The Handy Military History Answer Book

Introduction

Hans, Tommy, Ivan, and Joe gather round the table to discuss their memories of the Second World War. For men who are often talkative at home, they are rather quiet, humble even, as they begin to talk with others who had incredibly important experiences at the same time they did, albeit in the service of different nations.

Hans, who still has the long, lean lines of a German athlete, declares that his people never supported the idea of war with the rest of Europe; they voted for Hitler because this seemed the only way out of the Great Depression, which, in 1932, was pretty awful. Hans admits that he signed up too quickly for the German infantry, and that he might have done better to hold off. War fever in 1939 was powerful, however, and he says that he had the wish to accomplish what his father—and millions of other Germans—had failed to do in the First World War.

Everyone nods. They understand the power of parental influence quite well.

Tommy speaks next. Life has not been as good to him as it was to Hans: he moves slowly from the effects of both war wounds and arthritis. He shows no bitterness, however. Like Hans, he was very young when the Second Great War—as many Brits call it—began, and he had no hesitation about signing up. Early on, he had no bad feelings about the Germans, he says; it was only when he helped in the liberation of one of the death camps, in the spring of 1945, that he experienced incredible revulsion. For a long time he blamed Hitler and the Germans, he says, but viewing the world for the last fifty years, some thirty of them spent in retirement, has shown him that people everywhere are capable of cruelty and terrible deeds. The important thing, Tommy says, is to prevent them from having the means to accomplish such deeds.

This speech is not as universally acknowledged as the previous one, but everyone is very polite as they turn to Ivan to ask if he can comment. There’s a quiet respect in their voices, because they know that he—as a Russian—very likely witnessed unspeakable horrors to a great degree.

Ivan has bad words for Hitler and Mussolini, but he doesn’t think much better of Churchill and FDR. To him, all these leaders were savages who allowed the beast within humans to emerge and paved the way for the deaths of millions. He never had personal feelings against the Germans, he declares; rather, it was their system that he objected to. Everyone hums and nods their heads a little, and then Joe asks what Ivan thinks or feels about Josef Stalin.

The worst! Hitler was a raving lunatic, Ivan declares, and Mussolini and Churchill were cravens who let other people do their dirty work. FDR was a bit of a cold-blooded fellow, but Ivan would choose him over Uncle Joe—as Americans used to call Stalin—any day of the week. Ivan surprises his fellows by saying that when the Germans first invaded his country in June 1941 he welcomed them as liberators. That sentiment lasted about forty-eight hours and was destroyed by his witnessing acts of cruelty by the invaders. Thereafter, he fought valiantly for Mother Russia, he says, but never for Uncle Joe.

At this point the conversation turns in the direction of another Joe who sits at the table. The other three men ask him to express some of his thoughts, feelings, or beliefs.

Joe explains that he is reluctant to comment because he knows darned well that he’s a lucky fellow who escaped World War II without injury, living in what may just be the luckiest country in the world. He does have a question for his fellow veterans, however.

Given that Germany, Britain, and Russia were all so badly pounded during the Second World War, how is it that they look so darned well today, Joe asks? He remembers the end of the war rather well and can still close his eyes to see the wreckage. England, he says, looked like a large waste dump to the Allied armies, and Germany had hardly any houses left standing. He’s never been to Russia, Joe admits, but he’s seen photographs of the Ukraine and western Russia, both of which look as if they’re doing all right. What did his fellows and their societies do right in the years that followed World War II, Joe asks?

The other three almost trip over each other, so eager are they to answer the question.

* * *

Military history is a fascinating and complex topic, not least because there are so many angles of approach. When one examines D-Day, for instance, he or she can look at the battle from the viewpoint of the German defenders, viewing the enemy coming over the roaring surf, or from the vantage point of the Allied assailants, who beheld the solid land of Normandy, complete with the hedgerows that would give them so much trouble in the days ahead. And, thanks to modern technology, one can also see or imagine D-Day from above, using the photographs taken by Allied bombers and planes. And, of course, even when all this is accomplished, there is yet one more angle to consider: that of the civilians whose lives were altered on that day in June 1944.

So it has been through most of human history. The soldiers, warriors, and desperadoes do their work, prompted by generals, commodores, and chiefs of staff, and then we—those lucky enough to still be here—get to examine what took place. A mere 150 miles from Normandy lies another battlefield that produces all sorts of memories of Waterloo. Here, too, the modern observer can see the day through the eyes of the French assailants, the British defenders, or the Prussian latecomers. In each case, a certain choice is involved, and that choice inevitably colors what modern-day people see. Are we with Marshal Ney, as he leads those nine battalions of the Old Guard up the long, sloping hill? Are we with General Peregrine Maitland, whose 3,000 men have lain concealed in the grass for hours? Or are we at one with Marshal Blucher and his Prussians?

