The Political‐Military Interface: Friction in the Conduct of British Army Operations in North Africa 1940–1942

Friction is an enduring feature of warfare. Clausewitz identified it as the ‘the force that makes the apparently easy difficult’. ¹ And modern commentators still recognise its importance because ‘an understanding of friction remains fundamental to understanding the realities of warfare’. ² Friction occurs because of the intensely human dimension of war. And one of the most critical human interactions during war is the one that develops between politicians and their military commanders. Here, not only do political careers become tied to military results, but the risk of danger to the whole fabric of the society at war is managed. It is the magnitude of these stakes that create a unique atmosphere in which the statesman and the military commander have to conduct business.

This article focuses on one aspect of friction in wartime: that which can emerge between politicians and their generals. It will explain that within this relationship of two ‘elites’ there are some sources of friction which are enduring. They manifest themselves in issues as diverse as competing political and military objectives, differences in personalities and plain misunderstandings. These areas provide the framework for the analysis of this question which will be answered through the use of a case study.

This study will begin by examining the classical and contemporary theory of civil‐military relations. This will illustrate how academic literature addresses the issue, and how this ties in with current British Military Doctrine. Through the analysis of a case study, British operations in North Africa 1940–42, the lessons from a practical perspective are then identified. These support, supplement or contradict the theory. Finally, their relevance to the modern battlefield is considered before some conclusions are then put forward.

The aim therefore is to identify, from a British Army perspective, what the potential sources of friction are in political‐military relationships in wartime, what their consequences may be and of what relevance these lessons are for today. Though the conclusions do not pretend to offer a comprehensive solution to this enduring problem, they do contend that understanding the findings will assist in mitigating their impact in the future.

In order to inform the answer to this question, a case study approach has been adopted, using the campaign in North Africa from June 1940 until the beginning of Operation ‘Torch’ in November 1942. There are various reasons for this decision and the first relates to availability of information. Due to the high classification of political and military discussions at the strategic level, the facts and detail of more recent operations are not yet available which would limit a more contemporary study. But in addition, the time since the end of the case study has allowed a balanced array of literature to be produced on the subject. This varies from the personal memoirs of those involved such as Churchill, Brooke and Montgomery to the more objective research of Correlli Barnett or David Reynolds. Barnett has been able to scrutinise the actions and memoirs of The Desert Generals in the light of the release of the intelligence that was available to them at the time. Reynolds has produced a seminal critique of Churchill’s The Second World War in light of his recent access to the Churchill College Archives Centre.

The second reason for choosing North Africa 1940–42 relates to the campaign itself. As a campaign fought within the context of total war, the issues that emerge are highly focused, unlike those that emerge in a more limited war. For example, fighting for national survival removes much of the clutter that might surround a highly politically driven campaign. Churchill mentions that in the heat of battle ‘the sense of duty dominates all else, and personal claims recede’. ³ This focus allows the central issues to be more clearly identified. But at the same time the campaign was also tactically discrete in its nature. This, in many respects, exemplifies the expeditionary nature of warfare that Britain is now involved in. Finally, Britain was a lead nation during the case study period and the impact of alliances and agreements with other Commonwealth countries offers parallels with coalition operations of recent times.

Both primary and secondary research methodologies have been used in this investigation. In particular many important personal recollections have been captured through the use of memoirs, diaries and personal accounts of those involved in the campaign. An array of secondary source academic and historical literature has been used to provide contextual and factual detail for the research.

This is an important area of study. An understanding of potential sources of friction in the relationships of politicians and the military in wartime gives the greatest opportunity for such friction to be avoided. This would hopefully mitigate one of the many hurdles that leaders have to overcome in what is a truly complex and dangerous situation. Furthermore an understanding of it helps prevent such friction from becoming a vulnerability or weakness that the enemy can exploit. ⁴ There is of course, little substitute for learning from others to assist in this, and as such the next section sets the context for the analysis by examining the academic and doctrinal literature on the subject.

Theory and Doctrine

An understanding of political‐military relations from an academic perspective will help provide a benchmark against which the case study can be examined. Three main issues will be considered here, first the nature of the political‐military relationship. Second it will be seen if the theory offers any indication of potential sources of friction between politicians and soldiers. Finally from a doctrinal standpoint it will be investigated at what level the political‐military interface is conducted. This paper answers the first two of these questions by considering the classical and contemporary theory of civil‐military relations. A study of current British Military Doctrine will help bring clarity to the third aspect.

It is tempting to consider, on reading Clausewitz, that the nature of the political‐military relationship is one sided. After all, ‘war is not merely an act of policy but a true political instrument, a continuation of political intercourse, carried on with other means’. ⁵ But in practical terms, even to Clausewitz, the notion of political primacy is not so clear. He recognises that ‘war in general, and the commander in any specific instance is entitled to require that the trends and designs of policy shall not be inconsistent with these means’. ⁶ This suggests that the relationship is a two‐way one, and that the military have a part to play in shaping political strategy.

But Samuel Huntington, writing in 1957, considers that the relationship should be, at best, very distant. In the Soldier and the State he sets out a theory of civil‐military relations that has become known as the ‘normal theory’. Huntington believes that the military, particularly the officer corps, is a profession whose central skill is the ‘management of violence’. ⁷ When officers are allowed to develop the professionalism of their service they become independent of direct political control. This is the theory of ‘objective control’ and allows soldiers to respect the bounds of democratic politics, and politicians to leave purely military matters to officers. ⁸ To illustrate this Huntington quotes a US Command and General Staff College 1936 publication. It reads ‘Politics and strategy are fundamentally things apart. Strategy begins where politics ends…having found the line [of demarcation between the two], all sides must abstain from trespassing.’ ⁹ To Huntington therefore the political and the military are discrete elements and should respect the distance between each other. The relevance of such an approach in British civil‐military relations is questionable not least given the different cultures and different geo‐strategic positions held by the US and Great Britain.

Professor S. E. Finer, the British scholar, rejects Huntington’s view in his 1965 book The Man on Horseback: The Role of the Military in Politics. He claims that the military are not apolitical at all, but will seek, at every level from blackmail to a coup d’état, to influence policy and policy‐making. This indicates a very close relationship between the two, where the military are fully integrated into the political machinery.

