trenchard, and Mitchell were all influ-

enced by the circumstances in which they found
themselves. Their central assumption about the inher-
ently offensive nature of air power relied on a selec-
tive interpretation of the evidence from World War I.

20
In general, they believed that airplanes would only
grow more capable in the future by flying faster and
higher, and it would thus be harder to defend against
them. They were also impressed by the vastness of
the sky; this physical fact, they believed, would give
a permanent advantage to the attacker. In the 1920s,
bombers developed more quickly than fighters did.
However, the momentum began to shift in the 1930s,
as fighter development began to catch up. Moreover,
the advent of radar changed the air defense equation
significantly.39
Air defense later took many forms and proved
much more robust than the early theorists had pre-
dicted. During World War II, for instance, the Ger-
mans in particular would develop highly effective
anti-aircraft (flak) guns that could reach and destroy
bombers flying at high altitude—and disrupt the flight
paths of many others. In terms of passive defenses,
the Germans would build decoy factories and towns.40
They also managed to disperse a great deal of their
industry and to place some of it underground.
Nearly all industrialized nations took an interest
in air power and long-range bombardment. However,
not all nations developed the latter. The way in which
air power was integrated into a state’s military organi-
zation was influenced greatly by geography and geo-
politics. States with enemies on their borders including
Germany, Russia, and France could not afford to stray
too far from an army-centric military organization and
priorities. The English Channel was a moat protect-
ing Britain; there was no desire among British elites to
maintain expensive and potentially disruptive large
standing armies. British interest in strategic bombing
was thus in line with British defense policy more gen-
erally. However, during the interwar years, the RAF

21
did not back up theory with rigorous analysis of past
experience, or equally rigorous analysis of assump-
tions about the mechanisms linking air power to polit-
ical outcomes.
The French, the leading aviation power in World
War I, never entirely recovered from the devastating
effects of that war. Economic and political problems,
as well as overall war-weariness, kept France from
regaining any semblance of the position it held up to
1917-1918. Russia, wracked by civil war and then dev-
astated by the paranoid politics of Joseph Stalin, recov-
ered only just in time to save itself with Allied help
from Hitler. The Russians would develop highly capa-
ble air power during World War II, but it remained
largely, albeit not entirely, tied to the Red Army.
Although the Treaty of Versailles had prevented Ger-
many from having an interwar air force, the Germans
continued to take an interest in aviation and long-
range bombing—and they retained active glider clubs.
The development of advanced, long-range bombers
lagged in Germany for a variety of reasons under
Hitler. Nevertheless, the Luftwaffe (Hitler’s aerial war-
fare branch) developed highly effective methods of
coordinating tactical aviation and maneuver warfare
on the ground. Indeed, this cooperation was the heart
of what the West called “Blitzkrieg” early in World
War II. It facilitated the unprecedented speed with
which Hitler moved westward to the English Channel
in 1940, and made clear that no modern army would
be able to achieve maximum power in the future with-
out sophisticated aviation.41
The American people, despite taking an interest
in the aggressive salesmanship of Billy Mitchell, did
not feel the need to create an independent air service
before World War II. The United States was largely

22
defensive in its military posture, and most serving
officers who wrote about air warfare were obliged
to do so within careful boundaries. Nonetheless, the
organization that was first called the “U.S. Army Air
Service,” then the “Air Corps,” and later the “Army
Air Forces,” gained increasing autonomy during the
interwar years. Ideas about bombing an enemy war
economy were articulated in the documents and lec-
tures of the Air Service, and later the Air Corps School
system.
In 1926, an unsung air theorist, William C. Sher-
man, put forward an early version of what became, in
the 1930s, the U.S. “industrial fabric” theory of bomb-
ing. Sherman wrote:

Industry consists . . . of a complex system of interlocking

factories, each of which makes only its allotted part of the
whole. . . . Accordingly, in the majority of industries it
is necessary to destroy certain elements of the industry
only, in order to cripple the whole. . . . On the declaration
of war, these key plants should be made the object of
a systematic bombardment . . . until they have been
sufficiently crippled.42

This approach was distinct from what either Tren-

chard or Douhet had argued. It did not rely on an
uprising from the population, or the enemy being (in
Trenchard’s words) “thrown on to the defensive.” It
assumed that a war economy would collapse if key
elements of it were destroyed by aerial bombing.
Sherman’s theory, developed further by his colleagues
in the 1930s, looked to the interdependence of modern
economies, and sought specific structural weaknesses
within them. By identifying and eliminating key nodes
in an enemy’s war economy, bombers might deny that
enemy the means with which to fight an industrial
war.43

23
 Despite possessing a theory of bombing and devel-
oping the tools that might be used to implement
it—the B-17 bomber and Sperry and Norden bomb-
sights—the interwar Air Corps was officially pre-
vented from thinking in terms of offensive action. Even
as Hitler made his aims increasingly clear in the 1930s,
the American people had no wish to be pulled into
another European war. However, by the late 1930s,
as President Franklin D. Roosevelt began to increase
military budgets, he gave special attention to the Air
Corps. He believed, initially, that air power might help
deter a war. Later, he envisioned the United States as
the “arsenal of democracy” but not a belligerent itself,
and he imagined that the United States might pro-
vide its future allies with advanced tools with which
to fight Hitler and Nazism. As the war approached,
American aviators received more autonomy, but not
full independence from the U.S. Army.
Perhaps it should be no surprise that both Britain
and the United States were drawn toward long-range
bombing in the 1930s. Both nations, blessed with geo-
graphical good fortune, had eschewed large standing
armies in favor of sea power. They followed a similar
pattern with respect to airplanes and air power. Their
inclination to substitute advanced technology for man-
power was only reinforced by memories of the dread-
ful casualties of the long-stalemated ground battles of
World War I. Decision-makers in both states felt that if
a war had to be fought, it might be possible to fight a
quicker and perhaps even cleaner war through the air.

24
WORLD WAR II: A TEST OF THEORY

When World War II began, the 1940 Battle of France

revealed that neither the French nor the British had
paid enough attention to air-ground cooperation on
the battlefield. Fortunately, the RAF had not neglected
air defense, even if Trenchard and his colleagues had
given rhetorical prominence to the offensive qualities
of long-range bombing. This fact enabled the British
to prevail in their quest to maintain control over their
own airspace during the 1940 Battle of Britain. Victory
in this vital battle meant that Britain remained in the
fight and could serve as a key staging area for a con-
tinuing war against Hitler.
As the war progressed, the Germans, like the Brit-
ish, constructed formidable defenses centered on
radar. However, if radar hindered the Germans in the
Battle of Britain, it would hinder British bombers in
their attempts to attack Germany. The British began
their bomber war with strikes on German oil and com-
munication targets. This was not only to stay within a
general ethical framework but also because many in
the RAF thought such attacks would be the most effec-
tive and efficient. The British discovered early in the
war that they could not bomb in daylight without pro-
hibitive losses; thus, they shifted increasingly to night
bombing. The RAF knew that such raids would suffer
from inaccuracy, but they did not fully appreciate the
degradation until the summer of 1941 when a thor-
ough photoreconnaissance analysis revealed that only
about 1 in 5 bombers were getting within five miles
of their targets. In February 1942, the British formal-
ized what had become obvious: since cities were the
only targets that Bomber Command could reliably
find and hit, British bombers would attack German

25
cities, particularly those areas with dense populations
of industrial workers.44
This was an expedient strategy, undertaken at a
moment when aerial bombing was the only way that
Britain could strike back at Hitler. It was intended not
only to strike the enemy but also to bolster home front
morale. Sir Arthur Harris, who took over as head of
Bomber Command in 1942, believed in city bomb-
ing; he felt that the Germans valued their cities and
that cities were the main engines of modern war. He
believed that bombardment, combining elements of
punishment and denial (destruction of crucial indus-
trial output), would sooner or later force the Germans
to sue for terms. He believed that in the battle between
the destruction Bomber Command could impose on
Germany, and the attrition Germany could impose on
Bomber Command, he and his force would win out.
The theory of victory here was distinct from others we
have seen. Interestingly, Harris was more committed
to city bombing than others in the RAF, and this dis-
pute would later become a factor in the prosecution of
the war.45
In the autumn of 1942, when the Americans were
just getting their war effort organized, Winston Chur-
chill invited them to join the nighttime bombing effort.
They declined. They were convinced that by flying
in groups of high-altitude, self-defending bombers,
they could defend themselves adequately and find
their way to specific industrial targets, undermining
the German war economy, and dealing a fatal blow to
the Luftwaffe.46 However, the Americans too suffered
high attrition, particularly when they began to attack
targets deep in German territory in 1943. The losses
eventually prompted the Americans to change course.
By bringing large numbers of long-range fighters

26
equipped with droppable, self-sealing fuel tanks to the
theater, and flying raids on targets the Germans felt
compelled to defend, the Americans provoked aerial
battles of attrition with the Luftwaffe. This counter-
force battle for air supremacy over Europe paralleled
Mitchell’s thinking. Eventually, this offensive—waged
by a vast and growing American force—overwhelmed
the Germans’ ability to train pilots, provoking a down-
ward spiral from which they ultimately could not
recover.47
In Europe, the Americans initially tried to limit
themselves to industrial targets. However, the weather
was frequently too cloudy for bombsights to be used
effectively. Late in 1943, the Chief of the U.S. Army Air
Forces ordered that Americans would bomb through
overcast skies rather than not bomb at all when the
weather was poor. Like the British, the Americans
adopted this approach as an expedient measure. This
meant, however, that the Americans substantially
diverged from the “industrial web” theory a great deal
of the time. Their willingness to add incendiary bombs
to their ordnance mix also indicated a drift from their
original conception for long-range bombing. They
inaccurately bombed through clouds in bad weather
and used bombsights against specific industrial and
military targets when the weather was decent. During
poor weather in the winter of 1944-1945, 42 percent
of U.S. 8th Air Force bombs fell more than five miles
from their target.48
Similarly, cloud cover and jet stream winds pre-
vented successful bombing of Japanese industry in
the Pacific theater, which the Americans attempted
to implement in 1944. By early 1945, the Ameri-
cans—feeling an urgent need to make progress in the
war—abandoned this effort and turned to low-level

27
incendiary attacks on Japanese cities. Over 60 such
attacks were waged, the most devastating on March
9-10, 1945, when well over 100,000 Japanese died in a
single attack on Tokyo, which was more than would
die at Hiroshima. As in Europe, the Americans tried
to do industrial targeting whenever conditions made
it feasible. The conventional bombing of Japan contin-
ued right up until the Japanese surrender in mid-Au-
gust, with some raids taking place in between, and
even after, the two atomic attacks.49
What all air forces discovered in World War II was
that long-range bombardment is much more difficult
and demanding to prosecute than the interwar theo-
rists had predicted. Air defense methods proved to be
formidable and effective; by no means did the bomber
“always get through” as so many had assumed it
would. Moreover, finding and hitting targets reli-
ably—especially in bad weather—was anything but a
simple process. The enemy could thwart determined
efforts through deception, stockpiling of materials,
substitution, dispersion, and other means.
Throughout World War II, Allied tactical aviation
was an incredibly powerful asset. Indeed, its utility
simply cannot be overstated. After a bumpy start, tal-
ented aviators like Arthur Tedder and Arthur “Maori”
Coningham of Britain, and Pete Quesada of the United
States, raised tactical air power to a high art; they lev-
eraged an Anglo-American asset in a way that gave
immense advantages to their national fighting forces,
protecting the overhead flank. This put heavy stress on
German infantry, reconnaissance, and armored units
that otherwise would have operated with far more
freedom of action. Air superiority facilitated Allied
reconnaissance and communication on the battlefields
of Europe, as well as battlefield strike and interdiction.