Two hundred miles west of Waterloo and one hundred miles north of the Normandy beaches exists another of the great clashes that made human history: the Spanish Armada. No battlefield exists because the Armada and its English opponents tossed and turned on the waves of the English Channel. This is one reason that naval history has never quite drawn as much attention as land-based battles. But when we think of the consequences of the Spanish Armada—and its failure—we are taken aback. That autumn of 1588 was one of the great hinge moments in human history, a time when everything seemed at stake.

No one planned it this way: that three of the greatest contests of the last 400 years should be in such close proximity to each other. Equally, no human brain devised a scheme by which the battles of the Old Testament should be so aligned, geographically speaking, with the modern-day wars between Arabs and Israelis. If any hand can be said to have plotted or planned it, this would be the hand of natural geography, which made the English Channel and the coasts of Holland, Belgium, and northern France such key strategic points. Land, water, and the vicissitudes of weather have played huge roles in many of the great contests of human history. Imagine, for example, if there had not been such a heavy fog over Manhattan Island in 1776, and George Washington had been unable to evacuate the Continental Army from Brooklyn. Imagine if an enormous flood in the Mississippi River delta had prevented the arrival of Admiral Farragut’s fleet? And, of course, the most significant of all: what if the weather report handed to General Dwight D. Eisenhower, on the afternoon of June 5, 1944, had been in error. One shudders at the potential consequences.

Because we need a handle for the frying pan that we call military history, let us set out a short number of words, each beginning with a consonant. Let these serve as the opener—not the conclusion!—to our discussion of how men—and sometimes women—have fought each other for thousands of years.

Men, Monarchs, Means, and Maneuver

At first glance this list may seem too short, but the human mind works better with short, punchy declarations than long lists. Let us use these words as the springboard into the topic.

Men, of course, are the great element of human warfare; they are perennially needed and often in short supply. Men make the difference, whether on the battlefield or in the strategy room. No matter how many computer simulations are used, or how many tactical schemes are created or abandoned, it still—nearly always—comes down to the men and women on the ground.

In our modern era, no one practices this human element better than the Israelis, whose defense force is second to none. Whether in the gathering of intelligence or the unleashing of an armored column, the Israelis know that 98 percent of everything depends on the people on the ground. Is he or she ready? Will he or she make the sacrifice, take the direct hit in order to gain time for his or her fellow soldiers? Successful modern states know that people cannot be removed from the formula; that, regardless of how many technical gadgets are deployed, the human mind, heart, and spirit always play the most significant role. It is as true in our time as in the era of the Vikings, when a few thousand Scandinavians terrorized much of Northern Europe by means of skill, intention, and will.

Monarchs are not much in the conversation these days. The only monarchy that is regularly in the news is that of Great Britain, and it often appears in the tabloids rather than the traditional news magazines. When we scan the entirety of human history, however, it is apparent that monarchs have sent more men into battle and war than any other type of leader. Presidents, prime ministers, and premiers may issue declarations of war, but they do not have the joint spiritual/political power of a king, queen, or emperor. Whether we consider the Great Khans of Mongolia, the kings and queens of the European nations, or David, Saul, and Jonathan of the Old Testament, we arrive repeatedly upon the importance of monarchs to military history. If one still has any doubts, he or she can simply whistle that marvelous tune God Save the King.

Means refers to virtually everything necessary to put the soldier or warrior on the field. This can be as routine as buttons for his outer coat, or as involved as special glasses and goggles for night fighting. Too often we forget the thousands of sacrifices made behind the lines in order that soldiers can accomplish their tasks. Means are surely one of the most important of all aspects of military history, but they can sometimes be overridden by a powerful will. Who, for example, believed that the American revolutionaries of 1776 had the means to combat the British Army and the Royal Navy? Who could have imagined that a few thousand English knights and longbowmen could bring down so many knights at the Battle of Agincourt? And, in perhaps the single greatest example, who would have dreamed that Mao Tse-Tung would outlast the Nationalist Chinese? Most true soldiers—as opposed to armchair generals—will readily say that they like the equipment, just so long as it does not get in the way of the experience.

Maneuver may sound basic, prosaic even, but a company or regiment that does not learn to march—and to do so in the most effective manner—will swiftly be beaten. From the first moments of what we in America call Basic Training, the soldier is trained to let his muscles react first and to let the mind catch up later. Maneuver, therefore, involves every kind of movement, from the humblest private soldier to the loftiest five-star general. The latter issues orders; the former executes them.

Who knows how many battles have been decided by the smallest maneuver? Who xiv knows how many profound miscalculations have been made because they were based on things such as turn and march 40 steps to the right or turn and march 40 steps to the left?