Hew Strachan, a current British military historian, believes that for the British Army specifically a combination of these theories may be appropriate. He sees that the military is apolitical in so far as it does not carry out coups. ¹⁰ However, as a professional body it has been impelled into politics, because political awareness is a part of being a professional military. ¹¹ Bearing this in mind, it is proposed here that for the British Army in war, political primacy is the rule, although political strategic decision‐making will not be made in isolation without a military input. It is the sources of difficulties in achieving this balance that is the subject of this article. So having established the nature of the political‐military relationship, it is now appropriate to examine from a theoretical perspective some causes of friction in it.

Central to the question of managing the relationship between politicians and the military is whether military personnel are representative of the civilian society that they come from or not. Sir John Keegan believes that in many respects this is not the case and that the true warrior is different. He mentions that ‘war…must be fought by men whose values and skills are not those of politicians or diplomats’. ¹² Thus, for Keegan, underlying the relationship between military commander and politician is a fundamental difference in personality. American Eliot Cohen develops this point further. He mentions that the warrior spirit is opposed to politics and that warriors will on occasion take war in directions that make no political sense. ¹³

Conversely, however, other commentators suggest that at senior military command there is more of a convergence in attitudes and personalities. British military sociologist Christopher Dandeker sees that with the advent of technology, in particular information technology and the media, there is pressure on the military to become political managers. ¹⁴ This indicates a politicisation of the senior military, bringing them more in line with their political masters. But in truth, both personality types can exist. There are senior military commanders who favour an operational focus and there are those with a more political focus, and this is one of the strengths of the British Army. So this diversity of human nature inevitably means that there is scope for personality issues to become a source of friction in the political‐military relationship.

The theory offers a source for a second area of potential conflict, that of differing objectives between the political and military elites. This difference can emerge at a fundamental level or at functional (strategic or operational) level. Gerhard Ritter, in his analysis of the military in Germany, identifies what he believes to be a fundamental difference in objectives. He mentions that in total war the military will always try to achieve the maximum achievable with the means at hand, whereas political objectives will relate to achieving peace and order. ¹⁵ This is what Cohen sees as the problem of ‘the military stance and the principle of constructive peace’. ¹⁶ Cohen believes these are intrinsically at odds. ¹⁷ For the British Army it is questionable whether political primacy would consent to this being the case, particularly outside of a total war scenario, but nevertheless it indicates of differing cultural backgrounds at play.

At the functional level, namely strategic or operational, divergence in objectives may also emerge. This is because of the different influences that either the politicians or military are susceptible to. Political considerations may have a diplomatic or financial emphasis to them, while the military dimension may be aimed purely at achieving operational success. This divergence is likely to be accentuated when outside of a total war scenario. ¹⁸ For the purposes of this argument therefore, less emphasis is placed on the problems of aligning strategic objectives, and more, assuming relative congruence of objectives, on the impacts of changes and perceptions of these objectives. From the theory difficulties in harmonising objectives and personality issues emerge as potential sources of friction between the politician and military commander. But what the theory also demonstrates is that there does not appear to be a template that offers a solution to avoiding them. In a similar vein, neither does there appear to be a template that prescribes at what levels this relationship should be conducted.

British Defence Doctrine (BDD), the pinnacle of military writing on the subject of the political‐military interface, attempts to indicate where the relationship might exist. BDD sees that there are four levels in which activity in war takes place. The highest is the Grand Strategic Level. This is the collective responsibility of the Prime Minister and the Cabinet. It is about the coordinated use of the three principle instruments of national power: economic, diplomatic and military. The next level is the Military Strategic Level. This is directed by a Cabinet minister, the Secretary of State for Defence, and the minister’s military Chiefs of Staff. The Operational Level conducts campaign planning; setting objectives, allocating resources and so on. And finally the Tactical Level is that at which warfighting takes place. ¹⁹

These levels suggest that the political‐military relationship should occur in only the Grand Strategic and Military Strategic levels. But they are by no means rigid, and tactical and strategic overlap is likely to occur. BDD discourages such overlap, however; ‘political and military leaders at the strategic level should be discouraged from attempting directly to influence tactical activity’. ²⁰ It can therefore be assumed that even from a doctrinal perspective, political involvement in military tactical activity is best avoided.

The reality is, however, that the relationship is complex and exists at numerous levels. For, although the Levels of War illustrated above appear simple, they are complicated by the concepts of politics and policy‐making as well as strategy. National policy, the formulation of defence policy and the mobilisation of national power all add their own linkages. They both inform and guide each other, requiring political‐military interaction at all levels and both vertically and horizontally. And so it can be deduced that the political‐military relationship exists at many levels at different times, depending on the requirement of the statesman at the time.

This complexity has been recognised by numerous commentators. Dandeker argues that the levels of interface, far from being clear, are blurring. This he attributes to the influence of the media, communications and therefore public opinion. This encourages ‘close political management of military operations with an eye to their impact on public opinion’. ²¹ This, he mentions, increases the risk of micro‐management of military operations. Dandeker, a current commentator, therefore supports the proposition that there is no specific framework in which the political‐military relationship exists. One might therefore deduce that the level at which interaction takes place also changes depending on the levels of public interest.

This section aimed to set the contextual and theoretical scene for our case study. It examined the nature of the political‐military relationship, potential sources of friction and at what levels such a relationship may take place. A consistent theme has emerged that appears to link all three areas. This is that the political‐military relationship is dynamic and there is no fixed structure for it. This may be the product of the fact that unlike the military, politicians take less note of doctrine. Consequently the nature of the relationship and where it occurs appears to be held in magnetic suspension. Different factors become more influential at different times. Political primacy appears to be the ‘pole’, however, and keeps the relationship as ordered as possible.

Given this dynamic it is possible to conclude that it is unlikely that there are definitive solutions to eliminating friction at the political‐military interface. The next best alternative is therefore to develop a deeper understanding of why such issues arise, for this will help in identifying them early enough that their effect can be mitigated. But the theoretical viewpoint has its limitations. Michael Handel states that ‘neither Sun Tzu nor Clausewitz dedicate enough attention to civil–military tensions in wartime’. ²² As such a more comprehensive understanding can be gained by considering the issues raised from a practical perspective, and so it is with this in mind that our attention is drawn to North Africa 1940–42.

Introduction to the Case Study

The war in North Africa during 1940–42 was one of mixed fortunes. Throughout it initiative and success ebbed and flowed from Allied to Axis hands, settling finally with the Allies. The nature of the campaign has accordingly been described as the ‘Pendulum of War’. ²³ It was the period of utmost political and military tension – described on the one hand as the ‘nadir’ of British fortunes, ²⁴ in particular when Tobruk fell to General Erwin Rommel’s Panzer Army Africa in June 1942, and on the other as the turning point in the war for Allied success.