28
On the Eastern Front, the Russians learned to cope
with German Blitzkrieg methods by developing their
own strong tactical aviation to support their fighting
forces on land.50
At sea, the development of aircraft carriers and
their complement of potent instruments including
strike aircraft transformed and revolutionized naval
warfare, and gave navies a new form of coercive lever-
age and new instruments for work at the tactical and
operational levels. The impact was seen most fully in
the unfolding of the U.S.-Japanese war in the Pacific,
and was made known to the world shortly after the
dramatic battle of Midway in 1942.51
Both the RAF and the U.S. Army Air Forces were
learning institutions, and they were able to continue
to prosecute their offensives even as they adapted to
the conditions they had failed to anticipate. By 1944,
the British were able to hit specific industrial targets
under the right conditions. In addition, the insis-
tent American determination to defeat the Luftwaffe
proved immensely important and consequential. This
campaign gave the Anglo-Americans air superior-
ity in Europe—and the attainment of air superiority
made the D-day landings feasible. D-day ensured that
the Anglo-Americans would have a say in the Euro-
pean settlement coming out of the war. Air superior-
ity and continued bombing of enemy infrastructure
greatly aided the progress of Anglo-American armies.
In the last phases of the European war, aerial bomb-
ing of oil and railway targets had an immense impact
on the ability of the Wehrmacht (armed forces of Nazi
Germany) to prosecute a war of maneuver. German
factories needed coal, but a devastated railway meant
coal could not get to where it was needed. In addition,
Germany’s dwindling oil supply meant that its tanks

29
and aircraft could not move and its pilots could not
train.52
During World War II, civilian populations proved
to be much less fragile and much more robust than
the interwar theorists had predicted. British civilians
during the Blitzkrieg and German civilians during the
long years of Anglo-American air attacks found ways
to adjust to life under fire.53 In addition, the effect of
local, immediate coercion (for instance, the Gestapo,
or secret police of Nazi Germany) could overwhelm
the effect of more remote coercive mechanisms like
enemy bombers. Finally, culture could play a role too.
In Japan, the strong commitment to the Emperor, who
held religious status in Japanese society, made it dif-
ficult for citizens to turn their anger or desperation
toward the overthrow of the existing government.
The shift to an emphasis on city bombing by
the British—and a partial shift to city bombing by
the Americans in Europe and a full shift in Japan in
1945—raised major, legitimate ethical questions that
are still debated today. Strategic bombing had been
embraced in hopes of finding a method of warfighting
that would avoid the horror of trench warfare. How-
ever, it brought its own kind of horrors. The air cam-
paigns grew more intense as the war continued. The
large and devastating bombing of late 1945 in Europe,
for instance, took place in the wake of the V-weapon
(Vergeltungswaffen, or retaliatory weapons—V-1,
V-2, and V-3) attacks on Britain, the shock of the Battle
of the Bulge, and the fear of German jet fighters and
Schoerkel submarines (which some feared might
launch V-weapons against U.S. soil). Unfortunately,
the interwar theorists’ assumption that air war would
be too terrible to be endured for long did not prove
to be the case. The moral ramifications of long-range

30
bombardment in both World War II theaters cannot be
sidestepped.
Because the strategic bombing of World War II did
not have the impact that the interwar theorists had
predicted, many postwar analysts concluded that it
had failed to live up to its promise and had contrib-
uted only marginally to victory. Nevertheless, these
critiques deserve scrutiny. In any analysis, the first
issue to consider is whether a different expenditure
of resources would have been likely or even possible.
Neither Britain nor the United States was comfort-
able with large standing armies; they both had bitter
memories of World War I and were anxious to avoid
that experience again. It is unlikely either would have
eschewed the promise of air power (alongside sea
power) in favor of a strategy that relied principally on
armies.
Even if bombing in Europe was imprecise and
highly imperfect, it still served to place an important
ceiling on the expansion of the German war econ-
omy—an effect that was crucial at key moments during
the war. Bomber Command’s 1943 campaign against
the Ruhr prevented German munitions czar Albert
Speer from carrying out a vast expansion of German
production that year—an expansion that would have
greatly benefited the Germans on the Eastern Front.54
Heavy American attacks on the Luftwaffe facilitated
the Normandy invasion. Prior to D-day, the bombard-
ment by Allied bombers greatly disrupted the French
transport network and kept the Germans from waging
optimal maneuver warfare after the Allied Normandy
landing. Air Marshal Sir Arthur Tedder, Eisenhow-
er’s deputy commander, recognized the crucial nature
of the Allied air attacks on the German rail net, and
he understood how they interacted with attacks on

31
German synthetic oil in the last stages of the war. Air
power—both strategic and tactical—made immense
contributions to victory.
The debates that had begun in the interwar years
were not resolved during World War II, indeed, in
many respects, they intensified. One passionate air
advocate of this era was Alexander de Seversky. In his
1942 book, Victory Through Air Power, he wrote:

The most significant single fact about the war now in

progress is the emergence of aviation as the paramount
and decisive factor in warmaking. . . . All experts agree
that air power will play an ever more decisive part in
determining the power balance among the nations of the
earth.55

Long-standing debate has taken place on whether

or not the atomic attacks on Japan were necessary
for victory in that theater. Some have held that naval
blockade plus short-range bombing, along with the
threat of a Soviet ground offensive, would have been
enough to bring Japan to terms. Others have argued
that the shock of the atomic attacks pushed the Jap-
anese to surrender. Of course, there is no simple
answer—and any attempt to address the issue must
consider both the timing of victory, the casualties
the Americans would have been willing to accept,
and the fear and heightened emotions of the period
of 1944-1945. Another relevant issue pertains to the
vague wording of the Potsdam Declaration, issued to
the Japanese as an ultimatum in July 1945. Historian
Richard Frank has made a compelling argument that
the effects of war, including sea blockade and conven-
tional and atomic bombing, created fears in the minds
of civilian leaders of a popular uprising. If Frank was
right, then the fears that were created by the heavy

32
punishment of the Japanese people at the end of a long
war, which had escalated steadily since Pearl Harbor,
had an impact on Hirohito and many of those in his
circle.56 Japanese surrender came, however, only after
immense pressure on the civilian population, and
ghastly losses.
In World War II, Britain’s Bomber Command and
the American bomber forces employed a mix of denial
through strategic interdiction of key elements of the
German war economy and punishment. Experience
proved that the denial efforts were more effective
than the punishment efforts. The latter did not have
prompt effects because civilians proved resilient and
able to resist, avoid, and counter the effects of even
very heavy bombing. In the end, strategic and tactical
aviation were able to work together—and with other
military instruments of power—to create formidable
synergies. These, combined with Russian success on
the Eastern Front, were more than the Germans could
handle. In the Far East, successful U.S. naval war and
interdiction, combined with the effects of bombing
from both long-range forces and bombers flying from
carriers, proved to be more than the Japanese could
endure.

THE COLD WAR AND THE KOREAN WAR

After World War II, bomber aircraft able to carry

nuclear weapons allowed the Americans to hold
enemy assets at risk from long distance. While the U.S.
Air Force would have won its autonomy after the war
anyway, the postwar emphasis on the nuclear mis-
sion guaranteed it and brought considerable resources
to the new Strategic Air Command (SAC). Under the
fiscally conservative Eisenhower administration, the

33
SAC offered the United States an inexpensive way of
balancing against the large army maintained by the
postwar Soviet Union. From the 1950s to the 1980s,
the U.S. Air Force was a SAC-dominated institution;
its focus was geared toward maintaining a robust
deterrent force that would head off a nuclear conflict
between the superpowers. Indeed, SAC’s motto was
“Peace is our Profession.” When the Americans pos-
sessed only a small number of nuclear weapons, SAC
targeting focused on Soviet cities. Once the nuclear
arsenal grew, targeting shifted to Soviet industry—but
the bombs were large and devastating, and collateral
casualties among civilians would have been very high
as a result.57
The two Asian wars fought by the Americans
during the Cold War in Korea and Vietnam were frus-
trating for practitioners of long-range bombardment,
not least because the fear of escalation with Russia and
China kept constraints on targets American air forces
could strike. In Korea, training for atomic missions
went forward, but authorities withheld permission for
their use.58 The use of bombers did not translate into
steady progress toward victory, and as time passed,
American B-29 bombers became increasingly vulner-
able to North Korean air defenses.59 The politics of
limited war ensured that enemy supply sources in
China and Russia remained off the target lists, and
North Korea itself contained only limited indigenous
industry; the industrial fabric theory was thus a poor
fit to the conditions of the war. SAC commander Gen-
eral Curtis LeMay would later say about the war, “We
never did hit a strategic target.”60 Moreover, like the
Japanese, the North Koreans proved able to endure
heavy punishment.

34
 After only a few months of war, U.S. bombers had
destroyed all of the industrial targets in North Korea.61
After the Chinese entered the war in late 1950, con-
straints on U.S. targeting were loosened and the U.S.
Air Force firebombed Pyongyang. However, the North
Koreans held out. The spring of 1951 brought very high
tension as General MacArthur pressed for a widening
of the war, and nine nuclear cores were released by
the Atomic Energy Commission and flown to Guam,
where they could be mated with bomb casings.62 In
1952, further attacks on Pyongyang, on smaller towns
and cities, and on North Korean hydroelectric plants
failed to break the war’s stalemate. The attacks on
power plants were made mainly by fighter bombers;
by late June 1952, this campaign had cut off 90 percent
of North Korea’s electrical power generation.63 Some
of these attacks were designed explicitly to “punish
the enemy with air power,” although the Americans
tried at the same time to retain the language of “mili-
tary” targets, as they did not wish to cause a complete
break during the war from the norms prohibiting the
direct targeting of cities and civilians.64
The escalating bombardment campaign culmi-
nated in the spring of 1953 with the breaching of dikes
that led to the flooding of portions of the Korean rice
crop. The armistice that followed shortly thereafter (in
July 1953) was interpreted by some to mean that this
final form of aerial punishment had worked. However,
by that time, many other factors including the death of
Stalin were bearing in significant ways on the peace
process, and thus, it is difficult to tease out the pre-
cise events and effects that led to a settlement. After he
won the Presidency in November 1952, retired Gen-
eral Dwight Eisenhower—who had promised during
his campaign to end the Korean war—made indirect

35
threats of nuclear war against North Korea. While his-
torians disagree on the precise nature and impact of
these threats—what they entailed and how they were
conveyed—Robert Pape has argued that signals sent
to the Chinese, which had indicated the U.S. willing-
ness to further escalate the level of violence in the war,
along with Eisenhower’s threats, influenced the think-
ing of the North Koreans and their allies.65
As historian Conrad Crane has argued, the Korean
war brought terrible devastation and death to the
peninsula. He points out that, “By the end of the war,
most North Koreans were living in hidden villages
or caves, and eighteen of their twenty-two major
cities had been more than 50 percent obliterated.” He
adds, importantly, “One of the primary motivations
for the contemporary North Korean nuclear and mis-
sile programs is to deter the United States from ever
doing that to their homeland again.”66 Robert Pape has
argued that the Korean war precipitated China’s inde-
pendent nuclear program.67
As in World War II, skillful use of battlefield-ori-
ented aviation was an irreplaceable asset to the Amer-
icans, saving the early war effort in 1950, and aiding
the conventional denial campaign that:

compelled the Communists to concede the future

presence of U.S. troops in South Korea as well as the
movement of the inter-Korean boundary from the Thirty-
eighth Parallel to the military frontline somewhat north
of the parallel.68

Similar to World War II, American bombing in the

Korean war relied on combinations of denial, punish-
ment, and risk strategies. As the war dragged on, and
as the Americans faced setbacks, initial constraints fell
away and targeting expanded. Strong tactical aviation

36
provided invaluable help to United Nations forces on
the ground, without which they could not have sur-
vived and sustained themselves.
Once the Korean war ended, the U.S. Air Force
reverted to its priority focus: SAC preparation for pos-
sible war with the Soviet Union. The U.S. Air Force
was able to maintain that focus for just over a decade,
prior to the outbreak of the war in Vietnam, during
what were probably the most intense and dangerous
years of the Cold War, to include 1962—the year of the
Cuban Missile Crisis.