The Emperor Napoleon is not always the favorite of the modern reader. We learn, for example, that he was profligate with the lives of his men and that he abandoned them in Egypt. When it comes to compressing several of the important maxims into one brief sentence, however, Napoleon does it best: An army marches on its stomach.

And there we have it. An army, composed of people, performs maneuvers that often include long marches, and it does so at the command of its monarch, who was, in this case, Napoleon.

* * *

We rebuilt from scratch, Hans declares.

We were determined to remake Old England, and make her better, Tommy declares.

Russia has been pounded many times, and she always comes back, says Ivan.

Joe—who once was called GI Joe by his coworkers—shuts his eyes in admiration. He remembers the America of 1945, the incredible enthusiasm that existed, and the belief that Americans were the best at almost everything, whether the making of automobiles, the election of leaders, or the creation of the new suburbs that sprang up after 1946.

Deep down, Joe envies his three fellow veterans. The Second World War was a horrible experience for them and their societies, but they survived, endured, and—thanks in part to U.S. economic assistance—they eventually thrived. But it’s their incredible optimism about the future, their belief that their efforts will come to fruition—that a better world will be established—that’s what really compels Joe’s envy, as well as his admiration. It’s an odd thing for an American, a nation that was only established in 1776, but he feels strangely older, more mature than Hans, Tommy, and Ivan, and he’s not sure he really likes the feeling.

Joe thinks a few moments, and remembers a book he saw recently that directly challenged its readers, asking them if there were not some good things that came out of war. Though he’s not inclined to switch places with Hans, Tommy, or Ivan, he thinks it quite possible that his grandchildren—of whom he’s very fond—just might be willing to exchange places with the grandchildren of these men.

And then one of the best quotes he ever recalled comes back to Joe. He does not speak it aloud, but smiles gently, as he ponders Thomas Jefferson’s words, written in 1786: The tree of liberty must be refreshed, now and again, with the blood of tyrants. It is their natural manure. How odd that the Europeans, who’ve experienced so much tyranny over so many centuries, seem to know this better than his fellow Americans.

PREHISTORY

Who cast the first stone (of human history)?

How historians wish they knew! They could, then, cast all the blame and attribute all the subsequent mayhem to that person. But he remains anonymous to us.

Are we quite sure that it was a he or him?

Historians are not one hundred percent certain, but it seems very likely. Women are not inherently more moral or altruistic than men, but throughout human history they have shown much less propensity for settling matters by means of armed combat.

This does not mean women have not figured in the history of war, however. Far from it. Our best surmise is that many ancient battles and skirmishes—those which took place before the development of writing—may have been fought over who possessed the land, animals, and not so incidentally, women.

Can historians assign any sort of date to the beginning of armed combat?

They really can’t. Archeologists examine Stone Age tools, such as the Acheulan Axe, for clues, but we cannot be certain whether they were used in human-on-human combat or for scraping the skin from animals. What we can say, with some confidence, is that nearly all the things—or aspects—that we today identify with being human had evolved around 50,000 years ago and that it is quite likely that there was some armed combat by that time.

As to the age-old question of whether humans are naturally competitive or naturally cooperative, we cannot render any firm assessment. Both traits clearly exist within the great majority of humans, and it may be a matter of circumstance which trait is dominant at any place or time.

Is there any truth to the belief that precivilized warfare was largely ritual in nature?

Much of it probably was. Chiefs and shamans may well have organized the first battles of human history and done so in a way that minimized casualties. That does not lessen the impact of conflict in the lives of our ancestors, however. Some of them survived, and quite a few died in a time that has been accurately characterized as red in tooth and claw (the expression was coined by the nineteenth-century English poet Alfred Lord Tennyson).

What tools, or weapons, did ancient peoples use?

Between about 50,000 years ago and about 10,000 years ago, weapons were limited to the bone knife, the stone axe, and the throwing spear, known as the atlatal. By the time humans began settling into farming communities, however, roughly 10,000 years ago, their capacity for building larger, more effective weapons was apparent. At the same time, early farmers may have had fewer conflicts than nomadic peoples.

FIRST SETTLEMENTS

Where did humans first settle on the land?

There may have been some early human settlements in China and Meso-America, but the first truly successful settlements seem to have been in the Middle East. The area was cooler and drier than it is today, and a proliferation of plants and seeds made it an attractive place to settle. To the best of our knowledge, the area historians call the Fertile Crescent, ranging from southern Iraq to southern Turkey and northern Syria, was the first place where long-term human settlement succeeded.

Is there any truth to the biblical stories of a Great Flood and the disappearance of most of the human race?