At the time, the military strategic and operational decision‐making took place in a unique framework. At the very centre was the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. He had rationalised the political structure for decision‐making as soon as he assumed the premiership. Before 10 May 1940 there had been three bodies charged with strategic decision‐making: the War Cabinet, the Standing Ministerial Committee for the Co‐ordination of Defence and the Chief of Staffs Committee. Churchill abolished the second and stepped in himself, as the Minister of Defence. He also established two new committees: the Defence Committee (Operations) and the Defence Committee (Supply), both of which he chaired personally. ²⁵ Of these the Defence Committee (Operations) was central to directing military activity and was attended by the Chief of Staffs Committee and the three Service Ministers. ²⁶

Churchill’s self‐appointment as Minister of Defence is the backbone to the issue being discussed. In real terms it brought the political and military spheres very close in their deliberations. Where the military were used to dealing with a standing committee on operational matters, now they faced the Prime Minister in his capacity as Minister of Defence. This made the independent judgement of the War Cabinet difficult because they were acting on advice which the Prime Minister had already approved. ²⁷ In London, the senior army representative who had to manage Churchill’s energy was the Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS). General Sir John Dill was CIGS from 27 May 1940 followed by General Sir Alan Brooke (later Lord Brooke) from 25 December 1941 until 25 January 1946.

In the Middle East the political‐military organisation was also rationalised. Middle East defence policy was initially coordinated by the three theatre service chiefs. In 1939 these were Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham (Commander‐in‐Chief (C‐in‐C) Mediterranean), General Sir Archibald Wavell (C‐in‐C Middle East) and Air Marshal Sir William Mitchell (Air Officer C‐in‐C). They formed the High Command for all British Forces in the Middle East. ²⁸ Of these, C‐in‐C Middle East bore some of the greatest responsibility to be shouldered by a soldier in the war. The vast theatre was a complex interaction of land, sea and air environments. It stretched over 4,500,000 square miles and included Egypt, Iraq, Palestine, Transjordan, Aden and the shores of the Persian Gulf. And it was influenced directly by the fortunes of the Mediterranean countries outside of its area. From August 1939 until June 1941 General Wavell shouldered this burden. His successor was General Sir Claude Auchinleck (for just over a year) and then Lieutenant‐General Sir Harold Alexander from August 1942.

At about the same time as Auchinleck’s appointment a political appointment was also created in Cairo. This was the Secretary of State for the Middle East – an appointment first held by Mr Oliver Lyttleton. He, in turn, established the Middle East Defence Committee (MEDC). The Minister of State and the three C‐in‐Cs sat on the MEDC. Its role was to act as a focus for consultation but not to act with executive responsibility for operational matters. ²⁹

On the tactical battlefields of North Africa fought the ‘Desert Generals’. ³⁰ The Western Desert Force (WDF) pioneered Allied desert warfare, and conducted the victorious 500‐mile advance from late 1940 to February 1941 under the then temporary Lieutenant‐General Richard O’Connor in Operation ‘Compass’. On 1 January 1941 the WDF was reformed as XIII Corps. Ten months later, on 26 September 1941, the Eighth Army was established. Perhaps its best known commander, the then Lieutenant‐General Bernard Montgomery, took command nearly a year later in August 1942.

This review serves two purposes. First, it identifies the principal organisations in which political and military discourse took place at the time. The development of the War Cabinet, the Defence Committee (Operations) and the appointment of the Minister of State for the Middle East also illustrate that the organisational structures in which the political‐military interaction took place were changeable. The MEDC, and the changing tactical formations (WDF, XIII Corps and Eighth Army) show that the military organisations with which the politicians had to interact changed also.

Second, it introduces the main characters. Winston Churchill established himself as the political face with which the military had to deal with. The CIGS, the theatre C‐in‐Cs and Commander Eighth Army represent, among many others, those key players on the military side.

Personalities and Relationships

The investigation into the theory showed that personality issues might contribute to friction between political and military leaders. Initially this may appear unlikely because senior military appointments are made by politicians, and one would assume they take such factors into account when deciding who the incumbent to a military post will be. But often this may not be achievable. Changes in senior military appointments cannot be made lightly – there may be military pressure against it or there may be no other suitable candidate available. Additionally, politicians may ‘inherit’ military leaders before they take office and therefore find themselves working with military commanders who they have not chosen. So there is scope for personality issues to have an impact. This section will attempt to establish how this may occur, the consequences of it and explore how such situations have been dealt with. Churchill’s relationships with his senior generals during 1940–42, particularly with Wavell, Brooke and Montgomery, help to illustrate all of these points.

At worst, there will be times when issues of personality, not always in isolation, result in either misunderstanding or a loss of trust between politicians and their senior military commanders. The consequences of this are generally one sided, and changes in military appointments are the outcome. Churchill’s relationship with his first C‐in‐C Middle East, General Wavell, helps illustrate how such a situation might develop. Wavell took up his appointment in July 1939. He was a highly successful commander achieving astonishing results in Italian East Africa, in the Western Desert and in gripping the difficulties of a very complex operational theatre. According to some commentators no British soldier of the day had the strategic grasp that he did. ³¹ But he also suffered military failure. Greece, Crete, Operations ‘Brevity’ and ‘Battleaxe’ all went against him. It was days after the failure of ‘Battleaxe’, on 22 June 1941, an operation that Churchill pushed Wavell into against his military judgement, that Wavell was informed he was to be relieved of his command. ³²

It may well have been these latter military failures that forced Churchill into his decision to remove Wavell. But many authors, including Reynolds, identified that underlying the disagreement over tactics there was a ‘fundamental clash of temperament’. ³³ Wavell was a scholar and a poet, whose persona was one of taciturn gravity. Churchill by contrast loved to argue. This was Churchill’s means of thrashing out ideas, but for Wavell it served only to drive him into his shell. ³⁴ This ultimately led to a lack of communication – ‘Talk to him, Archie’, General Dill, the CIGS at the time, pleaded. ³⁵ But often Wavell would just meet Churchill’s verbal onslaught with ‘one of his formidable but total silences’. ³⁶ This difference in behaviour ultimately created great tension between the two men ³⁷ and consequently ‘resentment and distrust coalesced in Churchill’s mind’. ³⁸

Wavell’s dismissal cannot be attributed solely to personality issues. However it does illustrate the importance of personal relationships particularly when things are going wrong. Churchill’s and Wavell’s different personality traits effectively resulted in a loss of communication between them. This would have done nothing to ease the situation with regard to Wavell’s military defeats, where open and forthright discussions are essential to produce suitable explanation. Furthermore ineffective communication may have that contributed to weakening Wavell’s position in the first place. The General appeared unable to resist the huge pressure that Churchill placed on him to start Operation ‘Battleaxe’ before he was ready, whereas regular dialogue may have prevented such a situation from arising in the first place. So personality issues here can be seen as having contributed to communications difficulties. This in itself caused friction, as well as that which comes as a result of a new commander coming into post.

