The Combined Bomber Offensive: Classical and Revolutionary,
Combined and Divided, Planned and Fortuitous
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Perhaps you will allow me to introduce my subject by making a few general observations about the combined bomber offensive and its place in history. There are, after all, very special reasons for studying this campaign. In the first place the combined bomber offensive, though descended from some primitive attempts in the First World War and related in principle to the naval instrument of blockade, was the first major expression of that kind of warfare in the history of war. This gives it an undoubted and singular historic interest.
Secondly, the idea of strategic bombing, allied to the scientific and technological developments which the combined bomber offensive at least partly inspired, have given birth to the most powerful current expression of military power, the nuclear armed missile.
Thirdly, bombing has throughout its history evoked a powerful emotional response and about it, as I have said elsewhere, people have tended to prefer to feel than to know. There is thus a particularly fertile field for objective historical analysis, for there is an unusually large literature and popular impression inspired by emotion as opposed to reason.
Fourthly, there is an apparent simplicity about air power by comparison with military and naval power. For some reason, people have long imagined themselves competent to direct and to criticise air strategy while they have hesitated to involve themselves in the intricacies of the military and naval professions. Thus, there is scope for showing people by careful historical analysis not only that air power is no less complicated than land and sea power, but that, in essential principles, it is the same.
And there is a fifth reason. Air forces are, relative to other services, young; and those who have had the vision, drive, and persistence to bring them into being have tended to emphasize the potentialities and achievements of air power. Had they not done so, their endeavors would perhaps have been denied fulfillment. But were we now to accept without a full and historical reappraisal the legends which have thus come down to us, we would be in danger of forfeiting the lessons of experience and the wisdom of history.
I suggest to you, then, that the subject of your symposium is singularly well chosen. There is as yet huge scope for discovery and explanation in the field offered by the history of the strategic air offensive, and there is substantial reason to believe that the fruits of such discovery and explanation may be relevant as well as interesting in the context of the problems confronting the world today.
You will see from the sub-titles which I have given to my paper that the combined bomber offensive seems to me to offer us a series of contradictions. I do indeed believe it does and I think it important that we should try to identify these contradictions and analyse them. It is important because, as historians, we naturally wish to understand what happened, why it happened, and what were the consequences in this very significant allied campaign. It is also important because, as citizens of the United States and subjects of the United Kingdom, as past allies and, who knows, perhaps as future ones, we naturally hope to learn from experience.
The first of these motives, the unadulterated curiosity of a historian, is pure. The second, the practical requirement of those who wish to survive this age of peril, is an applied one. And, though I freely confess that I subscribe wholeheartedly to the second motive, I believe, as an historian and not a planner, that the best contribution historians can make to its realization is to forget it and to act independently and ruthlessly.
May I briefly expand upon this to ensure that the context of my paper is clearly understood at the outset?
I believe that the art of applied history is a very dangerous one. The art of applied history where the subject contains contradictions is still more dangerous. The art of applied history where the subject contains contradictions and concerns high explosives could be fatal on a large scale; and the same art applied in the nuclear age could, of course, be comprehensively fatal.
Let us then search for historical understanding without considering while we search what may be the consequences of our work and of what we say. If occasionally the results are uncomfortable or even offensive, let us remember that glossing over, or worse still, twisting, may be fatal.
I now come back to my three sub-titles—Classical and Revolutionary, Combined and Divided, Planned and Fortuitous.
Since the inception of air power and, in particular, the expression of it which concerns bombing, there has been a strong tendency to regard it as revolutionary—revolutionary not only in the sense that it increased the scope of existing established methods of warfare such as, for example, the submarine did for war at sea or the tank for the land battle, but revolutionary in the sense that it added a radically new dimension to warfare and, by doing that, overturned the established principles of war. This the prophets, Douhet, Smuts, Seversky, Mitchell, Trenchard, and the rest advised.