That there was a Great Flood seems undeniable, because stories of the inundation appear in many tribal and national histories. It seems unlikely that it wiped out all the humans because if it did, we would not, today, possess the rich variety of DNA samples that geneticists use to trace human lineage. The idea that a God or gods would wipe out the other humans, leaving the more virtuous ones in control of the earth, is as old as civilization itself.

On balance, it seems that many—if not most—human groups have asserted that God is on my side, and that he or she is against the enemy. The trouble with this thought, is, of course, that the enemy is saying and thinking the same thing. Given that one contestant usually prevails, God or gods cannot answer the prayers of both.

Is there anything to the Homeric tales of Greece and Troy?

For a very long time, scholars believed that Homer—a blind, Greek poet who composed poetry in the eighth century B.C.E.—had invented the Trojan War. In 1871, however, the German archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann (1822–1890) unearthed not one but seven levels of civilization on a Turkish hillside near the Aegean Sea. Although no single piece of evidence has ever emerged with the name Troy or Trojan, scholars generally believe that there is some truth to the Homeric tales.

A seventeenth-century painting by Anton Mozart depicts what one of the battles of the Trojan War might have looked like.

Where Homer lets us—his modern readers—down, time and again, is in his lack of detail concerning the average soldier; and civilian. To Homer, war was about the heroes, men like Achilles, Ajax, Hector, Paris, and even old King Priam. Homer tells us almost nothing about the struggles of the average soldier; historians do not even know what he looked like. Even so, most people who read Homer—whether in the original Greek or in translation—agree that he had a magnificent bird’s eye view of war, that he saw the battlefield better than any of his contemporaries.

Does archaeology tell us anything about the Greeks from that time?

It was, again, Heinrich Schliemann who did much of the work. Schliemann is often called the man that modern-day archaeologists love to hate, because his digs were so sloppy. He was in far too much of a hurry to get beneath the soil, and once there he dug so ferociously that thousands of artifacts were destroyed or lost. But we can thank Schliemann, first for discovering Hissarlik—the hillside in modern-day Turkey—and then for unearthing much of the Mycenaean civilization on the Greek mainland.

Is there a reason why so many great archaeological discoveries were made during the nineteenth century?

Literary scholars—who study the Old Testament and the works of such authors as Homer and Hesiod—led the way, but it was the men with their hands in the dirt—the nineteenth-century archaeologists—who made the most astonishing discoveries. A Frenchman found the ruins of ancient Assyria, an Englishman deciphered the Old Persian inscriptions on Darius’ rock in present-day Iran, and a German found what may have been the city of Troy and what was most certainly Mycenae.

At Mycenae, Schliemann unearthed enormous tombs, a throne room, and a suggestion of just how impressive the Mycenaean civilization was. His discoveries, naturally, led to another question: What happened to Mycenae and its people? To the best of our knowledge, they were overthrown by wild men from distant places: the barbaric folk that we often call the Sea Peoples.

What these men—and perhaps a score of others from that time—had in common was a classical education and a lot of time. Some were men of leisure and others had acquired their wealth the hard way, but they all believed the ancient world more fascinating than their own and were determined to ferret out its most remarkable ruins. Today there are far more archaeologists in the field, but few of them get to experience the amazing discoveries available to nineteenth-century amateurs, who literally turned studies of the ancient world on their heads.

THE LATE BRONZE AGE

How was bronze superior to copper, which was previously the preferred material for the making of weapons?

Bronze was much tougher. Perhaps around 7,000 years ago—or 5000 B.C.E.—people in the Middle East began to forge bronze by adding small amounts of tin to copper. The new technology spread slowly, but about 5,000 years ago, practically all the new civilizations—especially those along the river Nile and in the region we now call Iraq—were using bronze. As a result, the weapons of the new civilized peoples were quite impressive. The Egyptian army even had some early form of uniforms with the shafts of their spears being forged alike, displaying the same colors on their banners. For a time, the use of bronze gave the settled peoples an edge over their nomadic foes. This changed, however, when the nomads began using chariots.

How long have chariots been around?

Both chariots and the use of horses in battle are relative newcomers to the stage. The earliest horses of whom we have certain knowledge were too small—and weak in the back—to support human riders. Horses were bred, however, and by about 2000 B.C.E. they appeared on battlefields, usually on the side of the nomads.

The civilized people in these battles—the Egyptians, Babylonians, and so forth—were able to capture horses and learn the equestrian arts, but it took them a long time to catch up to the nomads in terms of the use of chariots. Chariot warfare came naturally to nomadic folk, who sent down rains of arrows against their more civilized foes. Even Egypt, which is often credited with pioneering the chariot, borrowed the original idea from a nomadic group.

How large were the armies of the Late Bronze Age?