But there are occasions when personality issues need not have such an impact. One such example is when the risk is so great that neither individual can afford personality issues to cause difficulties. The relationship between the politician and his nearest military adviser is a critical one, and in terms of impact on the North Africa campaign, a study of the relationship between Churchill and General Sir Alan Brooke, who took over from Dill as CIGS in December 1941, offers some interesting findings. Both men were of tremendous strength and character. Montgomery described them as men of decision and action, as well as being somewhat emotional. ³⁹ Consequently they were known to have had a volatile relationship. Brooke, in October 1942, described Churchill as ‘the most difficult man I have ever served with’. ⁴⁰ And their relationship is perhaps best summed up by Churchill himself; ‘When I thump the table and push my face towards him what does he do? Thumps the table harder and glares back at me.’ ⁴¹ Indeed, by 1944 Brooke exclaimed ‘My God, how tired I am of working for him!’ ⁴² And yet even though Churchill could have sacked Brooke at any time, or the CIGS could have resigned at any time, neither did.

Montgomery, who knew both men well, suggests that their tenacity, in this respect, was an indicator of their greatness. He mentions that ‘They provide a superb example of the relationship between the soldier and the statesman in war – and how the two of us must work together, come what may.’ ⁴³ This is interesting because it indicates that the professional relationship between the two overcame any personal differences. Brooke indicates in his diaries why this may be. He writes, while accompanying Churchill on his visit to the Middle East in August 1942, ‘After working with the PM for close on nine months I do feel at last that I can exercise a limited amount of control on his activities and that he is beginning to accept my advice.’ ⁴⁴ As it happened Churchill wished to move Brooke to be C‐in‐C Middle East. But Brooke felt it was his duty to remain as CIGS because ‘the Chief of Staffs’ system was working smoothly and a change…at such a critical time might be extremely unsettling’. ⁴⁵ This, combined with the time it would take for a new CIGS to establish the trust that Brooke had established over nine months, meant him sacrificing taking up such a desirable appointment. So for this relationship of strategic importance personality issues came second to the conduct of the campaign. As Montgomery concludes; ‘And so these two men, very different in temperament, worked together during the war, sinking their feelings in order to ensure that the war effort of the Allies didn’t suffer.’ ⁴⁶

But personality issues in areas of less strategic importance, such as the relationship of politicians with tactical generals, can also be overcome. One means of doing this is to ensure a suitable distance is kept between the two. Possibly because of his own military career, Churchill took a great interest in his tactical generals. He had a very stereotyped opinion of what his generals should be like; confident, aggressive, flamboyant and brave. ⁴⁷

However Churchill’s relationship with General Montgomery during his time as Commander Eighth Army in the desert offers an interesting perspective. Montgomery was not Churchill’s vision of a general. He was small, difficult to get on with and did not drink or smoke. Indeed if it had not been for Lieutenant‐General William ‘Strafer’ Gott’s death by enemy action on 7 August 1942, Montgomery would have never have been offered the appointment. Churchill had previously rejected him as a candidate even though recommended by both Brooke and Auchinleck. However, they managed to maintain an effective working relationship together. This can be partly explained by the presence of a suitable interlocutor. In the second half of 1942 General Alexander, who had replaced Auchinleck as C‐in‐C Middle East that August, was well placed to keep the distance between Montgomery and Churchill. Alexander fitted Churchill’s mould exactly; he was singularly British, immaculately dressed, cool under fire and of a fastidious nature. ⁴⁸ Alexander used this to great effect and found little difficulty in fending off political interference. Montgomery therefore had the free reign that his personality demanded. ⁴⁹

This became particularly apparent over Alexander’s astute handling of Churchill during the delays to Operation ‘Lightfoot’ (the Second Battle for Alamein, October 1942). Montgomery needed time to get 1st and 10th Armoured Divisions ready for the offensive. However Churchill, who had appointed Alexander on the basis of an immediate offensive, wanted action before then. Alexander managed to resist. As Barr notes ‘Alexander had won the political battle with consummate skill and the Eighth Army was able to reap the benefits in full.’ ⁵⁰ Those benefits were the freedom for Montgomery to plan in relative isolation from direct pressure by Churchill, setting the conditions for Eighth Army’s successes in the desert. Churchill wanted generals who could provide success, and as a consequence of the arrangement with Alexander, Montgomery found he had the room to provide it for him.

Although the theory states that personality issues between the politician and military commander can cause friction between them, the investigation into Churchill’s relationship between his generals is revealing. The theory is, in part, supported by Wavell’s story. This showed that personality issues can be critical and a difficult relationship leads ultimately to distrust. But it also illustrated that conflicting personalities need not be problematic. When the risk is great enough personality issues can be put to one side, as Churchill’s relationship with Brooke demonstrated. Alternatively, as Alexander did between Churchill and Montgomery, the characters can be separated. But it appears that personality difficulties may also be less significant if accompanied by success – illustrated by Montgomery and the inverse illustrated by Wavell. Personality issues are therefore not a guaranteed source of friction, but under the right circumstances they may well be. This can be particularly apparent when it comes to harmonising objectives.

Harmonising Objectives

The aim of this section to examine causes of friction that may develop over harmonising the political and military objectives that are, as a consequence of the single focus on total war, already generally aligned. In total war political primacy helps ensure that military and political objectives are consistent, but there may be occasions when the two are not so. As an example, this may occur when one set of objectives changes and the other is unable to adjust quickly enough. Alternatively, difficulties may arise when there are differences in priority for attaining them. More often than not, because of political primacy, the onus is on the military to adjust as a result, but it is also important to note that political objectives may have to change in response to military events. Either way, mismanagement of the situation may lead to tensions between both parties, a fact highlighted in early 1941.