The key to this revolutionary theory lay in the feeling that air power, because it could express itself without regard to mountain, river, or sea barriers, could also express itself without regard to the condition and activity of the opposing armed forces, including air forces. A simpler way of expressing the revolutionary theory was the phrase used, on Air Staff advice, by the then British Prime Minister, Baldwin—"The bomber will always get through." The Trenchard doctrine did indeed lay it down that there was no defense against bombing save in a counter and more effective bombing offensive. The side which could drive the other to defensive measures would win. Thus the conception of the air battle was that it was, at best, irrelevant, and, at worst, defeatist. Fighter aircraft were a sop to civilians. The decisive thing was the strategic target. Air power was basically a question of correct target selection and transportation of bomb loads. Thus, heavy bombers, ignoring the deployment of armies and the manoeuvres of fleets, would proceed directly, evading, or otherwise brushing off, the opposing air defences, to the strategic core of the enemy's war economy. This might be his civil morale, his oil production or his transportation system. Whatever it was, so the theory indicated, his only real hope of survival lay in getting in first and more effectively in the same way against his enemy. Unlike an army which could occupy enemy territory effectively only after dealing with the enemy army, unlike a navy which could only impose an effective blockade after defeating the enemy navy, unlike these old services, the new one could seek victory directly and immediately. The air, though this was not the phrase used, would be the scene of a guerre de course made good.
Not everyone, of course, believed that this would be so. If Trenchard did, Beatty did not. If Arnold did, Marshall did not. But the revolutionaries had on their side the suggestion that they were the progressives, adaptable and alert to the new conditions while their opponents appeared to be, and of course often were, reactionaries surveying the future from obstinately retained cavalry saddles or wooden quarter decks. And indeed in the interwar years it would have been hard to foretell that Mahan's writings contained the clue and not Douhet's.
What a caution it is to realise this and its implications. Progress indeed depends as much and perhaps more upon reactionaries than progressives. Air power proved, of course, to be revolutionary only in the sense that its vehicles passed not on the land or the sea, but in the air. Up there, the operations which they conducted proved to be subject to the classical concepts of war, just as had those of the equally new-fangled tanks and nearly as new-fangled submarines.
The key to the use of air power, and of course, the key to the combined bomber offensive, proved to be the command of the air. This was not a question of bomb deliveries, nor of target systems: it was a question of dominance over and defeat of the opposing air force in actions not far removed from dog fighting. In the struggle for the command of the air the function of the bombers proved to be only the guarantee that the enemy air force could be brought to action. Without bombing, the Luftwaffe need not have risen to defend its homeland: it need not have, so to speak, offered itself for defeat. But once it had and once its defeat had been engineered, then the bombers were free to develop and exploit their destructive power. Then, and then only, the combined bomber offensive became a question of bomb delivery and target selection.
The earlier belief characterised by the British night offensive of 1940 to 1944, that they could proceed directly to their strategic objective while evading the opposing air defences, was shown to be a new guerre de course and not a revolution in warfare. The idea characterised by the U.S. day offensive that the bombers could do this by driving off the opposing air force through concentrated firepower from heavily armed, tightly disciplined formations and cripple the opposing air power by precise attacks upon it and its components in production was also shown to be illusory.
In neither case could the scale and rate of effective destruction outpace the casualty rate which the German defences could impose upon the British and American bombers. The Luftwaffe-in-being, neglected and confused as it was, proved wholly capable of defending the German war economy in general and armament production in particular. This indeed is one of the rare occasions when a general historical assertion can be substantially proved by statistical evidence.
We owe it perhaps to the revolutionaries that when the crisis became unavoidably evident—for the Americans over Schweinfurt in October 1943 and for the British in the Battle of Berlin between November 1943 and March 1944—there was no prepared means of applying a classical solution. There was no available means of engaging the German fighter force in the decisive areas: namely, at the required bombing range. In short, there were no long-range fighters. But it may be worth adding, at this point, that the Germans probably owed it to the reactionaries that they had no effective long-range air force of any kind and, apart from gimmicks, therefore lacked the means even of disturbing the base from which their approaching defeat was about to be directed. A reactionary indeed may be as dangerous as a revolutionary.
I have sometimes been accused of advancing the theory that the combined bomber offensive was a failure and you will no doubt now have some appreciation of why this charge has been levelled at me. I say "charge," because I believe that to suggest that the combined bomber offensive was a failure would be greatly to distort history. It did, in fact, produce a sweeping victory which exerted a decisive effect upon the total air, naval, and military defeat which eventually engulfed Germany from the West and even more so from the East. I hope that any apparent contradiction will be cleared up when I come to the third phase of my paper under the heading "Planned and Fortuitous."
Meanwhile, I want to turn to my second subtitle, "Combined and Divided."