THE WAR IN VIETNAM

When President Lyndon B. Johnson and his advi-

sors increased the U.S. commitment to South Vietnam
in 1964-1965, they hoped that air power might facil-
itate a relatively quick and painless campaign that
would not drain resources from domestic programs,
including Johnson’s “Great Society” program. As had
been the case in the Korean war, Americans did not
want an escalation that would include either China or
the Soviet Union, so political constraints were again
placed on targeting and timing. The Johnson admin-
istration hoped that bombing carefully selected tar-
gets would demonstrate U.S. resolve; convince North
Vietnam that supporting the insurgency in the South
would be too costly; bolster morale in the South; erode
the morale of Viet Cong cadres; and generally intim-
idate the leadership of the insurgency, thereby con-
vincing them that they could not win.69
In April 1964, the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff had
compiled a list of 94 bombing targets in North Viet-
nam. The Air Force wished to attack these immedi-
ately to impose psychological shock as well as physical

37
damage. The Johnson administration, however, would
choose a more graduated approach. After Viet Cong
guerillas struck a U.S. military instillation in Pleiku
in February of 1965, American policymakers imple-
mented Operation ROLLING THUNDER, an aerial
bombing campaign designed to keep North Vietnam
from moving men and supplies into the south, and to
persuade Hanoi to accept a peace settlement preserv-
ing an independent, noncommunist South Vietnam.
If the goals of ROLLING THUNDER were clear, the
strategy of coercion to be used was a matter of debate.
As Robert Pape had pointed out, the campaign ulti-
mately included, at different times, elements of risk,
punishment, and denial strategies.70
In August 1965, Secretary of Defense Robert
McNamara rejected the Joint Chiefs of Staff recom-
mendation for attacks on North Vietnam’s strategic
oil facilities and electric power plants. The adminis-
tration believed that by undertaking limited bombing
that would hold more valuable targets at risk, it could
signal the prospect of unacceptable escalation and
prompt the North Vietnamese to rethink their objec-
tives. However, the administration entered into this
belief over-optimistically, and without a full under-
standing of Vietnamese motivation and determination
to liberate their nation from outside influences and
unite it. The Johnson administration also believed that
the North Vietnamese would be able to read clearly
the signals sent by this pattern of bombing.71
The Hanoi government began to disperse the
nation’s limited industry and erect passive and active
air defenses, and supplies and workers from the Soviet
Union and China aided these efforts. In light of this,
the Joint Chiefs of Staff called for an expanded bomb-
ing program late in 1965. Ultimately, the Johnson

38
administration expanded the air campaign in 1966
and 1967: in June 1966, North Vietnam’s oil storage
facilities were bombed for the first time; in May 1967,
Hanoi’s main power station was attacked. North Viet-
namese assets once held at risk were now targets.72
Unsurprisingly, the Air Force chafed at the early
restrictions that had been placed on the campaign.
The Joint Chiefs of Staff target list grew from 94 tar-
gets to 242 targets shortly after ROLLING THUNDER
began, and the latter number changed little through
the rest of the campaign. In 1965, 158 of these targets
were destroyed (nearly all of them were military tar-
gets below the 20th parallel); in 1966, 22 more were
destroyed. The President released nearly all of the
remaining targets for attack in 1967, and by December,
almost all of North Vietnam’s industrial war capacity
had been destroyed.73
During the war, the U.S. Air Force dropped some
6,162,000 tons of bombs—more tonnage than had been
dropped by the Allied Powers in all of World War II.
Many in the U.S. Air Force came to believe that the
constraints and gradual escalation had prevented
aerial bombing from achieving success. The funda-
mental problem, however, was that the North Viet-
namese and Viet Cong were determined to achieve a
unified Vietnam free of outside influence—and were
willing to accept immense levels of pain to achieve
this.74 The Americans might have been able to better
understand this determination and foresee its conse-
quences had they looked more closely at the French
experience in Vietnam.75
When the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong were
fighting a guerrilla war, insurgents required few sup-
plies, and could often move what they needed through
territory that was off limits to the bombers. They could

39
fight the war at their own pace, backing off when their
losses became unendurable, and recommencing when
they had recovered. The slow pace—and the inability
of the Americans to build an effective government in
South Vietnam—eroded American public support for
the war. Structural factors, including the economy
and geography of Vietnam, helped insulate the North
Vietnamese and Viet Cong against the effects of inter-
diction and coercive air power generally. Finally, even
if an earlier all-out air assault had convinced North
Vietnam to stop supporting the Viet Cong insurgency,
this is no guarantee that the Viet Cong would not have
continued the war on their own, and at their own
pace.76
In 1972, Operation LINEBACKER, an air campaign
designed to halt Hanoi’s spring ground offensive,
largely achieved its purpose and appeared to put a set-
tlement in reach. By this time, the North Vietnamese
and Viet Cong were fighting conventionally and were
far more vulnerable to superior air power than they
had been previously in the guerilla war phase. Nego-
tiations on a settlement went forward, but then North
Vietnamese negotiators stalled late in the day, prompt-
ing Operation LINEBACKER II, an 11-day campaign
from December 18 to 29, to bring enemy negotiators
back to the table to sign a final accord. LINEBACKER
II concentrated on military assets in and around Hanoi.
On December 29, communist leaders indicated a will-
ingness to resume serious negotiations. Some observ-
ers argued later that a LINEBACKER-style campaign
executed at the outset of the war would have brought
victory. However, this perspective overlooked the cru-
cial differences between 1965 and 1972. The success
of the LINEBACKER I campaign was facilitated by
the fact that Hanoi had shifted to a conventional war

40
strategy. Moreover, by 1972 and certainly when LINE-
BACKER II commenced, the Hanoi leadership already
had achieved most of its political goals, and was pre-
pared to sign an accord that would put its ultimate
aims within easy grasp.77
An important insight here is simply that all military
campaigns take place in a political context that will
impose political constraints. For a variety of reasons,
including the just war constraint of proportionality,
the Johnson administration was not prepared to wage
an all-out air assault in 1965. As the U.S. Air Force
fought in the Cold War campaigns in Asia, it recon-
figured and reconstituted itself to meet the immediate
needs—and constraints—of those campaigns. How-
ever, on occasion, this led to episodes of profound
institutional discomfort. Another important insight is
that if one is going to rely on a coercive strategy meant
to change enemy behavior, then one must intimately
understand the enemy one faces. This requires sophis-
ticated intelligence and astute analysis of such ques-
tions as: What is the enemy seeking? How much pain
is the enemy willing to endure to achieve its goal? Is it
structured to endure long-term pain? Can it manipu-
late the pace of the campaign and thus raise the price
of victory for its adversary?

THE IDEAS OF JOHN BOYD

One of the most influential thinkers to come to the

surface in these years was John Boyd, a fighter pilot
who flew F-86 Sabre jets in the famous “MiG Alley”
during the Korean war. Boyd was not, and did not
consider himself to be, an air power theorist per se.
His work was both more narrow and, on the other
hand, more expansive. Boyd captured the insights of

41
his pilot experience in the intellectual work he called
the “energy-maneuverability theory,” which contin-
ues to guide the training of fighter pilots to this day.
He placed an emphasis on maneuver over speed, the
ability to make rapid changes in altitude, and good
visibility to foster situational awareness. All this was
pivotal in the design of a generation of American
fighters, including the F-15, F-16, and F-18, and Boyd
should be credited for his direct influence on these
aircraft.78
After retiring from the military, Boyd expanded his
work. He had an eclectic and wide-ranging intellectual
appetite, and was deeply influenced by a number of
trends that became dominant between the 1960s and
1990s, including cybernetics, systems theory, complex-
ity theory, and chaos theory. He was also interested
in cognitive science and quantum mechanics, and was
influenced by the work of Kuhn, Popper, Heisenberg,
and the neo-Darwinists.79
Writing and speaking in the 1970s, when the
Cold War seemed to have ossified strategic thinking,
Boyd brought an emphasis to the work of Sun Tzu,
and facilitated the rediscovery of operational art—
in part through a focus on the concept of Blitzkrieg,
the sophisticated use of combined arms the Germans
employed at the outset of World War II. A member of
the “military reform” movement that gained energy
as a reaction to what seemed like a bureaucratic, attri-
tional war in Vietnam, Boyd sought to resurrect the
idea of the adaptive, creative warrior.80 He eschewed
the concept of attrition and focused instead on impos-
ing paralysis through maneuver. The guiding idea in
his work was that competitive human interaction—
warfare, specifically—is a struggle between complex,
adaptive systems. His work would influence the

42
thinking and the vocabulary of all of the U.S. armed
services, but in the long run, would take particular
hold in the U.S. Air Force and the Marine Corps.81
A 1976 essay, “Destruction and Creation,” was his
opening step in the development of a longer intellec-
tual exercise, documented in an unpublished series
of briefings called “A Discourse on Winning and
Losing.” In these, Boyd sought to capture the cogni-
tive processes crucial to prevailing in a highly unpre-
dictable and competitive world. This involved:

reaching across many perspectives: pulling each and

every one apart (analysis), all the while intuitively
looking for those parts of the disassembled perspectives
which naturally interconnect with one another to form
a higher order, more general elaboration (synthesis) of
what is taking place.82

The longest of the presentations (193 slides), called

“Patterns of Conflict,” has been described by one
scholar as the “intellectual heart” of Boyd’s work. It
brought together his ideas about winning and losing in
a competitive world filled with uncertainty and intro-
duced the intellectual construct for which he is best
known: the observe, orient, decide, and act (OODA)
loop.83
Anxious to move away from what he thought of
as reductionist and linear thinking, Boyd promoted a
theory of maneuver that was principally psychologi-
cal; it aimed to “break the spirit and will of the enemy
command by creating surprising and dangerous oper-
ational or strategic situations.”84 If conflict and uncer-
tainty are unavoidable features of human society, then
one must rely on adaptability as the key to survival.
Drawing on both Clausewitz and Sun Tzu, Boyd
looked for ways that a combatant might reduce his

43
own friction while simultaneously increasing the ene-
my’s. The OODA loop attempted to address human
behavior at the individual and organizational levels.
The adversary that was moving through the cycle
more rapidly and efficiently would prevail, by forcing
its enemy’s reactions to be increasingly ill-suited to the
prevailing situation. Often over-simplified by others,
the OODA loop was, in Boyd’s rendering, a complex
construct that required layers of sophisticated inputs
and ongoing feedback mechanisms.85
Boyd emphasized stretching beyond one’s own
self-oriented and self-limiting cognitive frames. By
increasing friction for the enemy, one can get inside
his OODA loop and stay there. Attrition warfare,
he believed, under-utilizes the mental and moral
domains. By contrast, maneuver, broadly conceived—
to include surprise, shock, deception, and ambiguity—
breaks an adversary’s cohesion and sows disorder and
panic. The goal is to “unstructure” the enemy’s system
into “confusion and disorder by causing him to under-
or over-react.”86
Boyd did not perceive potential enemies as either
static or fragile; indeed, he believed that an enemy
would constantly seek out its own ways to impose
shock and disorder. The key was to get ahead of the
enemy, in part through good training, trust, a strong
moral foundation, and intellectual creativity, and stay
there by applying continuous and escalating pressure.
Boyd dismissed single-answer solutions and ready
prescription. There was, he believed, no recipe or tem-
plate for getting inside the adversary’s decision cycle.
It is specific to the circumstance, and must be arrived
at through insight, intuition, clarity of thought, and
the self-awareness that comes from wisdom and
experience.87