Politicians are entitled to change their Grand Strategic objectives, but this may have a severe impact on the military strategic objectives and military tactical action. One reason for this is that the military may not be able to adapt as quickly. Such a scenario surrounded what has become known as the Greek Decision which occurred in parallel with Wavell’s offensive Operation ‘Compass’ in late 1940 / early 1941.

‘Compass’ was a WDF strike against the Italian Tenth Army camps and formations in North Africa. Under command of General O’Connor it achieved unexpected and spectacular success, completing the capture of Benghazi two weeks ahead of schedule and with minimal loss of life. O’Connor was ‘leaning forward’, and with Tripoli clearly in his sights he saw the rout of the Italians from all North Africa a real possibility.

Concurrently, after a change of government, the Greeks diverted Churchill’s attention in that they were reconsidering his offer of assistance against the Italians invading from Albania. On 8 February 1941 Churchill decided at a meeting of the Defence Committee (Operations) that assistance to Greece should be considered. A telegram was sent that day to Wavell to ask what forces he could spare. His reply was an armoured brigade group and a New Zealand Division of only two brigades. ⁵¹ The Committee sat again and on 11 February and subsequently instructed Wavell that ‘the major effort runs now with aid to Greece….This rules out any serious effort against Tripoli.’ ⁵² ‘Compass’ had been halted in its tracks, a decision which Barnett argues lengthened the campaign in North Africa by a further two years. ⁵³

Stopping the WDF’s advance to Tripoli is debated as one of the most controversial decisions of World War II. O’Connor believed he could have continued: ‘in my opinion the operation would not only have been possible but would have every chance of success’. ⁵⁴ But after the war Wavell mentioned that on balance he thought the great strain on vehicles and a shortage of petrol would have made it impossible. ⁵⁵ Either way the issues raised are relevant. It reflects that although the political and military objectives may be aligned, their response times to change may not be the same. Often the time taken for the redistribution of military force is more than the speed of the changes of the political pen. In tandem with the timing issue comes one of resource allocation – the change in objective requires resources to be relocated.

The example illustrates that Wavell tried to shape the political decision by feeding in his resource constraints, but in the event he was overruled. So a change in objective impacted on timing and action, resources and the pride of the military commander that was overruled. Combined these all make for an increasingly difficult relationship between the politician and commander.

Although political and military objectives are aligned it may be that their priorities are not. This difference in priorities can also cause friction. Such a situation surrounded the employment of Commonwealth forces in 1941. Both Churchill and his military commanders recognised the importance of building an Allied coalition for the war. Not only did it provide military capability but also essential political support for the war effort. Churchill’s interest focused principally on the ties between Britain and its two most important allies, the Soviet Union and the United States. ⁵⁶ However for North Africa in 1940–42 the contribution of the Commonwealth was equally important. But Churchill had to balance this with an overarching requirement for a lean War Cabinet to enable it to be responsive, flexible and make quick decisions. Partly on this basis Churchill refused the proposal of Robert Menzies (the Prime Minister of Australia) that the War Cabinet be expanded by four to become an Imperial War Cabinet, thus allowing Commonwealth representation. ⁵⁷

The consequences of this affected Auchinleck (Wavell’s replacement) in his capacity as C‐in‐C Middle East. Prior to Operation ‘Crusader’, the main Allied offensive against Rommel (18 November 1941), Auchinleck, found himself having to deal directly with Commonwealth political systems. Difficulties developed with the new (interim) Prime Minister of Australia, Arthur Fadden, over sending relief for the 9th Australian Division during the siege of Tobruk. Auchinleck had put forward an argument for not doing so, based on military logic. However, Fadden, (based on advice from Lieutenant‐General Sir Thomas Blamey, the senior Australian officer in the Middle East), replied, but by questioning Auchinleck’s military judgement rather than offering a political argument. ⁵⁸ This was wholly inappropriate for Auchinleck, who found he was placed in an untenable position and so offered his resignation as a result. ⁵⁹

Auchinleck was eventually persuaded against this but two things of note emerge from this episode. First, it illustrates that although the political and military objectives appeared to be the same, their priorities were not. This creates tensions between them, as more political effort is given to one, while the military effort is focused on another. In this case arrangements need to be made to compensate for this. In passing it also illustrates that political appointments can change too. The change in Australian prime ministers would have resulted in the requirement for new relationships to be established. Managing differing priorities and also new relationships helps to illustrate that causes of friction do not have to occur in isolation.

Differences in priorities and the relative time differences in which the military can react to changes in political objectives have been identified as potential sources of friction. They have the capacity to impact both on the tactical situation and also on the relationships of those senior individuals involved. It appears, however, that such situations, although inevitable, will have a greater chance of being successfully managed if there is an open and regular dialogue between both parties. This will require a measure of control on the ‘intuitive’ and spontaneous decision‐making of both parties.

Operational Misunderstandings

The two principal areas considered so far, objectives and differences in personality are to some extent a consequence of the fundamental differences between the political sphere and the military one. These are deep‐seated, but more routine situations such as misunderstandings can also cause friction. Indeed, the high pressure situations caused by war may mean such misunderstandings have an exaggerated effect. There are numerous causes of misunderstandings – poor communications, the making of incorrect assumptions or parties not fully understanding the predicament of the other. These misunderstandings are two‐way, but for the purposes of this analysis we shall consider some of the political misunderstandings of the military situation with reference to the use of intelligence and the employment of resources.

Information and intelligence are critical for both political and military personnel in order that appropriate decisions may be made. But there are many difficulties associated with the use of intelligence – raw information can mean different things to different people, it has differing importance at different levels, and access to intelligence may not always be at the appropriate level. During the campaign in North Africa significant advances were made in Britain’s intelligence gathering capability, but none more so than with the development of Ultra. Ultra was developed to decipher the German Enigma machine ciphers and by June 1941 it was sending direct transmissions of Luftwaffe messages to London and the Middle East. By September 1941 it was regularly deciphering German Army ciphers also. ⁶⁰ Both politicians and senior military were receiving high grade intelligence that had strategic and tactical value.

