Ranking battles by their importance has been a
bloodsport among military historians as long as there have been military
historians. Creasy's classic Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World (1851) set
the standard for the genre.
But what makes a battle decisive? And what makes
one such test of arms more important than another?
Defining the term too loosely produces howlers
like a recent US News catalogue of decisive battles of the American
Civil War. By the US News count, 45 engagements qualified as decisive
during that four-year struggle alone. Zounds!
The term must be defined less cavalierly than
that to be meaningful. If every battle is decisive, no battle is. That's one
reason I always ask students whether some legendary triumph—a Trafalgar, or a
Tsushima Strait—was decisive, or just dramatic, or just featured the star power
of a Nelson or Togo.
Even the masters of strategy, however, appear
ambivalent about what constitutes decisive victory. Carl von Clausewitz
supplies a working definition, describing a decisive engagement as one that
leads directly to peace. This implies an action carrying not just tactical but
strategic and political import. Such an encounter impels the vanquished to
accept the victor's terms at the bargaining table, whether because he's no
longer capable of fighting on, believes he stands little chance of turning the
tables and winning, or estimates that victory will prove unaffordable. A
decisive battle, in this expansive interpretation, is the chief determinant of
a war's outcome.
So far, so good. But how direct must direct
be for a battle to earn the lofty status of decisive? Must peace talks take
place immediately following the clash of arms that precipitates them? Can a
settlement come weeks or months afterward, so long as the cause/effect
relationship is clear? What's the time horizon?
The great Carl is silent on such matters. It's
possible he's too casual about them. Combat, methinks, can be decisive while
achieving more modest goals than winning a war outright. To see how, interpret
the word literally: something decisive decides something. (Admittedly, this is
probably how the US News team got in trouble. Every action decides something
in a tactical sense, no matter how mundane or inconsequential. If nothing
else, it determines who holds the field of battle at day's end, or reveals that
the fighting stalemated. This says little about its larger meaning, if any.)
Armed clashes can yield decisive results on different levels of war. A tactical
encounter could decide the outcome of a campaign or the fate of a combat
theater without leading directly to peace. Right?
In short, it appears wise to define a decisive
victory more three-dimensionally than Clausewitz does, namely as a trial of
arms that lets a belligerent accomplish some positive or negative aim beyond
mere tactical results. Winning the war would still qualify, obviously, but the
broader view would allow historians to rate a Battle of Trafalgar as decisive.
Fought in 1805, Trafalgar scarcely brought about
final peace with Napoleonic France. That took another decade of apocalyptic
warfare. But it did settle whether the French could invade the British Isles
and, through amphibious conquest, crush the offshore threat to French
supremacy. The heroics of Nelson, Collingwood, and their shipmates decided the
outcome of Napoleon's scheme while enabling Great Britain to persevere with the
struggle. Trafalgar, then, directly accomplished the negative goal of keeping
French legions from invading Britain. That must qualify as decisive in
the operational sense.
Speaking
of pugilism on the briny main, here's another wrinkle in this debate.
Clausewitz says next to nothing about maritime conflict. Water barely exists in
his writings. Fin de siecle historian Sir Julian Corbett, the best in
the business of sea-power theory, doubts naval warfare is ever decisive
by itself, except perhaps through gradual exhaustion. Close or distant
blockades, however, grind down not just the enemy but your allies and your own
businessfolk who rely on seaborne trade. They impose costs on everyone.
Like Clausewitz, Corbett thus seems skeptical
about the decisiveness of any single engagement. Sure, a dominant seafaring
state can and must make the sea a barrier to invasion and other direct assaults
on its homeland. That's the Trafalgar model. At its bottom, though, maritime
strategy is the art of determining the relations between the army and navy in a
plan of war. It's ultimately about shaping affairs on land, which, after all,
is where people live. But how do you rank a purely naval engagement on the high
seas against an army/navy operation that unfolds at the interface between land
and sea?
Tough question. So there's a lot to ponder in the
seemingly simple question, what is decisive? To rank naval battles against one
another, let's assign a pecking order among degrees of decisiveness.
Derring-do, tactical artistry, or gee-whiz technology are not among the
criteria. Nor are lopsided tactical results enough to lift an encounter into
the upper echelon. That's why the Battle of Tsushima, which left wreckage from
the Russian Baltic Fleet littering the Yellow Sea floor in 1905, doesn't make
my list.
Topping my list are naval actions that decided
the fates of civilizations, empires, or great nations. This is decisiveness of
the first order. Such encounters stand in a category apart. Next come
engagements that reversed the momentum in a conflict of world-historical
importance. They set the endgame in motion, even if a long time elapsed between
the battle and the peace settlement it helped set in motion. Direct needn't
mean fast. And if battles meeting one of those standards don't exhaust
the field—read on to find out—last come tests of arms that settled the outcome
in a particular theater of war, helping set the stage for eventual victorious
peace.
So, this leaves us with a rough hierarchy of sea
fights. The more fateful and enduring a battle's ramifications, the higher it
stands on the list. All of which is a roundabout way of getting to my Top Five
Naval Battles in World History. In order from least to most important:
5. Lepanto (1571). The Battle of Lepanto stemmed
the westward spread of Ottoman power across the Mediterranean Sea. With papal
sanction, the Holy League, a consortium of Catholic seafaring states, assembled
a navy to engage the main Ottoman fleet in the Gulf of Corinth, off western
Greece. Lepanto was the last major all-galley naval engagement in the
Mediterranean. The League put its advantages in gunnery and ship types—notably
the galleass, an outsized galley bearing heavy armament—to good use against the
Turkish fleet, which disgorged far less weight of shot. The Ottomans lost the
bulk of their vessels to enemy action. More importantly, they lost experienced
crews. They found that regenerating human capital isn't as easy as fitting out
wooden men-of-war. Shipwrights soon built new hulls, letting the Turkish navy
reassert its supremacy in the Eastern Mediterranean for a period. By 1580,
however, the new navy was left to rot at its moorings. Galley warfare assured
permanent European, not Ottoman, command of the middle sea. That's a decisive
result by any measure.