44
 Boyd did not provide targeting prescriptions.
However, many of his general ideas worked their way
into the thinking and doctrine of the U.S. Air Force and
other air forces and manifested themselves in the way
the U.S. Air Force fought in Iraq in 1991 and 2003, and
in Afghanistan.88 Direct influences of Boyd’s work are
visible in the U.S. Air Force’s Basic Doctrine of 2003:

The ‘American way of war’ has long been described

as warfare based on either a strategy of annihilation
or of attrition and focused on engaging the enemy in
close combat to achieve a decisive battle. Air and space
power, if properly focused, offers our national leadership
alternatives to the annihilation and attrition options. . . . It
is possible to directly affect adversary sources of strength
and will to fight by creating shock and destroying enemy
cohesion without close combat. While such attacks may
not totally eliminate the need to directly engage the
adversary’s fielded military forces, it can shape those
engagements so they will be fought at the time and place
of our choosing under conditions more likely to lead
to decisive outcomes with minimized risk to friendly
forces.89

AFTER THE COLD WAR

The Persian Gulf war of 1991 saw the implemen-

tation of an air campaign that had multiple goals and
multiple theoretical underpinnings. However, part of
it bore the imprimatur of Colonel John A. Warden,
U.S. Air Force, who had been in charge of the Deputy
Directorate for Warfighting Concepts in the Air Staff
Directorate of Plans, and who had become particu-
larly interested in the prospects of targeting enemy
leadership.
The air campaign in the Kuwaiti theater of oper-
ations had three primary objectives: suppression of
Iraqi air defenses; preparation of the battlefield for

45
coalition ground attack; and support of the ground
attack.90 The strategic air campaign over Iraq was
designed to support the war aim by directly pressur-
ing and degrading Saddam’s regime on a number of
levels. In 1988, Warden had circulated a paper artic-
ulating a targeting theory based on five principal cat-
egories, envisioned as five concentric rings (like rings
in a bull’s eye) that increase in value as they approach
the center. The focal point—his designated “center of
gravity”—was enemy leadership. Just outside of that,
in the position of second priority, were the enemy
state’s energy sources, advanced research facilities,
and key war-supporting industries. In the third ring
was enemy infrastructure, such as transportation sys-
tems. The fourth ring was comprised of the enemy’s
population, and the fifth ring designated the enemy’s
fielded military forces.91 Warden was focused mainly
on disrupting leadership and decapitating the state.
Warden’s book, The Air Campaign, begun when
he was a student at the National Defense University,
argued that air power allows for strikes against the full
spectrum of enemy capabilities, with leadership first
and foremost. The “five rings” model was an exten-
sion of the operational concepts he had first explored
in his book. In an essay he published in 1992 called
“Employing Air Power in the 21st Century,” he wrote:

The command structure . . . is the only element of the

enemy . . . that can make concessions. In fact, wars
through history have been fought to change (or change
the mind of) the command structure—to overthrow the
prince literally or figuratively or to induce the command
structure to make concessions.

He added:

When command communications suffer extreme damage

. . . the leadership has great difficulty in directing war

46
 efforts. In the case of an unpopular regime, the lack of
communications not only inhibits the bolstering of
national morale but also facilitates rebellion on the part of
dissident elements.92

The plan that Warden and his staff developed for

the Gulf war, “Instant Thunder,” won theater com-
mander General Norman Schwarzkopf, Jr.’s endorse-
ment, and Warden went to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia to
brief Lieutenant General Charles A. Horner, U.S. Air
Force. Uneasy with the plan’s failure to consider fully
the offensive capabilities of the Iraqi Army, Horner
modified it, changed its name, and appropriated sev-
eral members of Warden’s staff to comprise a secret
“Central Air Forces Special Planning Group,” nick-
named the “Black Hole.”
Even though the aircraft coming into the theater
comprised the vast majority of the U.S. Air Force’s
precision delivery capability at the time, the force was
not ideally suited to the task Warden had set for it.
Technological evolution throughout the Vietnam war
had yielded some promising results in highly precise,
guided-bomb technology, but the Air Force had been
leisurely in its attempts to acquire it.93 Still, the U.S. Air
Force had the capacity to employ air-delivered, preci-
sion-guided munitions with hard target-penetrating
capability, and this would become a centerpiece of its
war effort. Robert Pape had observed that the capac-
ity for high accuracy “encouraged strategic bombing
advocates to propose the first systematic decapitation
campaign in air history.”94 One can thus identify mul-
tiple theories of coercive air power at work in the Gulf
war. Along with a more traditional denial campaign,
Warden’s “Instant Thunder” plan hoped to isolate,
and possibly kill or overthrow Saddam Hussein. The

47
Saddam Hussein regime itself—the leader and the
structure under him—was the primary target.95
The Black Hole planners, led by Lieutenant Col-
onel David Deptula, updated the air war plan right
through the opening hours of the war on January 17,
1991; they emphasized simultaneous attacks on target
sets that would have overlapping and linking effects.
Rather than attacking targets in a sequential, priori-
tized order, coalition air forces were able to carry out
simultaneous counter-air, interdiction, close air sup-
port, and strategic missions into Iraq. By mid-Febru-
ary, coalition bombers had struck the Iraqi Ministry of
Defense, the Baghdad Conference Center, the Military
Intelligence Headquarters, and television and press
buildings. As the month went on, strategic attacks tar-
geted airfields, nuclear and chemical sites, communi-
cation facilities, and mobile Scud missile launchers.
Attacks on Iraqi communication targets surely
had a corrosive effect on the speed and efficiency
with which Saddam could conduct his war. However,
fiber-optic nets were more redundant and elusive than
the Black Hole had anticipated, and in some cases,
Saddam could resort to runners to carry messages.
The precise military and political impact of raids on
leadership and communication targets—the focus of
Warden’s theory—has been difficult to discern with
certainty, and are thus contested. As historian Richard
Davis concluded, “little solid data is available to con-
nect the bombing of leadership or command and con-
trol facilities with specific consequences.”96
Strikes on Iraqi oil production sites led to the col-
lapse of refinery capacity by the end of the war. How-
ever, the short duration of the war meant Iraq was
able to rely on stored supplies for military operations.
Pressure on the Iraqi population due to strikes on the

48
electrical grid and other fuel sources may have con-
tributed to the postwar uprisings by the Kurds and the
Shiites. However, it did not appear to lead to a weak-
ening of the Sunni commitment to Saddam’s regime,
not least because of the deep fears the Sunnis held of
losing power to groups it had badly mistreated in the
past.97
The 5 months between the invasion of Kuwait and
the commencement of Operation DESERT STORM
gave Saddam time to further disperse and hide his
weapons of mass destruction capability—a set of
resources already dispersed in reaction to the Israeli
strike in 1981. The targets proved to be elusive, and
postwar inspections revealed that target planners—
who had operated with limited and outdated intelli-
gence—had missed many facilities.
The coalition achieved its main aims, including the
withdrawal of all Iraqi forces from Kuwait, the right
of the United Nations to install peacekeepers on the
border, and the right to inspect and eliminate any
weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Pape has argued
that the denial campaign “generated powerful coer-
cive pressure on Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait.”98
Through a variety of means, air power crippled Iraq’s
military strategy for holding Kuwait. Many analysts
have noted that the pressure on exposed ground
troops led to their demoralization; indeed, between 20
and 40 percent of Iraqi frontline troops had deserted
before the ground offensive commenced.99 However,
Pape was critical of the decapitation campaign, which
he believes did not attain its objectives. “Instant Thun-
der,” he wrote, “failed to kill, overthrow, or isolate
Saddam or his regime.”100 Saddam was hard to track
and find, and his communications were thicker and
more resilient than the Americans had anticipated.

49
Moreover, the air campaign did not manage to set up
the conditions for a coup against Saddam’s regime.101
The speed and apparent ease of the Gulf war vic-
tory prompted many commentators to proclaim
that a “Revolution in Military Affairs” had occurred
based on the sophisticated technology employed by
American forces. Indeed, the one-sided outcome had
resulted from the interaction of American proficiency
and Iraqi incompetence. Poor skills and training
ensured that the coalition’s modern military toolkit
and operational proficiency punished the Iraqi Army
disproportionately.102
Warden continued to refine his ideas after the war.
He followed in the tradition of the early theorists in a
number of ways. Like Mitchell and Douhet, he placed
a strong emphasis on winning command of the air.
One of Warden’s protégés, Lieutenant Colonel (later
Lieutenant General) David Deptula, would become
particularly influential in the U.S. Air Force. He would
highlight the idea of parallel warfare reflecting a prin-
ciple of electrical circuit design that “was based on
achieving specific effects, not absolute destruction of
target lists.”103 His approach focused on facilitating
simultaneous attacks on leadership targets; key essen-
tials, such as oil and electricity; and communications
and fielded military forces. Using echoes of Boyd,
Deptula saw parallel warfare as part of the post-Gulf
war Revolution in Military Affairs that could offer
alternatives to the “attrition” and “annihilation” strat-
egies of older styles of warfare. The specific effects
that Deptula highlighted were the new objects of war,
achievable through “effects-based operations.”104 He
argued that:

The strategies of annihilation and attrition rely on

sequential, individual target destruction as the ultimate

50
 method of success and measure of progress—generally
measured in terms of forces applied, or input. Using
effects-based operations, the determinant of success is
effective control of systems that the enemy relies upon
to exert influence—output [emphasis added].105

BY AIR POWER ALONE?

In 1999, NATO went to war in what ended up

being an air-only operation trying to halt Serbian mis-
treatment of the population in the then-province of
Kosovo. Ethnic Serbs formed a small part—about 10
percent—of the population of the province, which
consisted mainly of Albanian Muslims. The failure to
bring the opposed parties together at the Rambouillet
conference in early 1999 led to a NATO decision to try
to coerce the Serbs into accepting terms. The Clinton
administration expected Serbian President Slobodan
Milosevic to cave in under air strikes in a few days,
but he did not. Muslims poured out of the province
and into refugee camps in neighboring states. Air
strikes, waged from high altitude to minimize the risk
to NATO pilots, could not halt events on the ground,
and the strikes seemed only to unify the defiant Serbs
behind Milosevic. NATO was cautious in all regards,
and there was considerable anxiety about whether
the alliance would hang together. Initially, President
Clinton would not agree to the use of ground troops.
In May, an increasingly alarmed NATO took advan-
tage of improving weather to intensify the bombing—
attacking rail lines and bridges in Kosovo and Serbia
and, on May 24th, destroying the transformer yards of
the Yugoslav power grid. The latter had widespread
effects, including the undermining of the nation’s
banking system.106

51
 Significantly, NATO also began to discuss the use
of ground troops. This put the Russians—old allies of
the Serbs—in a particularly awkward situation since
they had no intention of ending up in a shooting
war with NATO at that time. Pressure from the Rus-
sians surely helped convince Milosevic that he had
to accept NATO terms. The bombing ceased in June,
and the United States and NATO sent a force of 60,000
troops (Kosovo Force) into Kosovo. Milosevic, who in
the meantime had been indicted as a war criminal by
the International Criminal Tribunal, was ousted from
power in the autumn of 2000.107
The air war over Kosovo rekindled the debate
about whether airplanes can win wars on their own.
Clearly, air strikes had not been able to halt the ethnic
cleansing; indeed, they hastened it. However, the rela-
tionship between the intensification of NATO strikes
in May and the acceptance of terms by Milosevic in
June suggested that the strikes on Serbia proper had an
important role in the outcome. The war was brought
to a conclusion before any ground forces were intro-
duced, and thus, it was hard to take this victory away
from air forces. RAND analyst Benjamin Lambeth
stated appropriately, “We may never know for sure
what mix of pressures and inducements ultimately led
Milosevic to admit defeat.”108
The very fact that NATO managed to sustain a
78-day campaign that—Milosevic believed—might
have continued indefinitely must have convinced the
Serb leader that his opponents were committed to
the cause. Another RAND analyst, Stephen Hosmer,
argued that Milosevic and others in his circle seemed to
fear that there might be no limit to the level of destruc-
tion NATO might be willing to impose; that indeed
NATO, led by the United States and Britain, might

52
continue escalating to the point of “carpet bombing”
Serbia.109 As much political wrangling and tension
as there was in NATO, the members of the alliance
held together in a campaign that grew more intense
over time. Clear evidence that NATO was preparing
to authorize the use of ground troops was an unmis-
takable sign of this commitment. Not only did it spur
the Russians to pressure Milosevic, but also it signaled
to the Serb leader that his political and personal for-
tunes were more at risk from a continuation of the
war than from a cessation of it. A direct clash between
NATO and Serbian ground troops would have been
a nightmare for the Russians on multiple levels. The
way the campaign played out revealed that Milosevic
had miscalculated virtually every important strategic
issue of the war.110 In this instance, coercive air power,
backed by a threat of ground war, achieved NATO’s
aim. Nevertheless, the campaign had been difficult to
wage, not least because of the conflicting imperatives
and constraints of alliance partners.