As mentioned, one of the risks of this is that individuals see the same facts differently. This became evident during February to May 1942 when both the Panzer Group Africa and Eighth Army stopped at Gazala following Rommel’s advance back into Cyrenaica. Churchill was anxious to resume the offensive, but Auchinleck, determined that he was not going to make the same mistakes of earlier offensives (such as ‘Battleaxe’ and ‘Crusader’), ⁶¹ was using the time to make considerable training and reorganisation changes to Eighth Army. ⁶² Churchill wrote to Auchinleck on 26 February and demanded to know his intentions in the desert. A debate by telegram then ensued until 10 May when Churchill ordered Auchinleck to attack in June or resign. ⁶³

Behind this scenario rested differing perceptions of what Ultra was producing. At the time Ultra decrypts were giving detailed tank states of the German Army. For example on 21 April the German tank strength was given as 264, and the Italian as 151. ⁶⁴ Barnett explains that to Churchill these figures indicated a clear Allied majority, and so there was no excuse for delay. Such a deduction was due to the fact that Churchill was prone to ‘counting forces on either side rather than judging their fighting capability’. ⁶⁵ Auchinleck, on the other hand, saw things differently. To him the states of training, organisational change and leadership were equally important factors to be considered when deciding to take military action. He got his delay from Churchill, but at a cost of soured relationships.

There are various issues that emerge from this. As identified earlier, information can be interpreted differently depending on what lens it is viewed through. Churchill saw tank states as robust indicators of combat effectiveness – Ultra provided him with these figures, which meant that he felt well positioned to offer tactical direction. Auchinleck saw such information as only one factor in his decision‐making. He had a tactical focus and would therefore draw on an array of tactical intelligence sources. As it happened, British field intelligence at the time was poor, which may have contributed to his desire to build his forces to be prepared for any eventuality. ⁶⁶

Finally, it is also worth noting that the figures may not have been accurate anyway. One cannot discount the possibility that Rommel was underestimating his tank strengths in order to persuade the German High Command to send him more assets. This scenario illustrates how easy it is for politicians to get involved in tactical decision‐making. There is a danger, however, that they may only be in possession of part of the relevant information, and therefore make inappropriate decisions. Mechanisms and understandings need to be developed to ensure this level of interaction is therefore closely controlled.

Misunderstanding the employment of resources (rather than the allocation of resources) can also lead to difficulties in the political‐military relationship. In May and June 1942 Rommel pushed on with his advance to Alamein. In a series of battles Major‐General Neil Ritchie as Commander Eighth Army, and then Auchinleck himself, were either outmanoeuvred or defeated. It was during the Battle of Mersa Matruh on 28 June (perhaps Rommel’s most astonishing victory) that resource misunderstandings became an issue. Churchill had often commented on the high numbers of personnel in the Middle East compared to the fighting strength of Eighth Army: ‘Pray explain, CIGS, how is it that in the Middle East 750,000 men always turn up for their pay and rations, but when it comes to fighting only 100,000 turn up.’ ⁶⁷ For Mersa Matruh this materialised into a direct command to Auchinleck; ‘I hope the crisis will lead to all uniformed personnel in the Delta and all available man‐power being raised to the highest fighting condition….Every fit male should be made to fight and die for victory.’ ⁶⁸

This approach indicates what types of misunderstandings can arise. Auchinleck, as mentioned, was trying to do exactly the opposite and reorganise the Eighth Army in order to turn it into a slim and mobile fighting force that had the agility to match Rommel. Churchill on the other hand was advocating an attritional approach with high levels of manpower. ⁶⁹

Churchill also took great interest in military hardware but has been accused of misunderstanding its employment. As indicated by the earlier discussion on intelligence, he took a particular interest in tanks which he considered high value assets. The factors surrounding the route of the ‘Tiger Convoy’ of May 1941 serve as an illustration of how this misunderstanding may cause friction. In order to meet the disembarkation of a German Panzer division at Tripoli, Churchill sent, at great risk, a convoy of tank‐transports to Alexandria via the Mediterranean rather than the safer route of the Cape. They arrived on 10 May 1941 delivering a vital load of 234 tanks and 43 Hurricanes. Churchill demanded instant action; ‘no Germans should remain in Cyrenaica by the end of the month of June’ he signalled Wavell. ⁷⁰

But Churchill’s understanding of military hardware was not as complete as he thought. His timings did not take into account the time required to bring the vehicles up to operating condition and for suitable training and reorganising to take place. Churchill harried, and Wavell succumbed, and the result was the fateful Operation ‘Battleaxe’, the consequences of which were highlighted earlier. Lewin considers that this was an example of ‘how a War Lord, insistent on action, can so misunderstand the realities of the battlefield’. Although Churchill and his military commanders were of the same mind over resource allocation, their differing perspectives on methods of employment were therefore a considerable source of friction. They ultimately led to tactical failure and a C‐in‐C being removed from post.

As identified earlier, changing objectives have resource implications that can be the source of friction. However from this review it is clear that misunderstandings of how resources are employed can have equally damaging effect. Both issues are equally pertinent, and can be linked. Misunderstandings are a potentially very damaging source of friction, not least because, apart from indicating a lack of coherence in the chain of command, they also lead to different expectations of what can be achieved. This will lead to the guaranteed disappointment of one party.

It is apparent that at the heart of these examples of misunderstandings is an issue of both communication and experience. Politicians (and Churchill was in many ways an exception to this) may not have a true or full understanding of the military tools that they control. It is therefore dependent on military advisers to ensure adequate dialogue to ensure this is addressed, the less the experience, the more time required for dialogue. But the pressures of war often mean such time is not available. Misunderstandings may therefore be a perennial cause of friction between the two elites and every effort at the political‐military interface should be made to ensure that the extent of them is minimised.

Relevance for Today

A lapse of over 60 years has occurred since these operations in North Africa but the political‐military relationship lessons are enduring. Their relevance comes from more than the fact that North Africa remains a core area of interest as outlined in the Defence White Paper of 2003. ⁷¹ As mentioned in the introduction, the political‐military interface is one that is first and foremost human and so no matter what the extent of military or political change the human dimension will remain. This section will test the relevance of the lessons identified by considering them against four of the most significant changes over the period: the decline in the numbers of politicians with military experience, the ‘joined‐up’ government approach to warfare, the exponential technological advances made in recent years and the advent of more expeditionary, limited wars.