They were quite small by modern standards. Egypt may have possessed an army of 50,000, but it is unlikely that any Pharaoh could mobilize, much less feed, one-fifth of that number at any one time. Sumer, and later Babylonia, possessed around the same average range of numbers.

What we would call modern-day methods of military conscription and large-scale armies had to wait until the turn of the first millennium B.C.E. Even then, feeding the men remained a large problem.

What happened to the Late Bronze Age societies?

Nearly all of them either perished or were greatly reduced in importance and strength. Around 1175 B.C.E., a series of invasions took place which brought low the Assyrian kingdom, the Hittites, and quite possibly the Mycenaeans too. Lacking any records from the other side, we have to use the expression the Sea Peoples to describe the impact of these invaders on the civilized part of the eastern Mediterranean.

The Sea Peoples may have come from Sicily and Sardinia; it’s equally possible that they came from the Black Sea and some of the Greek islands. In either case, the Sea Peoples came like a rush against the Hittites, Minoans, Assyrians, and even Egypt. The only remaining visual record of these peoples is contained in a bas-relief in Egypt.

Who was Ramses and why do we remember his reign so well?

The Pharaoh Ramses III (1186–1155 B.C.E.)—not to be confused with his more famous grandfather, Ramses II—left a telling set of inscriptions on a bas-relief in Egypt, including both an account of the invasion of the Sea Peoples and a pictorial representation of them. They seem otherworldly in the sense that aliens (in our movies and books) do today. Ramses III shows the Sea Peoples humbled by a valiant defense in the Nile River Delta. What he does not show is equally interesting: it may have been a close, near-run thing.

That the Sea Peoples nearly conquered Egypt demonstrates their strength and ferocity. On the bas-relief, Ramses III describes how the various Sea Peoples—he names six of their groups—attacked practically all the civilizations and how all except Egypt were laid low. Even in the case of Egypt, historians believe that the kingdom was badly damaged by their attacks and would not be strong again for several centuries.

Were the Sea Peoples alone responsible for all the devastation of the Late Bronze Age?

We think not. Ferocious as they were, the Sea Peoples were a passing phenomenon. Their actions, and the subsequent destruction, may have taken place over one or two generations. By contrast, the eastern Mediterranean was wracked by natural disaster and a fair amount of climate change, both of which likely contributed to the general breakdown of that part of the civilized world.

The ruins of the Grand Staircase at King Minos’ palace in Crete stands as a reminder of a once-great civilization that likely collapsed, in part, because of climate changes.

The Minoan civilization on Crete—named for the legendary King Minos—had already suffered cataclysmic destruction following the eruption of the volcano of Santorini on the Island of Thera. Scholars believe that this eruption, which happened around 1627 B.C.E., was so destructive that the tsunami which followed may have given rise to various tales of the Great Flood.

How low did the various civilizations fall?

Israel—or the twin kingdoms of Israel and Judah—survived the destruction fairly well. Egypt was staggered by the changes, but it remained the most stable place in the Middle East. Other areas—such as central Turkey and inland Greece—may have been set back by as much as 300 years.

Greece, perhaps most notably, fell into a period we now call a Dark Age. Very likely, good things were happening under the surface, but they were not visible. When Homer sang and played on his lyre, he did so about the heroes of the Mycenaean Age, a time which had come and gone. He did not expect that Greece would soon rise again.

HEBREWS AND JEWS

Why do we sometimes call them the Hebrews and sometimes the Jews?

There is yet another name: the Israelites. Each of the names refers to the same people at different times in their history. What unites the three names is the religious element.

By around 1800 B.C.E., the Hebrews were one of the smaller, less warlike peoples of the Middle East, occupying sections of the land that is now the State of Israel. By around 1000 B.C.E., they called themselves Hebrews or Israelites with equal certainty, because they had established the Kingdom of Israel. The name Jews came a bit later.

Who represented the greatest threat to the Kingdom of Israel?

The Assyrians, who originated in what is now northern Iraq, were the most violent and bloodthirsty of all ancient world peoples. Their kingdom was known to its neighbors by about 1300 B.C.E., but their army became the terror of the Middle East during the ninth century B.C.E. Our knowledge of this comes not from their oppressed neighbors, but from the Assyrians themselves.

A team of French archaeologists unearthed the ruins of Nineveh in the 1830s. Astonished as they were by the massive walls and magnificent palace paintings—many of which depict kings, horses, and hunting—the archaeologists were even more impressed by the inscriptions. Translated, these inscriptions brag that the Assyrians had leveled one civilization after another, sometimes committing unspeakable atrocities, such as when they boast of having cut off 11,000 pairs of ears and 8,000 noses.

Are claims such as these to be taken seriously?

