Surprise therefore becomes the means to gain superiority, but because of its psychological effect it should also be considered as an independent element. Whenever it is achieved on a grand scale, it confuses the enemy and lowers his morale; many examples, great and small, show how this in turn multiplies the results. We are not speaking here of a surprise assault, which falls under the general category of "attack," but of the desire to surprise the enemy by our plans and dispositions, especially those concerning the distribution of forces. This is just as feasible in defense, and indeed it is a major weapon of the tactical defense.

We suggest that surprise lies at the root of all operations without exception, though in widely varying degrees depending on the nature and circumstances of the operation.

These variations may already originate in the characteristics of the army, of the general, or even of the government.

The two factors that produce surprise are secrecy and speed. Both presuppose a high degree of energy on the part of the government and the commander; on the part of the army, they require great efficiency. Surprise will never be achieved under lax conditions and conduct. But while the wish to achieve surprise is common and, indeed, indispensable, and while it is true that it will never be completely ineffective, it is equally true that by its very nature surprise can rarely be outstandingly successful. It would be a mistake, therefore, to regard surprise as a key element of success in war. The principle is highly attractive in theory, but in practice it is often held up by the friction of the whole machine.

Basically surprise is a tactical device, simply because in tactics time and space are limited in scale. Therefore in strategy surprise becomes more feasible the closer it occurs to the tactical realm, and more difficult, the more it approaches the higher levels of policy.

Preparations for war usually take months. Concentrating troops at their main assembly points generally requires the installation of supply dumps and depots, as well as considerable troop movements, whose purpose can be guessed soon enough.

It is very rare therefore that one state surprises another, either by an attack or by preparations for war. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when war often turned on sieges, a frequent and important aim was to invest a fortress by surprise; but this too rarely proved successful.

On the other hand, surprise is more easily carried out in operations requiring little time. It is often relatively simple to steal a march on the enemy and in this way occupy a position, a topographical feature, or a road. It is obvious, however, that the greater the ease with which surprise is achieved, the smaller is its effectiveness, and vice versa. In the abstract, we may believe that small surprises often lead to greater things, such as a victorious battle or the capture of an important depot, but history does not bear this out. Cases in which such surprises led to major results are very rare. From this we may conclude how considerable are the inherent difficulties.

When we expect great results from the element of surprise in the course of a campaign, we think of strenuous activity, quick decisions, and forced marches. But even in instances where these are present to a high degree, they may not always produce the intended results, as is shown by two commanders who can be considered supreme in these matters: Frederick the Great and Bonaparte. In July 1760 the former suddenly pounced on Lacy from Bautzen and then turned toward Dresden. But ~ the interlude accomplished little; indeed, it left Frederick considerably worse off than before, for in the meantime Glatz had fallen.

In 1813 Bonaparte twice turned suddenly from Dresden against Blücher, not to mention his descent from upper Lusatia on Bohemia, but he was unable to achieve his goal. Both actions were thrusts into thin air, which cost him time and casualties and might have seriously endangered his position at Dresden.
 

Major success in a surprise action therefore does not depend on the energy, forcefulness, and resolution of the commander: it must be favored by other circumstances. We do not wish to deny the possibility of success, but merely, want to establish the fact that it does require favorable conditions, which are not often present, and can rarely be created by the general.

Both the commanders whom we have just cited provide striking examples of this: first Bonaparte, in 1814, in his famous operation against Blücher's forces, which were moving along the Marne, separated from the main allied army. We can hardly imagine a greater result from an unexpected advance carried out in two days. Blücher's troops, strung out over a distance of three days' marches, were beaten separately, and suffered casualties on the scale of a major battle. This was entirely due to surprise, for Blucher's order of march would have been different if he had known that an attack by Bonaparte might be imminent. The French success depended on Blücher's mistake. Bonaparte, to be sure, did not know how Blücher saw the situation; he benefited from a fortunate coincidence.

The battle of Liegnitz in 1760 is another case in point. Frederick the Great won this battle because during the night he moved from a position that he had only just occupied. Laudon was taken completely by surprise and lost 70 cannon and 10,000 men. At that time Frederick was acting on the principle of moving frequently in order to avoid battle, or at least in order to frustrate the enemy's plans; but this had not been his intention when he changed his position on the night of 14-15 June. He moved, as he says himself, because he was dissatisfied with the position he had occupied that day. Here too chance played a large part, and the outcome would have been different had it not been for the difficult, hilly terrain, and the coincidence of Frederick's nocturnal shift of position with the preliminary phases of Laudon's attack.

Even the higher, and highest, realms of strategy provide some examples of momentous surprises. It will suffice to recall the brilliant campaigns of the Great Elector against Sweden, sweeping from Franconia to Pomerania, and from the Mark Brandenburg to the river Pregel. The campaign of 1757 and Bonaparte's famous crossing of the Alps in 1800 are, other examples. In the latter case, the Austrian army surrendered its entire theater of operations, and in 1757 another army came very close to surrendering not merely its operational theater but itself as well. Finally Frederick's invasion of Silesia may be cited as an example of a totally unexpected war. In all these cases the results were massive and far-reaching. Yet history has few such events to report-unless, of course, we confuse them with instances of states being ill-prepared for war because of sheer inactivity and lack of energy, such as Saxony in 1756 and Russia in 1812.

One more observation needs to be made, which goes to the very heart of the matter. Only the commander who imposes his will can take the enemy by surprise; and in order to impose his will, he must act correctly. If we surprise the enemy with faulty measures, we may not benefit at all, but instead suffer sharp reverses. Our surprise, in that case, will cause the enemy little worry; by exploiting our mistakes, he will find ways of warding off any ill-effects. Since the offensive offers much more scope for positive action than the defensive, the element of surprise is more often related to the attack-but far from exclusively so, as we shall see later on. Mutual surprises by the offensive and defensive may collide, in which case the side will be justified and succeed that has hit the nail most squarely on the head.

That, at any rate, is how it ought to be. But for a simple reason it does not always happen in real life. For the side that can benefit from the psychological effects of surprise, the worse the situation is, the better it may turn out, while the enemy finds himself incapable of making coherent decisions. This holds true not only for senior commanders, but for everyone involved; for one peculiar feature of surprise is that it loosens the bonds of cohesion, and individual action can easily become significant.

Much depends on the relationship established between the two sides. If general moral superiority enables one opponent to intimidate and outdistance the other, he can use surprise to greater effect, and may even reap the fruits of victory where ordinarily he might expect to fail.
 
 

 Von Clausewitz (1780-1831) Prussian general and theorist of war . His posthumously published work On War (Vom Kriege) is the most important general treatment of its subject yet produced. Clausewitz entered the Prussian army as a 12-year-old in the spring of 1792, and was soon drawn into the " French Revolutionary wars" that began a few weeks before . The following year he fought in the Rhineland and the Vosges, indecisive campaigns of position and maneuver typical of what soon be called " the Old Regime". In 1801 he was admitted to the institute for young officers in Berlin. There he came into contact with the Institute superintendent, Gerhard von Scharnhost, the seminal intellectual influence of Clausewitz's life. He became involved in the movement to reform the Prussian state and army, in which Scharnhost, again, was a key figure.

On War (Vom Kriege) was published by Clausewitz's wife the following year. Few comparably demanding works in any field  have so thoroughly withstood the test of time.