It is sometimes argued by the revolutionaries that it was not the theory of bombers proceeding directly to their strategic objectives which proved to be wrong, but the intent to, and the manner in, which the theory was put into practice. Insufficient concentration of effort and not incorrect strategic appraisal was the explanation, so it is said. Specious as this argument proves to be when subjected to complete analysis, it does nevertheless rest upon the substance that the combined bomber offensive failed to combine to anything like the extent which is often claimed and which is suggested by the high sounding if slightly vapid phrases of Casablanca and Quebec or the popular slogan of "round the clock bombing."
This division in the combined bomber offensive is worth examination not only because it has given some substance to otherwise exposed revolutionary arguments, but because it also provided several of the key fortuitous circumstances to which I shall be coming in a few minutes.
Before the war, such differences as existed between the bombing doctrines of Britain and the United States were not of any great importance. Both countries saw the need for advanced, long-range, heavy bombers. Neither country adequately realised the accompanying need for advanced long-range fighters. But there were differences in the interpretation of the opening gambits of the air war which were of critical importance. These differences are characterised in the difference between the British Lancaster and the American B-17 Flying Fortress. The Lancaster with a crew of seven and lightly armed with 303 Browning machine guns had a substantially heavier bomb load than the more numerously crewed, much more heavily armed, high flying B-17. And these aircraft were the revised versions of heavy bombers which reflected two different views of how the Wellingtons, Whitleys, Hampdens, Heinkels, and Dorniers had functioned in 1939 and 1940. The main difference was of course that the Lancaster was essentially a night bomber and the B-17 essentially a day bomber.
Before the war, the British Air Staff had assumed that a day bombing offensive would be possible, but in the early months of actual experience they rapidly changed their minds. The best heavy bombers of the day, the Wellingtons, convincingly failed to defend themselves against German fighters even over fringe targets in daylight, and the lighter bombers, notably the Blenheims, conspicuously lacked the performance either to carry worthwhile loads or to escape their pursuers. Thus, the British turned for major purposes to night bombing and so, presently, for much the same reasons, did the Germans.
The Americans, however, not yet engaged but closely observing, obstinately refused to read what seemed to be the obvious lessons of experience. They persisted with the doctrine of day bombing undeterred by the unanimous verdict of the principal belligerents. This curious decision greatly disturbed the British. It seemed to make it likely that the great potential of American air power would be denied any effective strategic expression. When the United States entered the war, the British prospect of securing for the Royal Air Force great numbers of American-built aircraft was much reduced. These aircraft would now be needed for American crews. But if these crews were committed to a day offensive, then little more than severe American disasters could be expected, so it seemed. By the time the Americans learnt the lesson and converted to a night doctrine, it would be too late to produce and train a night force. To get that result in 1944 would, the British Chief of the Air Staff calculated, need a decision in 1942.
Though in 1942 the British launched thousand-bomber attacks at German targets and seemed to be making real progress in their night offensive, and though the Americans could then only launch daylight pinpricks short of the German frontier, the decision to change was not taken. On the contrary, so determined was the American resolve to adhere to day bombing, that the British decided to abandon both persuasion and criticism for fear of weakening the air position in the general strategic debate within the grand alliance. Thus, the cracks were papered over at the Casablanca Conference and elsewhere with the bromides of strategic diplomacy —complementary attacks, round the clock bombing, and so on. In fact, before it could be combined, the bomber offensive had to be divided.
Why did this happen? Why did the Americans turn such an obstinately blind eye to the glaring lesson of experience that the self-defending bomber formation was simply not a viable form of existence?
Three reasons seem to have been operative. First, the Americans were determined to fight in an American way and, as far as possible, under American command. There could be no question of reinforcing the Royal Air Force: there was going to be an American Air Force even if so far it was still an Army Air Force. Secondly, American opinion was distinctly unimpressed by the products of night bombing. American diplomats, business men, and other travellers had witnessed the beginning of Bomber Command's night attack on Germany. Their reports tended to be unhopeful; successful results it seemed would depend upon day precision bombing. Thirdly, the B-17 appeared to be unsuitable for night operations both on the ground of its general characteristics and on the evidence of trials given to it by Bomber Command. On the other hand, the same characteristics seemed to offer it a chance of successful daylight formation tactics.