Hew Strachan, a well‐known historian and commentator on civil‐military relations, identified that the period 1940–63 represented the very pinnacle of military representation in parliament. ⁷² Attlee, Eden, Macmillan and Churchill could all boast a military career with combat experience. Since then military representation has declined. Indeed the last Secretary of State for Defence with military experience was Tom King, after which lawyers have been the norm. But the importance of personal relationships has remained. Commenting on his experience as Commander Kosovo Force in the Balkans, General Sir Mike Jackson mentions that personal relationships are still fundamental to achieving unity of effort. ⁷³

Therefore the business of personal relationships is even more important than before, as the common ground of shared military experience, which was evident in 1940–42, is lacking today. This requires both the political and military leaders to make extra effort to understand each other’s backgrounds and motives, something that was naturally understood in the 1940s. Time and effort for communication are a necessity even more so today than in the past.

The modern battlefield is no longer the exclusive territory of the military. Non‐military organisations such as the media, non‐governmental organisations and Other Government Departments (OGDs) all contribute to the make‐up of the battlefield environment. Politically this is reflected in the ‘joined‐up’ government approach, and is a scenario that the military is having to adjust to. As the previous Secretary of State for Defence mentions; ‘it is now evident that the successful handling of security situations will require ever more integration of military, diplomatic and economic tools’. ⁷⁴ The impact of this is that governmental and military integration is expanding. Whereas the lessons identified from the case study came from relationships at the highest levels, the governmental‐military interface now spreads across all levels of the battlefield.

One area where this will have increasing significance is in trying to align both the military and political objectives at the tactical level. Here there may be competing tactical objectives as OGDs and other agencies pursue their own strategies in support of what they believe to be the common political end‐state. Ensuring that all of these objectives are harmonised and compatible presents a growing challenge in which the military must participate, and it is likely that doing so will require a contribution from all levels of command in the military, not just the senior level.

Developments in technology, characterised by a Network Enabled Capability and advances in intelligence gathering systems are a further feature of the modern battlefield. Although these are hugely significant, and to many indicate a ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’, it could be argued that the development of Ultra in the 1940s had an impact of relatively similar size. Ultra enabled political access to tactical information, in much the same way, albeit in a different format, as the product of today’s information‐gathering systems. So the issues of political interference and misunderstanding remain. Ensuring a coordinated understanding and interpretation of the data and discouraging politicians from engaging in tactical issues, unless by exception, remains an important focus for both sides.

Where there are added complexities, however, come from a change in the context in which the campaign is fought. The case study was set in a period of total war, whereas modern day conflicts are characterised by being ‘wars of choice’, expeditionary and of a limited nature. As we have seen, in total war political leaders tend to dominate the government. ⁷⁵ They accept the responsibility for Grand Strategy and have the incentive to keep government focused on it. Conversely limited wars result in political direction suffering from many more distractions, including a domestic political agenda that is not orientated to national survival.

The consequence of this is that there will be even more ‘clutter’ surrounding the harmonisation of political and military objectives. Examples of this include the differing perceptions of how much risk to take. General Sir Peter de la Billière, commander of the British Forces in the Gulf War of 1991 identifies this. ‘Politicians and military inevitably have different views on the risks involved: the military want greater freedom of action than the politicians are prepared to give them.’ ⁷⁶ So this more complex battlefield will require an increase in both military and political effort to ensure harmony. The potential causes of friction found in the context of total war remain, but it is likely that a wider range of difficulties will accompany them.

Conclusions

The aim was to identify, from a British Army perspective, potential sources of friction in the political‐military relationship in wartime, their consequences and of what relevance they are for today. The article found that issues of personal relationships, harmonising political and military objectives and general misunderstandings on issues such as intelligence and the employment of resources all contributed to causing tension. It also showed that, even given tremendous technological change, these issues are as relevant now as they ever were. From this it is therefore possible to draw together some conclusions.

The theory investigated the nature of the political‐military relationship and particularly that of political primacy. It has been established through our study of practice that this is broadly supported but the relationship is not one way. The military contribution to the political objectives is an important part of their development. This may be on purpose, as attempted by Wavell in ‘Battleaxe’, or they may be consequential, as political objectives adjust as a result of military activity. The relationship is multi‐directional but it is also multi‐levelled. Politicians are not held by doctrinal norms and can ‘dip’ into military activity at any level they choose. And in the modern battlespace this conduct is not only restricted to senior politicians, but any representative of the government at any of the levels of war. So the nature of the relationship is complex, and consequently the opportunities for friction to occur are numerous. To tackle this, awareness is required at all levels, and both politically and militarily. Close liaison and understanding remain central tenets.

The case study illustrated some potential causes of friction in this dynamic relationship. But it would be inappropriate to assume that issues such as personality clashes or differing opinions over objectives occurred in isolation. These causes are often interlinked, and have differing scales of impact at different times. For example, changes in objectives may be the source of significant discord between political and military masters, but combine this with difficulties in relationships and the impact is accentuated. This remains as applicable to today as it was in the relative simplicity of conducting a total war, except that there are, perhaps, more opportunities for it.

The consequences of friction in the political‐military interface can generate a range of difficulties that will add to the friction of war. At best they may contribute to a loss of efficiency in the political‐military working relationship. Staff effort on both sides will be required to help overcome this. A further consequence, related both to personality but other factors as well, is that a loss of trust and confidence between both parties may emerge. This could cause a rift between the two institutions or a change of appointee on the military side. But perhaps the greatest consequence of political‐military friction comes from distorted expectations to do with military action. The case study showed that this often manifested itself as a timing issue, where pressure is then placed on the military commander for premature action, resulting in tactical failure. This is an extreme consequence, but it illustrates the importance of being able to highlight the consequences of friction in the political‐military relationship as an incentive to ensure that such situations are avoided.

Communication is the link between all of these issues. Different political and military vocabularies, the lack of time in war, different communication systems and different interpretations all contribute to difficulties in communications. But political‐military discourse is the essence of enabling a smooth running and efficient interface. This requires investment in training, time, resources and the establishment of appropriate structures. The requirement for this is even greater when there is little military experience at the political level. Without communication, friction will develop and the smooth running machinery required to conduct war will begin to seize up.

Operations in North Africa 1940–42 were a turning point in World War II, and at no time during the war was so much pressure borne by the British political‐military system on its own. It provides many examples of how friction can develop at the political‐military interface, and of what the consequences of such friction may be. Nevertheless, for all the difficulties, Churchill, in particular, will be remembered for never letting the schism develop between politicians and the military that accounted for so much in the Great War. Political‐military relations are dynamic, multi‐level and multi‐directional. But above all they are human and enduring. So it remains the responsibility of politicians and military alike to understand, anticipate and know how to manage them.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

James De La Billière

British Army, Advanced Command and Staff Course No. 8, JSCSC, Shrivenham, Sept. 2004 – July 2005.