Historians have pondered that question ever since. Some have labeled the Assyrians the Nazis of the ancient world. In retrospect, however, it does not seem likely that the Assyrians could kill, decapitate, and mutilate so many people.

Killing large numbers of people—as Adolf Hitler found out—is hard work. It is much easier to make captives of them and have them produce something useful for the conqueror. Just as important, however, are the population figures. If the Assyrians really killed tens of thousands of people as they claim, the Middle East would—over time—have been depopulated.

Was there any limit to the Assyrian reach?

Yes. Like most ancient world conquerors, Assyrians faced a perennial problem of supplies. It was one thing to field an army of 50,000 men—as we believe they did—and quite another to keep those men in food and water. Therefore, although the Assyrians eventually conquered most of the Middle East, their hold on certain regions was quite fragile.

The high point of Assyrian conquest came during the late eighth and the early part of the seventh centuries B.C.E. The Kingdom of Israel was destroyed by Assyria around 732 B.C.E., while the Kingdom of Judah—the southern part of the Hebrew domain—survived. Even as they approached the peak of success, however, the Assyrians began to experience stresses and strains within their empire. They had acquired too many enemies, and toward the end of the seventh century B.C.E., the various peoples turned on them.

How and when did the Kingdom of Assyria fall?

In 615 B.C.E., the Kingdom of Babylonia, 200 miles south of Assyria, established a firm alliance with three or four other peoples—some settlers and some nomadic—to combat Assyria. The fighting was fierce, but the allies overcame the Assyrians and burned their major cities. This was accomplished with such thoroughness that 300 years later, the Greek General Xenephon passed through the region and marveled at the ruins, saying he had no idea who those people had been.

Assyria’s downfall paved the way for a second rise of the Babylonian kingdom. Led by King Nebuchadnezzar II, the Babylonians attacked the Kingdom of Judah in 587 B.C.E. After a hard campaign, they knocked down the walls of Jerusalem and took many of the Hebrews as captives to Babylon. This was the beginning of what the Old Testament describes as the worst of times for the Hebrews and what commentators ever since have referred to as the Babylonian Captivity.

How long did the Hebrews stay as captives in Babylon?

They were in captivity for nearly seventy years. Most Old Testament scholars believe this was a pivotal time for the Hebrew people, during which they refined and defined their monotheistic beliefs. Just as important, however, were the military changes that took place in the Middle East.

This view of ancient Babylon as it looks today reveals a stark contrast to how it must have looked in the days of King Nebuchadnezzar II. On this very spot stood the famous Hanging Gardens that were one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

Assyria had been on top for about 300 years. Babylon held that position only for about seventy years before two newcomers—the Persians and Medes—swept aside all rivals to become the new super-kingdom.

Who were the Persians and Medes?

They were Aryan peoples—not Semitic—who arrived on the high plateau of what is now Iran sometime around 1000 B.C.E. For some time, they made little impact on the area, largely because they were nomadic peoples cast adrift among groups of settled and civilized folk. In or around 550 B.C.E., however, the Persians and Medes joined hands and carried out a series of conquests that took them to Turkey, the northern part of Arabia, and even to the western part of Afghanistan.

By 550 B.C.E., the Persians and Medes were led by King Cyrus (circa 585-529 B.C.E.), later known as Cyrus the Great. No reliable illustration of his physique exists, and we have to use our imagination to picture the King of Kings. Starting from modest beginnings, Cyrus became king of the Persians and Medes and then led his peoples to conquest. Time and again, he defeated more seasoned, practiced foes by using what we would call guerrilla tactics. Cyrus was more than a warlord, however. He had a vision of universal empire, and to that end, he practiced mercy toward many of the people he defeated.

When and how did Cyrus capture Babylon?

The year was 539 B.C.E., but the means have been debated ever since. Did Cyrus actually dam a section of the Euphrates River so his men could practically walk through a dry river bed? Was there a wholesale massacre of the Babylonian aristocracy? Cyrus, who was perhaps the most clever manager of public relations of his time, prevented the answers from becoming common knowledge.

One thing of which we are certain is that Cyrus announced that all the captives of Babylon—Hebrews, Semites, Assyrians, Aryans, and others—were henceforth free. This action alone makes Cyrus stand out from nearly all other conquerors of his time, and he went out of his way to cultivate that very image: that of the benevolent conqueror.

Where did the Hebrews go?

The only place that made sense. As soon as they were released, Hebrews began the long trudge back to the Kingdom of Judah, which King Nebuchadnezzar had destroyed fifty years earlier. On arriving in their homeland, the Hebrews found most of their cities and towns in wreckage. They began the long, difficult task of rebuilding, and in the process they renamed themselves the Jews.