This reasoning, in which the United States seemed to be consulting her traditions and neglecting her interests and thus asserting her national independence to an extent which her national power had by now made unnecessary, in which her intelligence appreciation was swamped by hasty judgements formed on slender evidence at too early a stage, and in which her expectation of operational performance continued to be based upon theoretical prognostication when actual battle experience was available, was of course almost wholly fallacious.
Day precision bombing would only be more effective than night area bombing if it could be carried out precisely. Self-defending formations would be an effective tactic of war only if the formations proved to be self-defending. In practice, of course, day bombing proved to be no more accurate, in fact probably on balance less so, than night bombing. Even worse, in practice, self-defending formations of B-17 and B-24 bombers had no greater relative capacity for self defence than Bomber Command's somewhat imperfectly equipped and under-rehearsed Wellingtons of 1939.
Thus, the division of the combined bomber offensive prevented the Americans from playing any part at all in the strategic air offensive against Germany in the course of 1942. Nor did it result in any worthwhile contribution from the distinctively American offensive in the course of 1943. The hope that the massive destruction caused by the mounting RAF night area attacks against the Ruhr, Hamburg, Berlin, and the other great industrial complexes of Germany would unite with American precision attacks upon key points such as ball bearing production, and together fatally undermine the German military, industrial, and economic system was disappointed.
The Germans could absorb the general destruction without allowing it to impinge to any marked extent upon their war effort. Equally they could absorb the so-called precision attacks upon key targets, which were often not very precise, could not be sustained, and frequently were not really key targets. Moreover, as the first year of the combined bomber offensive in action, that is 1943, drew to an end, both the British Bomber Command and the American Eighth Air Force seemed to be near defeat. America's "Waterloo" was at Schweinfurt in October 1943; Britain's was in the Battle of Berlin between November 1943 and March 1944.
If the war, through other action, had ended there, history would have passed a harsh verdict on strategic bombing, its planning, and its allied application. The American Air Staff would have been vulnerable to the accusation that it had declined to join in an established offensive and had failed to make good a separate one.
But of course the war did not end there and the succeeding events produced a transformation of the first magnitude which carried the combined bomber offensive to triumphs almost on the scale of those envisaged by the prophets before the war.
In this transformation, some have seen the reward of persistence, the justification of painful policies bravely maintained, the cumulative dividend on capital saved from extravagant hands reaching from shipboard and military theatres. Elements of truth exist in all these air-minded thoughts, but the principal factors of the transformation were fortuitous, and it is this consideration which brings me to my final subtitle "Planned and Fortuitous."
When, some twenty years ago now, I first embarked upon detailed research into the subject of strategic bombing, I soon began to develop the impression that the key relationship was that between, on the one hand, planning as influenced by supposed results, or if you prefer the military term, intelligence; and, on the other hand, actual results which, of course, were not available to the planners at the time and which were indeed hard enough to discover afterwards with the aid of the German sources. Indeed, the thesis which I presented at Oxford for my doctorate was essentially concerned with this relationship. I do not regret the choice, but I have now come to think that the study of that particular relationship is less instructive than another, namely, that between the planned and the fortuitous. I really think this is a key factor and it is my impression that a great part of what is written about the strategic air offensive both historically and journalistically is wrong because this relationship has been inadequately analysed or, often enough, not analysed at all. This failure, I suggest, accounts for a range of misinterpretation or misunderstanding extending from the misguided attacks levelled almost annually at the British and American Air Staffs for having bombed Dresden in February 1945 to the equally misguided loyalist plea that the strategic air offensive was sound from the word go and was delayed in its victory only by inadequate priority or naval and military interference or political faint-heartedness.
In fact, the strategic air offensive offered a prospect which was taken by many of those directing it to be revolutionary in scope but which, in action, proved to be classical. It was an offensive which offered a glittering prospect for the very closest cooperation and even integration between Britain and the United States and which, in action, failed to combine to anything like that extent. It was, indeed, an offensive where the defects of the planning and doctrine seemed to be their most prominent characteristics and in which the response to the lessons of experience seemed to be, to put it mildly, rather slow. The British blinded themselves at the outset with the comforting belief that their force was inadequate in size, equipment, and experience. The feeling that where the early attempts had failed, the later ones would succeed, tended to obscure the possibility that the strategy and plans were wrong. The Americans, in turn, deluded themselves by fostering confidence in the theory that to be different from the British was to be right. Yet, and this is the startling point, the combined bomber offensive produced ultimately a major Anglo-American victory.
