equivalent is the more sterile phrase ‘situational awareness’. The German concept
incorporated as well the importance of panache—the difference, in horsemen’s
language, between a hunter and a hack—or in contemporary terms, the difference
between a family saloon car and a muscle car. It emphasized speed and daring,
manoeuvring to strike as hard a blow as possible from a direction as unexpected as
possible. That mentality depended on, and in turn fostered, particular institution-
al characteristics: a flexible command system, high levels of aggressiveness, and an
officer corps with a common perspective on war making.
Robert Citino describes the genesis of this ‘German way of war’ in a Prussian
state located in the centre of Europe, ringed by potential enemies, lacking both
natural boundaries and natural resources. Unable to wage and win a long war,
Prussia had to develop a way to fight front-loaded conflicts: short, intense, and
ending with a battlefield victory leaving the enemy sufficiently weakened and
intimidated to forgo a second round. 3
Prussia’s situation in turn not merely generated but required the tactical
orientation of its military mentality. This is in direct contrast to the United
States, whose fundamental military problems since at least the Mexican War
have been on the level of strategy and grand strategy: where to go and how to
sustain the effort. Actual fighting has been a secondary concern, which is why so
many of America’s first battles have been disasters. 4 Prussia, on the other hand,
was unlikely to recover from an initial defeat.
That was the lesson and the legacy of Frederick the Great. Frederick’s concept
of rational war leadership institutionalized the strategic principle that Prussia
must fight short, decisive wars. That meant developing a forward-loaded military
system, an army able to go to war from a standing start with its effectiveness
highest at the beginning. It meant that nothing should be wasted on secondary
concerns. Skirmishing, scouting, all the other elements of ‘little wars’ increasingly
present in the eighteenth century, were, in Frederick’s mind, above all, wasted
time. And time was the one thing Prussia did not possess.
Frederick’s emphasis on time required not merely seeking battle, but holding
nothing back once the fighting started. The West’s experience since the Middle Ages,
however, had consistently demonstrated the randomness of combat. The collective
wisdom of eighteenth-century war making responded by minimizing Fortuna’s
opportunities: marching and fighting only under perceived favourable conditions.
Denied that option, Frederick lived on the edge. At Mollwitz in 1741, the day seemed
thoroughly lost until the final advance of the Prussian infantry turned the tide. The
Battle of Soor in 1745 began when the Austrians surprised his camp and ended when
Frederick improvised victory from the fighting power of his men. 5
As a consequence, the king became committed to minimizing what Clausewitz
would call fog and friction by making Prussia impervious to shock and surprise.
In the aftermath of the Silesian Wars (1740–8), Frederick increasingly integrated
the state’s economy into its war-making function. 6 The annual manoeuvres,
involving as many men as a fair-sized battle—44,000 in 1753—were meant to
test formations and tactics, to practise large-scale evolutions, and to accustom
senior officers to handling large bodies of troops under stress. This last, though
36 The Evolution of Operational Art