4. Battle of Yamen (1279). Sometimes
dubbed “China’s Trafalgar,” this clash between the Mongol Yuan Dynasty and the
beleaguered Southern Song determined who would rule China for nearly a century.
It was far more decisive than Horatio Nelson’s masterwork. Over one thousand
warships crewed by tens of thousands of men took part in the engagement. Yuan
commanders deployed deception and bold tactics to overcome at least a 10:1
mismatch in numbers. Most important, Yamen claimed the life of the Song
emperor, clearing the way for Kublai Khan’s dynasty to take charge of Asia's
central kingdom. The results of Yamen thus reverberated throughout Asia for
decades afterward.
The Battle of Yamen
The Battle of Yamen
3. Quiberon Bay (1759). The year 1759 has
been called a year of miracles for Great Britain. Land and naval operations
determined whether Britain or France would emerge triumphant in North America.
British troops under Wolfe subdued Montcalm's defenders at Quebec and Montreal,
sealing the fate of New France. France stood little chance of recouping its
fortunes because Admiral Sir Edward Hawke's Royal Navy fleet ventured into
Quiberon Bay that November—in a westerly gale, no less—and put paid to the
French fleet in its home waters. Having wrested away command of Atlantic
shipping lanes, Britain could bar access to the Americas. Lesson: to score
decisive victories, hire commanders with fighting names like Wolfe and Hawke.
British exploits settled the destiny of a continent while setting a pattern for
North American politics that persists to this day.
2. Spanish Armada (1588).
This was the
duke of Medina Sidonia's purportedly invincible fleet, ordered by Spain's King
Philip II to cross the Channel and land in England. There Spanish forces would
unseat England's Queen Elizabeth I. By installing a friendly regime, the
expeditionary force would terminate English support for the Dutch revolt
roiling the Spanish Netherlands while ending English privateering against
Spanish shipping. The Catholic Philip sought and obtained papal approval for
the enterprise against the Protestant Elizabeth. Weather, however, conspired
with English seamanship and gunnery tactics to condemn the expedition. The
Spanish host was unable to land. Instead Medina Sidonia found himself compelled
to circumnavigate the British Isles under foul conditions to reach home port.
The failed cross-Channel crusade heartened the English crown. Had the Armada
replaced a Protestant with a Catholic monarch, it's conceivable that the
British Empire never would have been founded—and certainly not in the form it
actually took. How would Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Ocean history have
unfolded then? The implications of that question boggle the mind—and qualify
the Armada's defeat as decisive in the largest sense.
Spanish Armada
Spanish Armada
1. Salamis (480 B.C.). Taken in tandem
with its immediate precursors, the sea battle of Artemisium and the land battle
at Thermopylae, the Battle of Salamis was part of a joint campaign that would
gladden Corbett's heart. Themistocles, the founder of the Athenian navy, led an
outnumbered, outmanned allied fleet against King Xerxes' Persian armada.
Artemisium kept Persian sea forces from linking up with the colossal horde that
had crossed the Hellespont and was lumbering overland through Greece, with the
ultimate goal of conquering Europe. Themistocles' fleet then retired to the
waters off Salamis Island to defend the Athenian populace, which had abandoned
its city to the Persians. Guile and artful tactics let the allies overcome
Persian numbers in this narrow sea. If not for Spartan and Athenian audacity,
at sea as on shore, Xerxes may have throttled Western civilization in its
infancy. Fending off the Great King's onslaught entitles Salamis to enduring
fame. It was the most decisive naval battle in history.
The Battle of Salamis
The Battle of Salamis
Needless to say, drawing up a list like this one is tough. Many worthy candidates ended up on the cutting-room floor. China's Ming Dynasty was born through inland naval warfare, at the Battle of Lake Poyang (1363). The Battle of the Virginia Capes (1781) doomed Lord Cornwallis' army at Yorktown and assured American independence. The naval battles at Guadalcanal (1942-1943) reversed the tide of war in the Pacific, while the Battle of the Philippine Sea (1944) doomed Japanese naval aviation—paving the way for history's last major fleet engagement, at Leyte Gulf later that year. None, however, compares to the top five for world-historic significance.
Lastly, it's fun and enlightening to speculate
about the dogs that didn't bark. About, that is, the naval engagements of
immense consequence that could have, and perhaps should have, yet never did
take place. For instance, the U.S. Navy just celebrated the bicentennial of the
Battle of Lake Erie. Despite the dismal results of the War of 1812, small-scale
engagements such as Lake Erie and the Battle of New Orleans impressed the
British leadership with the United States' latent military and naval
strength. Trivial-seeming U.S. victories implanted the idea among British
statesmen that a conciliatory policy toward Washington was more prudent than
trying to outmatch a republic predestined for primacy in North America and its
marine environs.
Why the rise of America didn't produce a
cataclysmic naval war with the supreme sea power of the day is worth mulling
over. But that, as they say, is a story for another day.
( nationalinterest.org, October 5, 2013 )