The truth is that the very points at which the development of proper military logic and framing of realistic plans broke down tended to coalesce and produce what it is no exaggeration to describe as the breakthrough in the air between March and August 1944. This breakthrough was produced by the combined action of heavy bombers, of which the most effective were the British Lancasters, and of long-range fighters, among which the American P-51 Mustang was the outstanding machine. Both these aircraft were the product of strange and fortuitous sagas. The Lancaster lurched into being on the basis of the Avro Manchester, an ill-fated machine which was certainly the least successful of the trio produced in answer to the British long-range bomber specification: the Stirling, Halifax, and Manchester. The Mustang had an even stranger and yet more chancy genealogy. Originally produced in answer to a British specification, it failed to attract an American order and more or less failed in service with the RAF until it was re-engined with a Rolls-Royce Merlin. This made it a first-class machine and as such, the British allocated it to photographic reconnaissance: the same role, incidentally, as they had originally given to another aircraft of fortuitous origin and surprising fulfillment, the Mosquito. From there it found its way back to American hands. With long-range drop tanks, it produced the decisive solution to the problem of how to extend fighter performance to bomber range. This condensation of two of the most remarkable production stories in the history of aircraft design and construction is, I hope, sufficient to show that the Lancaster had a somewhat fortuitous origin and the Mustang, as a long-range fighter, a wholly fortuitous one.
These factors were not, however, the most extraordinary nor were they perhaps the most fortuitous in this situation. Remember, the Mustangs were not introduced as long-range fighters to support the Lancasters. Their introduction was the direct outcome of the day bombing crisis which arose at Schweinfurt and which seemed to have little connection with the night activities of the Lancasters. Moreover, the critical phase of Mustang operations was between December 1943 and March 1944. In these four or five months they swept into action with the U.S. Eighth Fighter Command. Their tactics developed, their range increased. By April 1944 their mastery was evident. The daylight air over Germany was turning American. But not the night air, for this was the very period of bitterest setback for the Lancasters, which in those same four or five months were struggling and suffering in the Battle of Berlin and heading for the Nuremberg crisis at the end of March.
The decisive period for the Lancaster came after June 1944 when the heaviest and most accurate devastation, of which they alone were capable, became the key to the success of the major plans, and especially those against the oil and transport systems. Yet these were the same Lancasters that had failed to produce decisive results earlier. The difference lay a little in improved bombs, such as the 12,000-lb. Tallboy and the 22,000-lb. Grandslam special earthquake bombs, and in other connected factors. It lay principally in the possession of command of the air, in which the three main components were the B-17 Flying Fortress, the P-51 Mustang, and General Carl Spaatz, the great, though still but little recognized, commander of the United States Strategic Air Force in Europe.
It must here suffice for me to remind your briefly of the sequence of developments. The B-17s posed the daylight threat which compelled the German air defences to operate. The Mustangs provided the means of engaging and overcoming those defences, not only by their own efforts but by validating the efforts of shorter-range aircraft as well. Thus, in the spring of 1944 the Germans began to lose daylight air superiority and almost everything began to roll in favour of the Allies. But the American bombers lacked the hitting power to produce the full exploitation, and 90 the opportunity for the Lancasters arose.
For a time they found it safer to operate by day than night, for the long-range fighter cover never extended effectively beyond the daylight hours. But gradually, through a series of connected developments, ranging from loss of territory containing early warning installations to loss of training hours through lack of fuel, the Germans lost air superiority at night too. By August 1944, the command of the air was Anglo-American, and the Lancasters could no longer be prevented from driving home their full potential both in daylight and at night when their accuracy of bombing was the greater.
These strange twists of chance and the way in which they fortuitously combined to secure the success of the combined bomber offensive are historically identifiable by the ordinary processes of research. They do not depend for their establishment upon controversial interpretations or upon hypothetical speculations. There are, however, I suggest, two hypothetical possibilities which I will submit to you because I think they tend to illuminate—but of course not to establish—the realities.
Here then are the two hypothetical suggestions. If the British Air Staff had read the lessons of their early experience between 1939 and 1941 in the American way, they would have gone in for high level daylight bombing—heavy armament, heavy armour, high altitude, and relatively light bombs. If they had read the lessons in a coolly logical manner, they would presumably have abandoned the offensive altogether. In either event, the accuracy to hit and the power to destroy the really vital targets in the last year of the war would almost certainly not have been generated.