The name clearly derives from the Kingdom of Judah, which was now rebuilt, but the precise intention of the word is unclear. Did the change from Hebrew to Jew signify that these were the same people who had now returned? Or did it mean they had been transformed by the Babylonian Captivity and would forever look on themselves as a different people? Scholars remain divided on this point, but the nomenclature was now permanent. They were henceforth known as the Jews.

Could Cyrus have conquered the entire Middle East?

He came close. But in around 529 B.C.E., he went on a campaign against the Massegete people in Central Asia and was killed, tradition has it, while engaged in battle against a tribal group led by a woman. Cyrus’ body was brought back to Babylon and then to the desert of southern Iran, where his tomb remains today. In a manner that is somewhat surprising, Cyrus had his epitaph carved above the door to the tomb.

O Man, wherever thou comes from, and whoever thou art! Know that I was Cyrus and that I conquered the world. Grudge me not, therefore, my monument.

GREEKS AND PERSIANS

What were the major city-states of sixth-century Greece?

There were about a dozen, ranging from Thebes in the north to Sparta in the south. Though they all spoke the same language, these peoples were intensely competitive with each other, seeking the glory and well-being of their individual city-states. At the same time, they were quite conscious of being different from all outsiders.

Language defined a Greek, but so did culture, and we might say culture with an attitude. The modern word barbarian comes to us from the Greeks, who thought that less civilized people had poor diction and that their conversation resembled the bleating of sheep. By about 500 B.C.E., the Greeks felt a conscious superiority to all their neighbors. Of course it made things easier that, being a peninsular nation with the city-states stretching from north to south, they had rather few neighbors. That was about to change with the arrival of the Persians.

How far had Persia progressed since the death of Cyrus the Great?

In only thirty years (530–500 B.C.E.) Persia had become the super state of the Middle East, the first true world superpower. The Persians knew nothing of China, and their sway ended at the Oxus River in Central Asia, but practically all the other nations and peoples had fallen under their banner. Even Egypt was conquered during the reign of Cyrus’ son, King Cambyses II.

Persians called their leader the King of Kings because he received tribute from the former kings of Assyria, Babylon, Israel, Egypt, and elsewhere. The Persians often left the bureaucracy of the former peoples in place, with a thin layer of Persians and Medes at the top. Given all this success, one wonders why Persia needed to conquer Greece, and the answer is simple: it did not. Greece had no precious raw materials, nothing that Persia required. Instead, the campaigns against Greece were all about mastery and dominion. The Persian leaders were bothered, sometimes incensed, that this small people, to the far west of their empire, managed to remain independent.

How did the Graeco-Persian Wars begin?

In 498 B.C.E., the Greek city-states on the west coast of modern-day Turkey rose against their Persian overlords in the so-called Ionian Revolt. The mainland Greeks naturally supported the revolt, and when it was stamped out, the Persians decided to teach them a lesson. The first Persian offensive was in 493 B.C.E., but their ships were wrecked off the northern Greek coast, and the main challenge, therefore, had to wait another few years.

In 490 B.C.E., the Greeks learned that the Persians were back, with a much larger fleet and army. The Persians were not natural sailors; they appropriated their ships and seamen from the Phoenicians, who they had conquered a generation earlier. With such a formidable combination of land and sea power, it seemed only a question of time before Greece was overwhelmed.

Which of the Greeks were first on the scene?

Athens, located on the southern side of the peninsula of Attica, was a natural target, but so was Corinth, located right at the junction between mainland and peninsular Greece. The Athenians learned, just in time, that the Persians were indeed coming to land in their area, and the runner Pheideippides was sent—with all haste—to alert the Spartans.

Examples of how Greek soldiers dressed during the time of the Graeco-Persian Wars. At left is a soldier using a sling, and at right are hoplites, or foot soldiers.

Arriving in Sparta after a run of 140 miles, Pheideippides was told that a religious festival was underway, and the Spartans could not depart until it was over. Declaring that Athens and Corinth might be laid waste, he ran the 140 miles back to Athens, where, presumably, he had a few days’ rest before heading out with the army.

Where does the modern Marathon—exemplified by the Boston Marathon—get its name?

Pheideippides and the Athenian army marched twenty-six miles to a set of hills overlooking the beach called Marathon. The Persians were drawn up on that beach, with archers, cavalry, and the support of their ships. The Athenian leaders conferred and decided to make a headlong attack and to come on the run. They rightly figured that the Persians were unused to this type of attack.

The Persians were strongest in their center, but the Athenians attacked on their wings, driving all before them. The Greek historian Herodotus claims that 6,000 Persians died, while only 192 Greeks perished. Even if this is an exaggeration, there is no doubt that the Persians were stunned by the attack. Those who survived got onto their ships, and it was at that moment that the Athenian leaders recognized the danger. Though they had been mauled, the Persians could surely sail around the peninsula faster than the Greeks could march; it was imperative, therefore, to warn the city of the danger. Pheideippides was asked to make one more, supreme effort.