INTO THE 21ST CENTURY

Although the decade of the 1990s was tumultuous,

the first decade of the new millennium would prove
to be even more so. The U.S. Air Force had important
roles to play in the wars fought in both Afghanistan
and Iraq, and in the stabilization efforts that continued
in their aftermath.
U.S. Air Force Basic Doctrine (November 2003)
echoed elements of Warden and Deptula:

Air and space forces, through their inherent speed, range,

and flexibility, can respond to national requirements
by delivering precise military power to create effects
where and when needed. . . . Strategic attack is defined

53
 as offensive action conducted by command authorities
aimed at generating effects that most directly achieve
our national security objectives by affecting the
adversary’s leadership, conflict-sustaining resources, and
strategy. . . . As a concept, strategic attack builds on the
idea that it is possible to directly affect an adversary’s
sources of strength and will to fight without first having
to engage and defeat their military forces.111

The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, while resting

heavily on the efforts of the U.S. Army and Marines,
nonetheless saw air power applied in a range of ways.
In the first phases of Operation ENDURING FREE-
DOM, the United States teamed its special operations
forces, who were equipped with advanced data links
and sensors, with friendly indigenous fighters to evict
the Taliban regime. As Frans P. B. Osinga observed,
“A network of sensors and communications systems
glued together combat aircraft, dispersed air bases,
command centers, and special forces.”112 During the
brief major combat phase of the Iraq war in 2003, air
power was able to continue to press the offensive
when weather conditions halted the ground troops,
paving the way for swift entry into Baghdad.
Air assets continued to provide crucial support to
ground troops even as the conduct of the two wars
changed over time. Sometimes, doctrinal differences
between services and lack of joint exercises slowed
and complicated the wartime integration of ground
and air, but all parties revealed a commitment to
adaptation and real-time learning.113 In a recent anal-
ysis and critique of air power theory, Colonel Jeffrey
Smith, Commandant of the U.S. Air Force’s School of
Advanced Air and Space Studies, argued that with
the emergence of the counterinsurgency campaigns,
the U.S. Air Force had to re-engage with theory and

54
operations that had been, since Vietnam, underappre-
ciated and secondary:

Daily operations now required tactical airlift, special

operations, ISR, close air support, and tightly integrated
action with ground forces.114

He argued that in the new situation, the demand for

ISR became “insatiable,” and the need for RPA pilots—
“once a dreaded and often considered career-ending
path—became phenomenally important.”115
In counterinsurgency operations, the use of air
strikes independent of ground operations can be tricky
and, at times, counterproductive. A misguided bomb
that kills civilians can quickly alienate the population,
undermining the strategic purpose of the campaign.
Insurgent forces that control the pace of the war can
use cover and concealment to avoid air strikes much
of the time. In addition, they will intermingle with
civilians in urban areas or use human shields to pro-
tect themselves from the superior air power wielded
by their opponents. All of these factors put very real
constraints on the use of air power. However, they do
not rule out the use of air power in counterinsurgency
campaigns. If used carefully and sparingly, indepen-
dent air strikes can be invaluable in attacking highly
specific targets. Moreover, with the precision capa-
bilities now available—particularly through remotely
piloted vehicles (RPVs), which are often referred to as
RPAs—such strikes can target particular individuals
who may be instrumental in the planning and imple-
mentation of terrorist activity. However, caution, care,
and intentionality are required. As Major Jason Brown
wrote in 2007:

55
 when operational-level commanders can ‘watch’
insurgents in real time by means of ISR feeds, they tend to
fall back to the tactical level, thus reinforcing the ‘we must
do something now’ mentality. This reactive approach can
quickly devolve into a game of ‘whack a mole,’ which
can cause commanders to neglect other important lines
of operation and lose focus on the strategic end state.116

To avoid this, he insisted, “commanders and planners

must integrate the use of airpower for dynamic target-
ing into the operational design of a counterinsurgency
campaign.”117
Inter- and intra-theater transport of personnel and
equipment is always a critical mission for air power
in counterinsurgency. In addition, the first decade of
the 21st century surely called attention to the expand-
ing need for ISR resources and platforms. Finally, air
forces can offer invaluable assistance to newly devel-
oping indigenous air forces opposing insurgents. Well
into the foreseeable future, the U.S. Air Force is likely
to continue its role in advising, training, and equip-
ping partner air forces.118

LIBYA

The decision by NATO in early 2011 to support

the rebel forces opposing Libyan dictator Colonel
Muammar Gaddafi highlighted the political appeal
of reaching for the air power instrument to solve
political problems. However, it has also raised to the
surface many of the issues and complications associ-
ated with the strictly independent use of air power
in conflict. Even though Gaddafi was wielding state
power, his forces adopted many of the tactics associ-
ated with insurgents. He manipulated the pace of the
war to erode the will of his enemies; used cover and

56
concealment to take his forces out of reach of superior
air power; and resorted to commingling in cities and
using human shields to deter NATO air strikes. As
defense analyst Stephen Biddle wrote in a Washington
Post editorial:

Locals with existential stakes often prove more stubborn

than distant Americans expect, and even high-tech
firepower has serious limitations against low-tech but
determined enemies who control the people on the
ground through close-up violence.119

He added:

Especially when the multilateral action is based on

protecting civilians, rather than defeating one side, a
dictator willing to mix ruthless fighters with innocent
noncombatants poses serious challenges to limited
applications of precision air power. The result could
easily be a drawn-out, grinding stalemate.120

REMOTELY PILOTED AIRCRAFT: ISSUES

AND QUESTIONS

From the end of the George W. Bush administra-

tion, and continuing through the Obama administra-
tion, U.S. policymakers expanded the use of RPAs for
the targeted killing of those considered threats to U.S.
security. This tool was used initially in very limited cir-
cumstances to target high-ranking al-Qaeda officials.
However, over time it became a means, as Professor
Rosa Brooks explained, “to go after an ever-lengthen-
ing list of bad actors, many of whom appear to have
only tenuous links to al Qaeda and the 9/11 attacks,
and many of whom arguably pose no imminent threat
to the United States.”121 This warning came in Brooks’

57
testimony before the Senate Armed Services Commit-
tee in the spring of 2013.
The benefits and costs of using RPAs for targeted
killing is a topic policymakers and planners must con-
sider carefully. RPAs have an inherent appeal: they
seem to allow a leader the opportunity to strike in
ways that are relatively precise in comparison to other
military tools, and that pose no immediate risk to mili-
tary personnel. The work is carried out quietly and off
the front pages of newspapers. This means that it has
little immediate political cost. Thus, the strikes can
have the appeal of a silver bullet—a low-cost, almost
magical way to dispatch enemies. However, dangers
lurk in this seductive appeal. One first-order ques-
tion is simply about due process of law. The target of
an RPA strike has no opportunity to face the charges
against them or argue a case before a court. Who
ought to have the authority to be judge, jury, and exe-
cutioner (all three) in these cases? Using RPAs for the
targeted killing of enemies concentrates vast power
in a few hands—and this sets up a situation that can
be quite readily abused if it is not overseen and moni-
tored for compliance with domestic and international
law. There is also a concern about mission creep. How
high on the enemy leadership chain need one be to
qualify for an RPA strike? What evidence must that
person reveal of intent to do harm? How imminent
and clear must that threat be?
Many critics of RPAs during the Obama years saw
their use as evidence of American high-handedness
and arrogance—evidence that Americans do not feel
themselves to be bound by any rules or constraints
in their international behavior. They perceived an
American President using RPAs rather like a self-pro-
claimed Zeus, hurling thunderbolts from the sky.

58
However, there is also another concern. Most analysts
agree that terrorist threats die a natural death over
time. The harsh methods of the terrorist are so alienat-
ing that those who wield them are ultimately rejected
by local populations. The danger with RPA strikes is
that because they arouse deep resentment, especially
when unintended civilian casualties occur, they may
prolong the life of terrorist movements that otherwise
would die out on their own.
Brooks argued:

Drone [RPA] strikes enable a ‘short-term fix’ approach

to counterterrorism, one that relies excessively on
eliminating specific individuals deemed to be a threat,
without much discussion of whether this strategy is likely
to produce long-term security gains.122

She added:

At the moment, there is little evidence that U.S. drone

[RPA] policy—or individual drone [RPA] strikes—result
from a comprehensive assessment of strategic costs and
benefits, as opposed to a shortsighted determination to
strike targets of opportunity, regardless of long-term
impact.123

This critique could apply to any air-based platform

used in a similar way. Undertaking the kind of com-
prehensive assessment that Brooks calls for is the role
of the strategist.

THE ONGOING DEVELOPMENT OF THEORY

Leaders of contemporary air forces are aware of the

range of missions they may be called upon to fulfill in
the future. They know they must ensure that their per-
sonnel possesses not only a wide-ranging skill set but
also detailed operational knowledge. In addition to

59
working with service partners and international part-
ners to leverage strengths and create synergies, the
U.S. Air Force will continue to develop capabilities in
realms where it leads the world, including aerospace
and intelligence technologies. Intelligence, which is
central to effective targeting, always will be a core ele-
ment of air power; intelligence partnered with preci-
sion capability enables an air force to take on specific,
high-priority missions, some of which may develop
on short notice, and in crisis situations.124
David Deptula has explained that new technol-
ogy is changing the way aircraft operate in combat.
Modern platforms—RPAs and advanced ISR and
strike aircraft—can now perform multiple roles,
enabling “compression of the ‘find-fix-finish’ equation
in both time and space.” This, he adds, “greatly com-
presses the time required for successful closing of the
‘observe, orient, decide, and act’ loop.”125 Similarly,
U.S. Air Force Basic Doctrine (2015) states:

The proper application of a coordinated force across

multiple domains can produce effects that exceed the
contributions of forces employed individually. . . . the
objective is the precise, coordinated application of the
various elements of airpower and surface power to bring
disproportionate pressure on enemy leaders to comply
with our national will . . . or to cause functional defeat of
the enemy forces.126

The doctrinal statement here also reveals that the U.S.