Now, if the Americans had read the same lessons with real strategic insight, they would at any early stage have placed a much higher priority upon the development and production of long-range fighters. If they had done that, would the Mustang have got into British hands? Would it have got a Merlin engine? Would the P-51B Mustang ever have taken the air? Where would the Eighth Air Force have gone from Schweinfurt? If on the other hand the Americans had followed the advice of their more experienced and older friends, the British, they would have turned to night attack and, as we can now see, there is no reason to suppose the German air defences would ever have been breached.
Such then, is the indication of the extent to which, in my view, fortuitous circumstances came to the rescue of the so-called combined bomber offensive, made it an effective combination, and secured its eventual decisive success. These circumstances were, I suggest, far more important than the great and famous Casablanca and POINTBLANK directives to which so much attention has been given and about which so many words have been written and which, incidentally, the commanders at the time found so thoroughly confusing and impracticable.
But there is now a strong caution which I hope to lodge in your minds before I conclude. It is, in a sense, the counter to the argument I have presented. In another sense it is the explanation of it.
No fortuitous circumstances came to the aid of the Russian, German, Japanese, French, or Italian strategic air offensives, because, curiously enough, none of these countries evolved any worthwhile strategic bombing doctrine or plan and failed almost wholly to generate any worthwhile strategic bombing attack. Britain and America, independently and alone, were the only powers which did plan strategic air offensives and which, before they were engulfed in all the urgencies and priorities of actual warfare, produced detailed plans of operation. Britain and America were the only countries which produced formidable bomber commands and Britain and America were the only countries able to reap the rich harvest of military advantage which fortuitous circumstances heaped upon them through the agency of the combined bomber offensive.
If there is a moral in all this, it is surely that strategic thought and strategic planning in peacetime are necessary and productive processes, provided the realization is ever present that peacetime plans especially for the employment of new weapons will not, in war, work out in accordance with expectation.
I hope it may be useful to you if I now attempt briefly to summarise the thesis which I have tried to present to you. The combined bomber offensive, though it had revolutionary characteristics, was predominantly a classical expression of warfare. It was revolutionary in the sense that it was in the air, a relatively new medium of warfare. It was classical in the sense that it was subject to the principles of war as enunciated by the past masters and notably by Mahan. In particular, strategic bombing could find effective expression only in the condition of command of the air, and command of the air was found to be a product of victorious battle against the opposing air force. It is safe to conclude then that the prime function of an air force was to seek the destruction of the opposing air force in being and that then, and then only, could it proceed to the effective implementation of the strategic aim. In this basic respect then, air power was similar to military and naval power. In that respect then, Mahan was a better guide to the understanding of air power than Douhet. That is what I mean by the suggestion that the combined bomber offensive was essentially classical.
The combined bomber offensive, though it was a simultaneous offensive mounted by the two closest of the Allies in the Grand
Alliance against a common enemy, was not strategically integrated nor even related in a common design or an operational standard procedure. It was more of a bombing competition than a bombing combination. The general, night, area offensive of Bomber Command and the key point, day, precision offensive of the Eighth Air Force proved to be virtually and mutually incompatible; and though they imposed a terrible penalty upon Germany through the death and destruction wrought between 1940 and early 1944, they incurred themselves, relatively speaking, an even more severe penalty in the casualties suffered. Moreover, the ratios between the rate of destruction of the targets in Germany, the rate at which the Germans could repair or otherwise overcome that destruction, and the rate of bomber casualties eventually became unbalanced to the disadvantage of the bombers. Thus, in the manner of its planning and the nature of its incidence, the combined bomber offensive was not only up to this stage, that is the beginning of 1944, somewhat unsuccessful but considerably divided.
Yet, in the final phase, the two forces, still divided by aim and operational procedure, not only complemented each other, but produced, the one the key and the other the lever, which brought down the German war economy in ruins and ensured the final victory of the Grand Alliance. This extraordinary combination, symbolized by the activities of the Mustang and the Lancaster, was, however, the product much more of fortuitous circumstances and opportunities than of farsighted planning.
Nor should it be assumed that these distinctions are simply philosophical and academic observations. They seem to me to offer what I may perhaps be allowed to claim is the grammar of the subject. The understanding of this grammar should surely be useful to those who from emotive or academic reasons wish to pursue the further investigation of this complex and, in the view of many, controversial subject.