Notes

1 Carl von Clausewitz (trans. and ed. by Michael Howard and Peter Paret), On War. (Princeton UP 1976) p.111.

2 Mungo Melvin and Stuart Peach, ‘Reaching for the End of the Rainbow: Command and the RMA’, in G. Sheffield and G. Till (eds.), The Challenges of High Command: The British Experience (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan 2003) p.189.

3 Winston Churchill, The Second World War Volume II :The Grand Alliance (London: Cassell 1950) p.8.

4 Melvin and Peach, ‘Reaching for the End of the Rainbow’ in Sheffield and Till (note 2) p.189.

5 Clausewitz, On War (note 1) p.87.

6 Ibid.

7 Eliot Cohen, Supreme Command: Soldiers, Statesmen and Leadership in Wartime (New York: The Free Press 2002) p.226.

8 Ibid. p.227

9 Samuel Huntington, The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of Civil‐Military Relations (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP 1957) p.308.

10 Hew Strachan, The Politics of the British Army (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1997) p.9.

11 Ibid. p.18.

12 John Keegan (ed.), Churchill’s Generals (London: Weidenfeld 1991) p.xvi.

13 Cohen, Supreme Command (note 7) p.239.

14 Christopher Dandeker, ‘The Military in Democratic Societies: New Times and New Patterns of Civil Military Relations’ in J. Kuhlmann and J. Callaghan (eds.), Military and Society in 21^st Century Europe (Piscataway, NJ: Transaction Publishers 2000) p.37.

15 Cohen (note 7) p.236.

16 Ibid.

17 Ibid.

18 Christopher Tuck, Lecture to Advanced Command and Staff Course 8, UK Defence Academy, Shrivenham, 21 March 2005.

19 Joint Doctrine and Concepts Centre, British Defence Doctrine, JWP 01, 2nd Edition (London: MoD 2001) p.1–2

20 Ibid. pp.1–4.

21 Dandeker, ‘The Military in Democratic Societies’ (note 14) p.39.

22 Michael Handel, Masters of War: Classical Strategic Thought (London: Frank Cass 2001) p.74.

23 See Niall Barr, Pendulum of War: The Three Battles of El Alamein (London: Jonathan Cape 2004).

24 David French, Raising Churchill’s Army: The British Army and the War Against Germany 1919–1945 (Oxford: OUP 2000) p.212.

25 J.R.M. Butler, History of the Second World War. Grand Strategy, Volume II September 1939–June 1941 (London: HMSO 1957) p.582.

26 Keegan, Churchill’s Generals (note 12) p.6.

27 Butler, Grand Strategy, Volume II (note 25).

28 Barr, Pendulum of War (note 23) p.3.

29 Butler (note 25) p.448.

30 As named by Correlli Barnett, The Desert Generals, 2nd edn. (London: Allen & Unwin 1983).

31 Ibid. p.77

32 Barrie Pitt, The Crucible of War 2: Auchinleck’s Command (London: Papermac 1986) p.310.

33 David Reynolds, In Command of History: Churchill Fighting and Writing the Second World War (London: Penguin Books 2004) p.190.

34 Ibid.

35 Ibid.

36 Pitt, Crucible of War 2 (note 32) p.62.

37 Ibid.

38 Ronald Lewin, Churchill as Warlord (London: Batsford 1973) p.76.

39 Bernard Montgomery, The Path to Leadership (London: Collins 1961) p.129.

40 Alex Danchev and Daniel Todman (eds.), War Diaries 1939–1945: Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke (London: Weidenfeld 2001) p.335.

41 Ibid. p.xvi.

42 Ibid. p.515.

43 Montgomery, Path to Leadership (note 39) p.129.

44 Danchev and Todman, War Diaries (note 40) p.293.

45 Maj.‐Gen. I.S.O. Playfair et al., History of the Second World War: The Mediterranean and the Middle East Volume III (London: HMSO 1960) p.367.

46 Montgomery (note 39) p.132.

47 Reynolds, In Command of History (note 33) p.191.

48 Brian Holden Reid, ‘Gort’ in Keegan (note 12) p.104.

49 W.G.F. Jackson, Alexander of Tunis as Military Commander (London: Batsford 1971) p.164.

50 Barr (note 23) p.256.

51 Quoted in Harold Raugh, Wavell in the Middle East 1939–1941: A Study in Generalship (London: Brassey’s 1993) p.120.

52 Ibid.

53 Barnett, Desert Generals (note 30) p.64.

54 Gen. Richard O’Connor, quoted in Barnett (note 30) p.63.

55 Raugh, Wavell (note 51) p.122.

56 Cohen (note 7) p.115.

57 J.M.A. Gwyer, History of the Second World War: Grand Strategy Volume III June 1941–August 1942 (Part I) (London:HMSO 1964) p.224.

58 Ibid. p.226.

59 Ibid.

60 Keegan (note 12) p.76.

61 Playfair, Mediterranean and the Middle East (note 45) p.5.

62 Gwyer, Grand Strategy (note 57) p.219.

63 Ibid.

64 Barnett (note 30) p.172.

65 Ibid.

66 Reynolds (note 33) p.243.

67 Churchill quoted by Brooke in Danchev and Todman (note 40) p.279.

68 Churchill to Auchinleck, 24 June 1942, PREM 3/290/6,TNA, quoted from Barr.

69 Barr (note 23) p.33.

70 Quoted from Lewin (note 38) p.73.

71 Available at ⟨www.mod.uk/linked_files/publications/whitepaper2003/volume1.pdf⟩. Accessed 3 March 2005.

72 Strachan, Politics (note 10) p.34.

73 Gen. Sir Mike Jackson in Sheffield and Till, Challenges of High Command (note 2) p.142.

74 Available at ⟨www.mod.uk/linked_files/publications/whitepaper2003/volume1.pdf⟩ p.5 accessed 3 March 2005.

75 David Jablonsky, Churchill and Hitler: Essays on the Political‐Military Direction of Total War (Ilford: Frank Cass 1994) p.31.

76 Gen. Sir Peter de la Billière, Looking for Trouble (London: HarperCollins 1994) p.371.