Air Force has become, over time, more comfortable
in the joint arena. Now secure in its independence, it
does not feel so compelled to constantly reiterate the
primacy of independent action.
Leaders of contemporary air forces know that they
must do the difficult intellectual work necessary to con-
tinually update and refine the theories that underpin

60
their doctrine and actions. Air power can hit value
targets and force targets; some targets, like leader-
ship, are both value and force targets. Precision capa-
bility has enhanced the ability of air forces to hit both
types, yet precision capability does not preclude occa-
sional errors, which can be quite costly to the strate-
gic aims of a campaign. Nor is precision capability a
silver bullet, allowing a magical route to the solution
of a complex political problem. In order to blunt the
effects of precision, many adversaries will be prepared
to intermingle their forces with civilians, exploit social
media methods, and remain highly dispersed.
Recent experience has indicated that strong norms
remain in place around the idea of discrimination;
air forces that disregard it do so at the risk of losing
domestic and international support. Trends in the
modern world mean that infrastructure, rather than
being state-owned, may be an international asset.
Thus, hitting an industrial site or power generation
facility may impact our allies nearly as much as it
impacts our adversaries.127
The idea of creating paralysis by cutting off or
shutting down an adversary’s communications is
challenged by global cell networks, hardened com-
munication lines, and space-based communication. In
addition, aircraft speed may not be the asset it once
was. As Colonel Smith put it, “Given new detection
capabilities, advanced radar and targeting systems,
and global communications systems that work in
nanoseconds, traditional aircraft speed may provide
little in terms of advantage.”128
Coercive air campaigns must be designed very
carefully. If they underestimate or misread the enemy,
they will fail. One must know the enemy one is dealing
with and the kind of war one is fighting. Campaigns

61
that depend upon gradual escalation and signaling are
particularly tricky since they rest on a very sophisti-
cated understanding of enemy motives, strengths,
weaknesses, aspirations, and fears. The signals sent
must be understood clearly by the recipient, and the
recipient must be willing and able to comply with
them. In these campaigns in particular, there is a high
risk of miscommunication. In many situations, a low-
tech but determined enemy can be a formidable foe.
No planner can assume that they will be given
freedom to launch the kind of all-out offensive that
usually seems instinctive to those in the military. Con-
straints on the use of force (in some form) are very
likely to infringe on the air planner’s dream of an all-
out, paralyzing offensive right from the start. Propor-
tionality remains an important norm for jus in bello.
Punishment campaigns do not have a strong track
record; human beings tend to be both adaptable and
resilient. Beyond that, enemy political leaders can
often find ways to push pain on to the population, and
then manage the reaction through more direct, coer-
cive mechanisms, like secret police. Moreover, punish-
ment campaigns that appear indiscriminate often will
be viewed harshly by a domestic audience, allies, and
the global community. Popular uprisings and coups
are more difficult to instigate than air theorists have
tended to assume. Even if a state or political actor is
decapitated, it does not guarantee improvement in the
political situation; indeed, the situation may become
worse, or at least harder to control.
Elements of the “industrial fabric” theory continue
to influence air power operations. Various theorists
operating under this broad umbrella have sought to
find key node targets that would quickly degrade or
eliminate an enemy’s ability to fight effectively. This

62
theory is immensely appealing, not least because it
promises efficiency, but its inherent seductive qual-
ities must be understood. As the Anglo-Americans
found out in World War II, an enemy can find ways
around bottlenecks, especially if resources can be
obtained from occupied territories, allies, or those
willing to break sanctions. The modern effects-based
operations tradition has links back to the “industrial
fabric” idea. Warden’s special emphasis on leader-
ship and communication is another attempt to find a
key card in a house of cards—a way of producing a
big impact from a highly specific target set. Warden
and Boyd both hoped to evoke in an enemy a kind
of system “paralysis” that is not without parallel to
Douhet and Trenchard’s violent, all-out air offensive.
The details, though, are different. Precision capability
would allow for the takedown of very specific enemy
assets. Whether this act would actually create “paral-
ysis” depends on many factors, all of which must be
accounted for in high-quality staff work. Contempo-
rary air theorists often seek a strategy that “focuses on
ending wars rather than fighting them.” John Andreas
Olson elaborates: “A leadership-oriented systemic
approach identifies and targets centers of gravity,
critical vulnerabilities, and key linkages rather than
focusing on engaging through a denial strategy fixated
on military forces.” He adds, “Disrupting an oppo-
nent’s decision-making calculus renders the opponent
increasingly deaf, dumb, and blind to proactive and
constructive actions.”129
Many air theorists are of the belief that non-lethal
mechanisms will become increasingly important tools
in the arsenal of air warfare. However, even in this sce-
nario, one cannot assume that the enemy will respond
as the theorist or planner expects. Adversaries—as

63
John Boyd pointed out—are adaptive; they will seek
and find ways to resist coercion of all kinds. Finally,
air power on its own does not allow one to control the
politics or the narrative on the ground in the aftermath
of paralysis. One can rely on indigenous allies for this,
but their goals and incentives are rarely the same as
one’s own—as the United States discovered, to its dis-
comfort, in both Afghanistan and Iraq.
Those who work in the contemporary aerospace
realm realize that we are moving quickly toward
a complicated moment in time. Charting a course
through the current information revolution means
accepting the fact that the ideas, mechanisms, meth-
ods, and platforms we have relied on for 100 years
are going to be in flux and transition for the foresee-
able future. The way we use air power—and indeed
the air power we can use—will vary with the situa-
tion we face. In some scenarios, traditional ideas and
legacy platforms will continue to have full value; in
other scenarios, they will have partial value; and in
still other scenarios, they will have almost no value
at all. Today, “the increase in detection capabilities,
especially ground-to-air weapons systems, is advanc-
ing exponentially in terms of both competency and
low-cost production.”130 It will be increasingly difficult
for objects—particularly those in the air—to operate
undetected. Furthermore, detection means they can be
targeted by increasingly precise and reliable defensive
systems. As one author has explained:

Given this inversely proportional relationship between

detection technology and antidetection technology, any
strategy that relies on current and traditional physical
access using significant systems (traditional aircraft) in
the future will likely be disappointing.131

64
 This fact will have important implications on all air
forces in the future; the required shift in thinking may
seem particularly drastic for the U.S. Air Force, which
has been able to work in permissive air environments
for the previous 2 decades, and has been able to win
air superiority consistently since World War II. Some
analysts believe that we may have to rethink tradi-
tional notions of air superiority: “no country will be
capable of gaining and maintaining air superiority
due to future advance detection and targeting technol-
ogies.” Others disagree. Brigadier General Alex Gryn-
kewich, assigned to examine ways the U.S. Air Force
might be able to maintain the capacity for gaining and
maintaining air superiority, bluntly stated: “Air supe-
riority is not an optional capability. Without it, you
lose.”132
Thus, we will see another offense-defense strug-
gle and, like previous iterations, it will see spirals of
measures and countermeasures. Grynkewich and his
team recognized that simply upgrading existing sys-
tems would not suffice. They discovered as well that
the issue was not just one of penetrating and persist-
ing in enemy airspace to create effects; it was, rather,
one of serving “as a key node in what was emerging
as a new, conceptual multi-domain battle network.”133
Going forward, the U.S. Air Force is counting on the
stealth capabilities of future aircraft, including the
B-21; small, hard-to-track RPAs capable of ISR and
attack; and advanced cyber- and space-based tech-
nologies. It will seek to go above and below defensive
technologies, relying on space, cyberspace, and low
altitude. Enemy anti-satellite and cyberspace capabil-
ities may be threatened “left of launch.” New systems
will be required to operate over long distances, and
will often be dispersed; they will need robust logistical

65
support. In addition, they will need to have the capac-
ity to recover and regenerate combat power following
enemy attack.134
In the future, A2/AD assets will be owned increas-
ingly by modern powers, and this will change the
operating environment for aircraft in important ways.
While recognizing that prediction is imperfect, Ste-
phen Biddle and Ivan Oelrich argue that A2/AD
assets, which are likely to be owned by the United
States and China by 2040, will erode U.S. command of
the global commons, and will create a situation char-
acterized not by Chinese hegemony over the Western
Pacific but by:

a more differentiated pattern of control, with a U.S. sphere

of influence around allied landmasses, a Chinese sphere
of influence over the Chinese mainland, and contested
battlespace covering much of the South and East China
Seas, wherein neither power enjoys wartime freedom of
surface or air movement.135

They point out as well that the ever-increasing range

and reduced cost of precision-guided missiles is
giving many states a coercive strategic bombardment
tool capable of striking a wide array of fixed targets,
including power plants, industries, and cities.136
The changing environment will pose serious chal-
lenges to air forces worldwide, forcing them to invest
in sustained analysis, research, doctrinal development,
and the adroit acquisition of, and adaptation to, new
technologies. All of this will be complicated by the
need to interweave these assets and capabilities with
those operating in the cyberspace and space realms.
Indeed, the speed and magnitude of change in this
environment is likely to place on analysts and plan-
ners the kinds of demands not seen since the rapidly

66
transforming warfighting environment experienced
during World War I.

AEROSPACE POWER

Colin Gray has written:

The conflation of air and space into aerospace has

the authority of three and a half decades and points,
accurately enough, to the leading role of the air force in
developing, acquiring, launching, and maintaining space
systems.137

As early as 1959, U.S. Air Force Chief of Staff Thomas

D. White explained, “air and space comprise a single
continuous operational field in which the Air Force
must continue to function.”138 Of course, only space-
craft can operate in the vacuum of space, so one
must be careful with White’s assertion of a “contin-
uous operational field,” which was an early claim to
a domain. Gray argued that space systems are force
multipliers for ground-based systems, and this is
undoubtedly true: today, armies, navies, and air forces
depend heavily on assets located in space, including
space-based weather systems and global positioning
systems (GPS).139 This interdependence and synergy
between earth and space—the latter including both
low earth orbit and geosynchronous orbit—will only
develop further over time. It is therefore in the inter-
est of the services to protect those assets, particularly
in times of conflict. However, even though nations
have been operating in space for decades, there is
much that remains to be worked out regarding legal
definitions, acceptable activities, and rites of passage.
Trying to draw close parallels to either airspace law or
law of the sea is problematic since neither is an ideal
fit—although some precedents are useful.

67
 After the Soviet launch of Sputnik in 1957, concern
that space would be weaponized led to a declaration
that it ought to be reserved for peaceful purposes.
However, the inherent advantages of this approach,
sometimes referred to as the “sanctuary school,” have
been buffeted by the pressure of technology. In light of
this, new models have been proposed; one that seems
to be gaining ground, at least in U.S. debates, is the
“control school.” Control school advocates argue:

there are space lanes of communications that must

be controlled if a war is to be won in the terrestrial
theaters.” They argue further “the capability to deter war
is enhanced by the ability to control space and that, in
future wars, space control will be co-equal with air and
sea control.140

Philip Swarts has written:

Any conflict between the U.S. and an adversary is highly

likely to include a space component in the future. Whether
it’s trying to knock out communications, disrupt GPS,
or destroy missile warning systems, the U.S. and other
nations will try to find ways to eliminate each other’s
satellites and space assets.141

Biddle and Oelrich have argued that in a high-stakes

confrontation with China, the United States cannot
assume that its satellites will survive. Rather than
trying to reconstitute space assets in wartime, the U.S.
Air Force should keep in mind that:

surveillance, target acquisition, and guidance can all

be provided by airborne platforms that can be made
independent of fixed bases; communications can be
provided by airborne relays and links, and navigation
can be accomplished via natural celestial or terrestrial
reference points.142

68
 Contemporary discussions of the future environ-
ment make it clear that space, an immensely valuable
domain, is almost certain to be contested, just as air
was 100 years ago. It is therefore essential for con-
temporary students of strategy to gain a fundamental
grasp of these discussions and debates, and to under-
stand the ways in which they are likely to affect future
wars, and to evolve over time.143

ENDNOTES
1.  Colin S. Gray, Explorations in Strategy, Westport, CT: Green-
wood Press, 1996, pp. 67-72; quoted text on p. 69.

2.  Ibid., pp. 73-77. See also Colin S. Gray, “Air Power Theory,”
in John Andreas Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn: The Strategic Con-
cepts of John Warden and John Boyd, Annapolis, MD: Naval Insti-
tute Press, 2015, pp. 156-180. RPAs have previously been called
remotely piloted vehicles (RPVs) and unmanned aerial vehicles
(UAVs).

3.  Arthur Tedder, Air Power in War, London, UK: Hodder and
Stoughton, 1948, pp. 32-33.

4.  Robert A. Pape, Bombing to Win: Air Power and Coercion in

War, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996, p. 15.

5.  Thomas C. Schelling, Arms and Influence, New Haven, CT:

Yale University Press, 1967.

6.  Ibid. Schelling made this point often in his work on coercion.

7.  Pape, Bombing to Win, pp. 55-86.

8.  Ibid., p. 58.

9.  Tami Davis Biddle, “Learning in Real Time: The Develop-

ment and Implementation of Air Power in the First World War,”
in Sebastian Cox and Peter Gray, eds., Air Power History: Turning
Points from Kitty Hawk to Kosovo, London, UK: Frank Cass Publish-
ers, 2002, pp. 3-20.

69
 10.  Ibid. See also Tami Davis Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air
Warfare: The Evolution of British and American Ideas About
Strategic Bombing, 1914-1945, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University
Press, 2002, pp. 25-68.

11.  George K. Williams, “The Shank of the Drill: Americans

and Strategical Aviation in the Great War,” Journal of Strategic
Studies, Vol. 19, No. 3, September 1996, pp. 381-431.

12.  Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare, pp. 11-35.

13.  Ibid., pp. 34-35, 69-110, 147-153.

14.  Editor’s introduction to Giulio Douhet, The Command of

the Air, Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1983 (reprint
of New York: Coward-McCann, 1942 edition), pp. xii-xiii.

15.  For some overviews of Douhet in English from this

period, see: “The Air Doctrine of General Douhet,” The Royal Air
Force Quarterly, Vol. IV, No. 2, April 1933, pp. 164-167; “General
Giulio Douhet—An Italian Apostle of Air Power,” The Royal Air
Force Quarterly, Vol. VII, No. 2, April 1936, pp. 148-151; “Air War-
fare—The Principles of Air Warfare by General Giulio Douhet,”
The Royal Air Force Quarterly, Vol. VII, No. 2, April 1936, pp. 152-
168. Also, Azar Gat, “Futurism, Proto-fascist Italian Culture and
the Sources of Douhetism,” War and Society, Vol. 15, No. 1, May
1997, pp. 31-51.

16.  Gat, p. 39.

17.  Douhet, pp. 9-10.

18.  Phillip Meilinger, “Giulio Douhet and the Origins of Air

Power Theory” in Phillip Meilinger, ed., The Paths of Heaven: The
Evolution of Air Power Theory, Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgom-
ery, AL: Air University Press, 1997, pp. 9-10.

19.  Douhet, p. 98.

20.  He asserted, “when the working personnel of a factory

sees one of its machine shops destroyed, even with a minimum
loss of life, it quickly breaks up and the plant ceases to function.”
See Douhet, pp. 22-23.

70
 21.  Ibid., p. 10.

22. Douhet, p. 20.

23.  Michael S. Sherry, The Rise of American Air Power: The

Creation of Armageddon, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press,
1987, p. 27.

24.  For Trenchard’s personal history and the details of his

ideas, see Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare, pp. 26-29.

25.  “Memorandum by the Chief of the Air Staff for the Chiefs
of Staff Sub-Committee on the War Object of an Air Force,” May
2, 1928, reprinted in an official history of the British air campaign
in World War II, see Sir Charles Webster and Noble Frankland,
The Strategic Air Offensive Against Germany, 1935-1945, Volume IV,
London, UK: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1961, p. 72.

26.  Ibid., p. 75. The memorandum has also been reprinted in

Gérard Chaliand, ed., The Art of War in World History: From Antiq-
uity to the Nuclear Age, Berkeley, CA: University of California
Press, 1994, pp. 905-910.

27.  “Memorandum by the Chief of the Air Staff,” reprinted

in Webster and Frankland, The Strategic Air Offensive, Volume IV,
p. 72.

28.  Ibid., p. 73.

29.  Ibid.

30.  Ibid., p. 76.

31.  See Phillip S. Meilinger, Airmen and Air Theory, Maxwell

Air Force Base, Montgomery, AL: Air University Press, 1997, pp.
7-9; Mark Clodfelter, “Molding Airpower Convictions: Devel-
opment and Legacy of William Mitchell’s Strategic Thought,” in
Meilinger, ed., The Paths of Heaven, pp. 79-114.

32.  William Mitchell, Winged Defense: The Development and Pos-

sibilities of Modern Air Power—Economic and Military, New York: G.
P. Putnam’s Sons, 1925, portions reprinted in David Jablonsky,
ed., Roots of Strategy, Book 4, Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books,

71
1999, p. 429. Jablonsky’s perceptive introduction (pp. 413-420) is
also helpful.

33.  Ibid., p. 431.

34.  Ibid., p. 507.

35.  Ibid., pp. 435-436.

36.  Ibid., p. 436.

37.  Ibid., p. 441.

38.  Ibid.

39.  Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare, pp. 125, 164-170.

40.  Edward B. Westermann, Flak: German Anti-Aircraft

Defenses, 1914-1945, Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas,
2005. FLAK is an acronym for Fliegerabwehrkanon.

41.  For insights on the development of air power in differ-

ent nations, see John Buckley, Air Power in the Age of Total War,
London, UK: Taylor and Francis, 1999. On German air power
generally, see Peter Fritzsche, A Nation of Flyers: German Aviation
and the Popular Imagination, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1994; James Corum, The Luftwaffe: Creating the Operational
Air War, 1918-1940, Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press,
1999; Williamson Murray, Luftwaffe, Mount Pleasant, SC: Nautical
and Aviation Publishing, 1985; James Corum and Richard Muller,
The Luftwaffe’s Way of War: German Air Force Doctrine 1911-1945,
Baltimore, MD: Nautical and Aviation Publishing, 1998; Donald
Caldwell and Richard Muller, The Luftwaffe Over Germany: Defense
of the Reich, Barnsley, UK: Frontline, 2008.

42.  William C. Sherman, Air Warfare, New York: The Ronald

Press, 1926, p. 218.

43.  Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare, pp. 153-175.

44.  Webster and Frankland, Volumes I-IV. On the photore-

connaissance study, see Volume IV, appendix 13, pp. 205-213. For
the February Directive, see Volume IV, appendix 8, pp. 143-147.
See also p. xxii.

72
 45.  Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare, explains Har-
ris’s views in detail, see chap. 4. Also, Sebastian Cox, “Sir Arthur
Harris and the Air Ministry,” in Peter W. Gray and Sebastian Cox,
eds., Air Power Leadership: Theory and Practice, London, UK: Her
Majesty’s Stationery Office, 2002, pp. 210-226.

46.  Webster and Frankland, Volume I, pp. 353-363.

47.  Stephen McFarland, America’s Pursuit of Precision Bombing,

1910-1945, Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 2008.

48.  Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare, p. 243. See also
pp. 227-229.

49.  On the air campaign in Japan, see generally, Conrad C.

Crane, American Airpower Strategy in World War II: Bombs, Cities,
Civilians, and Oil, Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press, 2016;
Sherry; Richard B. Frank, Downfall: The End of the Imperial Japanese
Empire, New York: Penguin Books, 1999, pp. 38-67.

50.  Thomas Alexander Hughes, Over Lord: General Pete Que-

sada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, New
York: The Free Press, 1995; Christopher Rein, The North African
Air Campaign, Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2012;
Robert S. Ehlers, Jr., The Mediterranean Air War: Airpower and Allied
Victory in World War II, Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas,
2015; Stephen Budiansky, Air Power: The Men, Machines, and Ideas
That Revolutionized War from Kitty Hawk to Gulf War II, New York:
Viking, 2004; Buckley, pp. 147-153; and generally, Caldwell and
Muller.

51.  For details, see Craig L. Symonds, The Battle of Midway,

New York: Oxford University Press, 2011; Craig L. Symonds,
World War II at Sea: A Global History, New York: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2018.

52.  See Tami Davis Biddle, “Anglo-American Strategic Bomb-

ing, 1940-1945,” in John Ferris and Evan Mawdsley, eds., Cam-
bridge History of the Second World War, Vol. I, Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press, 2015, pp. 485-526. Other important
analyses can be found in Webster and Frankland, Volumes I-IV;
Richard G. Davis, Carl A. Spaatz and the Air War in Europe, Wash-
ington, DC: Center for Air Force History, 1993; Crane, American

73
Airpower Strategy in World War II; Richard Overy, The Bombing
War, London, UK: Allen Lane, 2013.

53.  See, for example, “War, Drunkenness and Suicide,”

Nature, Vol. 146, Iss. 3690, July 20, 1940; Felix Brown, “Civilian
Psychiatric Air Raid Casualties,” The Lancet, Vol. 237, Iss. 6144,
May 31, 1941.

54.  For an authoritative assessment, see J. Adam Tooze, The

Wages of Destruction: The Making and Breaking of the Nazi Economy,
London, UK: Penguin Books, 2006.

55.  De Seversky quoted in Chaliand, pp. 962-964.

56.  Frank, pp. 288-330. Frank believes, though, that the atomic
bombs were essential to Japan’s surrender. Readers might also
consult J. Samuel Walker, Prompt and Utter Destruction: Truman
and the Use of Atomic Bombs against Japan, 3rd ed., Chapel Hill, NC:
University of North Carolina Press, 2016; Clayton K. S. Chun,
Japan 1945: From Operation Downfall to Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Oxford, UK: Osprey Publishing, 2008. The reports of the U.S. Stra-
tegic Bombing Survey remain an important source of information
and offer insights into the early postwar interpretation of events.

57.  See David Alan Rosenberg, “The Origins of Overkill:

Nuclear Weapons and American Strategy, 1945-1960,” Interna-
tional Security, Vol. 7, No. 4, Spring 1983, which tracks the details
of nuclear targeting.

58.  On air power in Korea, see Conrad C. Crane, American

Airpower Strategy in Korea, 1950-1953, Lawrence, KS: University of
Kansas Press, 2000. See also Crane’s brief section on the Korean
war in Crane, American Airpower Strategy in World War II, pp.
192-197. Some attacks on North Korean cities took place ahead
of Chinese intervention; these were intended to create a zone
of destruction to inhibit intervention. Crane, American Airpower
Strategy in World War II, p. 193.

59.  Mark Clodfelter, The Limits of Air Power: The American

Bombing of North Vietnam, New York: The Free Press, 1989, p. 21.

60.  LeMay quoted in Thomas C. Hone, “Strategic Bombard-

ment Constrained: Korea and Vietnam,” in R. Cargill Hall, ed.,

74
Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, Washington, DC: Air Force
History and Museums Program, 1998, p. 517.

61.  Ibid., p. 477.

62.  Ibid., pp. 479-480.

63.  Ibid., p. 488.

64. Conrad C. Crane, “Raiding the Beggar’s Pantry: The Search

for Air Power Strategy in the Korean War,” The Journal of Military
History, Vol. 63, No. 4, October 1999, p. 914. The essay offers a
concise yet authoritative overview of the evolution of the Korean
air war. See also the insights on targeting, norms, and language in
Sahr Conway-Lanz, “Bombing Civilians after World War II: The
Persistence of Norms Against Targeting Civilians in the Korean
War,” in Matthew Evangelista and Henry Shue, eds., The Ameri-
can Way of Bombing: Changing Ethical and Legal Norms, from Flying
Fortresses to Drones, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2014, pp.
50-60.

65.  Pape, Bombing to Win, p. 165; Hone, p. 490.

66.  Crane, American Airpower Strategy in World War II, p. 196.

67.  Pape, Bombing to Win, p. 170.

68.  Ibid., pp. 172-173.

69.  Clodfelter, The Limits of Air Power, pp. 39-56; also Ibid., pp.
174-210.

70.  Pape, Bombing to Win, p. 177.

71.  On the challenges of reading the signals sent in a “risk

strategy,” see Peter R. Faber, “Paradigm Lost: Airpower Theory
and its Historical Struggles,” in Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, p. 36.

72.  Hone, pp. 495-496.

73.  Pape, Bombing to Win, pp. 181-189, offers a detailed anal-

ysis of the execution of Operation ROLLING THUNDER. For the
number of targets, see p. 188.

75
 74.  The figure is from Earl Tilford, Jr., “Setup: Why and How
the U.S. Air Force Lost in Vietnam,” Armed Forces and Society, Vol.
17, No. 3, 1991, p. 327. On Vietnam, see Clodfelter, The Limits of
Air Power.

75.  Fredrik Logevall, Embers of War: The Fall of an Empire and

the Making of America’s Vietnam, New York: Random House, 2012.

76.  Clodfelter, The Limits of Air Power, p. 205; Pape, Bombing to

Win, pp. 189-195.

77.  See Pape, Bombing to Win, pp. 195-210; also Robert A. Pape,
“Coercive Air Power in the Vietnam War,” International Security,
Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1990, pp. 103-146.

78.  Frans P. B. Osinga, “The Enemy as a Complex Adaptive

System: John Boyd and Airpower in the Postmodern Era,” in
Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, p. 53.

79.  Ibid., pp. 55, 59.

80.  This movement had great allure and influence in the wake
of Vietnam. Some of those who contributed to the movement’s
intellectual content included Martin Van Creveld, Don Holder,
Steven Canby, Harry Summers, and Edward Luttwak. Also, see
James Fallows, National Defense, New York: Random House, 1981,
which documented the movement well.

81.  Osinga, in Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, pp. 48-55. There

are two biographies of Boyd: Robert Coram, Boyd: The Fighter Pilot
who Changed the Art of War, Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Com-
pany, 2003; Grant Tedrick Hammond, The Mind of War: John Boyd
and American Security, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Books, 2001.

82.  Boyd cited in David S. Fadok, “John Boyd and John

Warden: Airpower’s Quest for Strategic Paralysis,” in Meilinger,
ed., The Paths of Heaven, p. 363.

83.  Osinga, in Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, p. 51.

84.  Boyd cited in Fadok, in Meilinger, ed., The Paths of Heaven,

p. 364.

76
 85.  Osinga provides a diagram of what he calls “The Real
OODA Loop,” see Osinga, in Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, p. 75.

86.  Boyd quoted in Ibid., p. 64, see also p. 69.

87.  Fadok, in Meilinger, ed., The Paths of Heaven, pp. 367-368.

88.  Osinga, in Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, pp. 81-92.

89.  U.S. Air Force, Volume 1: Basic Doctrine, Air Force Doc-
trine Document, Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgomery, AL:
Curtis E. Lemay Center for Doctrine Development and Educa-
tion, Air University, November 17, 2003, pp. 17-18, available
from https://www.hsdl.org/?view&did=12800, hereafter Volume 1:
Basic Doctrine, 2003.

90.  Richard G. Davis, Decisive Force: Strategic Bombing in the

Gulf War, Washington, DC: Air Force Museums and History Pro-
gram, 1996, p. 20.

91.  Ibid., pp. 9-12. Warden provides an updated interpreta-

tion (2015) of his ideas in John A. Warden III, “Smart Strategy,
Smart Airpower,” in Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, pp. 93-127.

92.  John A. Warden, “Employing Air Power in the Twen-

ty-first Century,” in Richard H. Schultz and Robert L. Pfaltzgraff,
eds., The Future of Air Power in the Aftermath of the Gulf War,
Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgomery, AL: Air University Press,
1992, p. 65.

93.  Davis, Decisive Force, p. 2.

94.  Pape, Bombing to Win, p. 211.

95.  Ibid., pp. 221-222.

96.  Davis, Decisive Force, p. 53; Michael R. Gordon and Ber-

nard E. Trainor, The Generals’ War: The Inside Story of the Con-
flict in the Gulf, Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company, 1995,
p. 474. See also Fadok, in Meilinger, ed., The Paths of Heaven, pp.
357-399; John Andreas Olson, “Col. John A. Warden III: Smasher
of Paradigms?” in Gray and Cox, eds., Air Power Leadership,
pp. 129-159.

77
 97.  Davis, Decisive Force, pp. 54-55.

98.  Pape, Bombing to Win, p. 240.

99.  Crane, American Airpower Strategy in World War II, p. 203.

100.  Pape, Bombing to Win, p. 230.

101.  Pape’s detailed critique appears in Ibid., pp. 230-240. For

the most complete analysis, readers should see Thomas A. Keaney
and Eliot A. Cohen, eds., Gulf War Air Power Survey, Washington,
DC: The Government Printing Office, 1993.

102.  Stephen Biddle, “Victory Misunderstood: What the Gulf

War Tells Us about the Future of Conflict,” International Security,
Vol. 21, No. 2, Fall 1997, pp. 139-179.

103.  David A. Deptula, “Effects-Based Operations: Change

in the Nature of Warfare,” Arlington, VA: Aerospace Education
Foundation, p. 3.

104.  Ibid., pp. 3-5, 17.

105.  Ibid., p. 18.

106.  Crane, American Airpower Strategy in World War II, p. 206.

107.  For a useful overview, see Eliot A. Cohen and Andrew J.

Bacevich, eds., War Over Kosovo, New York: Columbia University
Press, 2002.

108.  Benjamin S. Lambeth, NATO’s Air War for Kosovo: Politics

and Strategy in a Global Age, Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corpora-
tion, 2001, p. xiv.

109.  Stephen T. Hosmer, The Conflict Over Kosovo: Why Milos-

evic Decided to Settle When He Did, Santa Monica, CA: RAND Cor-
poration, 2001, p. 94.

110.  These included the following fallacious assumptions: 1)

that the ethnic cleansing campaign might cause the North Atlan-
tic Treaty Organization (NATO) to rethink the bombing; 2) that
the elimination of the Kosovo Liberation Army would be swift
and simple; 3) that the fallout from civilian casualties might break

78
NATO; and 4) that Russia would provide steadfast support to the
Serbs. See Ibid., pp. 24-34.

111.  Volume 1: Basic Doctrine, 2003, pp. 15, 40.

112.  Osinga, in Olson, ed., Airpower Reborn, p. 86.

113.  For examples from the Iraq war between 2004 and
2005, see Howard D. Belote, “Counterinsurgency Airpower:
Air-Ground Integration for the Long War,” Air and Space Power
Journal, Vol. XX, Iss. 3, Fall 2006, pp. 55-64, available from https://
www.airuniversity.af.edu/Portals/10/ASPJ/journals/Volume-20_Issue-
1-4/2006_Vol20_No3.pdf.

114.  Jeffrey J. Smith, “Beyond the Horizon: Developing

Future Airpower Strategy,” Strategic Studies Quarterly, Vol. 8, No.
2, Summer 2014, p. 84.

115.  Ibid. Interested readers should absorb his full critique on

pp. 83-86.

116.  Jason M. Brown, “To Bomb or Not to Bomb? Counter-

insurgency, Airpower, and Dynamic Targeting,” Air and Space
Power Journal, Vol. XXI, No. 4, Winter 2007, p. 76, available from
https://www.airuniversity.af.edu/Portals/10/ASPJ/journals/Volume-
21_Issue-1-4/2007_Vol21_No4.pdf.

117.  Ibid.

118.  Guidance on how to do this is offered in Alan J. Vick,

Adam R. Grissom, William Rosenau, Beth Grill, and Karl P. Muel-
ler, Air Power in the New Counterinsurgency Era: The Strategic Impor-
tance of USAF Advisory and Assistance Missions, Santa Monica, CA:
RAND Corporation, 2006.

119.  Stephen Biddle, “The Libya Dilemma: The Limits of

Air Power,” The Washington Post, March 25, 2011, available from
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/the-libya-dilemma-the-
limits-of-air-power/2011/03/25/AFfTVUYB_story.html?utm_term=.
bc4454d95dfb.

120.  Ibid.

79
 121.  Rosa Brooks, “The Law of Armed Conflict, the Use of Mil-
itary Force, and the 2001 Authorization for Use of Military Force,”
Statement for the Record Submitted to the Senate Committee on
Armed Services, May 16, 2013, p. 2, available from https://www.
armed-services.senate.gov/imo/media/doc/Brooks_05-16-13.pdf; Rosa
Brooks, “The Constitutional and Counterterrorism Implications
of Targeted Killing,” Testimony Before the Senate Judiciary Sub-
committee on the Constitution, Civil Rights, and Human Rights,
April 23, 2013, available from https://www.judiciary.senate.gov/
download/testimony-of-brooks-pdf.

122.  Brooks, “The Law of Armed Conflict,” pp. 8-9.

123.  Ibid.

124.  See the speech given by General Norton Schwartz, U.S.

Air Force, “Tailoring Airpower Capabilities for Joint Combat
Operations,” speech presented to the Dubai International Air
Chiefs Conference, November 12, 2011, available from https://
www.thefreelibrary.com/Tailoring+airpower+capabilities+for+joint+-
combat+operations.-a0278950312.

125.  David A. Deptula, “Afterword,” in John Andreas Olson,

ed., Global Air Power, Washington, DC: Potomac Books, 2011,
p. 411.

126.  U.S. Air Force, Volume 1: Basic Doctrine, Air Force Doc-
trine Document, Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgomery, AL:
Curtis E. Lemay Center for Doctrine Development and Education,
Air University, February 27, 2015, p. 71, available from https://
www.doctrine.af.mil/Portals/61/documents/Volume_1/Volume-1-
Basic-Doctrine.pdf.

127.  Smith, pp. 87-88.

128.  Ibid., p. 87.

129.  Olson, Airpower Reborn, p. 3, and, in the same volume,

see the essay John Warden, “Smart Strategy, Smart Airpower,”
pp. 93-127.

130.  Smith, p. 90.

131.  Ibid., p. 90.

80
 132.  Ibid., p. 91; see also Alex Grynkewich, “The Future of
Air Superiority, Part I: The Imperative,” War on the Rocks, Jan-
uary 3, 2017, available from https://warontherocks.com/2017/01/
the-future-of-air-superiority-part-i-the-imperative/.

133.  Alex Grynkewich, “The Future of Air Superior-

ity, Part II: The 2030 Problem,” War on the Rocks, Janu-
ary 5, 2017, available from https://warontherocks.com/2017/01/
the-future-of-air-superiority-part-ii-the-2030-problem/.

134.  Alex Grynkewich, “The Future of Air Superior-

ity, Part III: Defeating A2/AD,” War on the Rocks, Janu-
ary 13, 2017, available from https://warontherocks.com/2017/01/
the-future-of-air-superiority-part-iii-defeating-a2ad/.

135.  Stephen Biddle and Ivan Oelrich, “Future Warfare in

the Western Pacific: Chinese Antiaccess/Area Denial, U.S. AirSea
Battle, and Command of the Commons in East Asia,” International
Security, Vol. 41, No. 1, Summer 2016, p. 12.

136.  Ibid., pp. 7-48.

137.  Gray, Explorations in Strategy, p. 64.

138.  Thomas D. White quoted in Ibid.

139.  Ibid.

140.  David E. Lupton, quoted in Burton “Earnie” Catledge

and Jeremy Powell, “Chapter 2: Space Power Theory,” in Air
Command and Staff College, Space Research Seminars, AU-18
Space Primer, Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgomery, AL: Air Uni-
versity Press, September 2009, p. 33.

141.  Phillip Swarts, “Space Wars: The Air Force Awakens,”

Air Force Times, February 15, 2016.

142.  Biddle and Oelrich, p. 46.

143.  See for instance: Elbridge Colby, From Sanctuary to Bat-

tlefield: A Framework for a U.S. Defense and Deterrence Strategy for
Space, Washington, DC: Center for a New American Security, Jan-
uary 2016; Joan Johnson-Freese, Space Warfare in the 21st Century,

81
New York: Routledge, 2016; Clayton Chun, Defending Space: US
Anti-Satellite Warfare and Space Weaponry, Oxford, UK: Osprey,
2006.

82
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