How did Athens escape the danger?

Pheideippides ran the entire twenty-six miles back to the city. He had run 140 miles to Sparta, 140 miles back. He had marched with his comrades to the beach and fought in an intense battle. Now he was asked to run once more, and he performed admirably. Tradition has it that Pheideippides reached the northern gates and shouted that the battle had been won but that danger still remained. At that moment, he died.

Historians and athletes alike have long raised their eyebrows when first told the Pheideippides story. Could one person really do all that running, and fighting, and still have enough gas in the tank—figuratively speaking—to go the last twenty-six miles? Many of these doubts were put to rest in the first decade of the twenty-first century, when Californian Menares ran 262 miles without stopping, over a period of three days. Subsequent investigations turned up a small tribe of Mexican Apaches who routinely run over one hundred miles, and do so with the skimpiest of footwear.

Who gained the most over the next decade?

Athens, for certain. The other Greek city-states participated in the joyous celebrations, but the greatest glory, by far, went to Athens and its people. A new leader, too, emerged during that decade. His name was Themistocles, and he became the primary spokesman for Athens. When the Athenians stumbled on a silver strike in 483 B.C.E., Themistocles persuaded them to spend the treasure on building more warships rather than beautifying the city. He rightly suspected that the Persians would return.

What does Thermopylae mean?

The word has since come to stand for freedom and an inspired fight against great odds, but its original meaning was hot gates. There were some warm water springs close by.

Leonidas and his 300—who had been joined by roughly 7,000 Greeks from other city-states—took up a defensive position at Thermopylae, with the mountains on their left flank and the sea on their right. This was a good strategy, but when the Persians arrived, it seemed utterly hopeless. Even though he had lost men to sickness and disease, Xerxes could still throw at least ten times as many as the defenders.

Why did the Persians make such a grand appearance in 480 B.C.E.?

This time, the King of Kings, Xerxes I, led the Persian army. The historian Herodotus claims that there were three million Persians, but even a figure one-tenth that large would still be an exaggeration; there simply wasn’t enough food to supply that many.

Angered by the Persian repulse at Marathon, Xerxes planned a grand campaign, bringing almost 1,000 Phoenician ships, as well as his host. The Persians crossed the Hellespont and entered Thrace on their way to Greece. The Greeks knew they were coming, and appeals again went out from Athens to all the other city-states. This time, Sparta claimed it was not ready to field its army, but King Leonidas declared he would bring 300 of his best fighting men to northern Greece. That seemed like a mere drop in the bucket, but the Spartans were great warriors.

What was the fighting like?

We have no eyewitness accounts but can surmise that it was extremely thick and heavy. Three times, Xerxes threw Persian troops at the Greeks, and each time they were repulsed. The last attempt was made by The Immortals, Xerxes’ hand-picked bodyguards, but they, too, were turned back. Xerxes knew he could prevail over time, but he was in a hurry. His enormous army required food supplies, and the land just beyond Thermopylae was ripe for the picking. And then, just when everything was at its most difficult, the Persian monarch received a break. A traitor came forth.

Ephialtes, a goat herder, offered to lead the Persians through a mountain trail that would position them behind the Greek position. A large section of Xerxes’ army set out on that way, while the rest stood and glared at the Greeks, with neither side making any attack. Just when the trap was about to be sprung, King Leonidas learned of the Persian maneuver. He asked, and then commanded, the 7,000 Greek allies to make haste and escape, while he and his 300 Spartans remained and fought to the last man.

Where did the Persians go after their victory at Thermopylae?

It was a very expensive victory: 10,000 Persians were killed, wounded, or went missing. The slaughter of the Spartans opened the way to Attica, however, and within a month, Xerxes and his generals were in Athens. The King of Kings was astonished to find almost no Greeks in the city: they had been evacuated, by boats, to the nearby island of Salamis. Xerxes did the best he could, burning what parts of the city were flammable. He also released his army to burn and sack the countryside. The incomplete nature of his victory nagged at him, however, because he still had not faced the main body of the Spartans.

Themistocles, the primary leader of the Athenians, played a double game, sending messages to Xerxes, pretending to be a traitor. Themistocles informed Xerxes that the Greeks were divided because of the rivalries between the city-states (this was at least half-true) and that this was the opportune moment to send in Phoenician ships and sailors to crush the Greeks. Xerxes took the bait.

What was the Battle of Salamis like?

The 480 B.C.E. naval battle was a raging, swirling confrontation between about 600 Persian ships and 500 Greek ones. The Persians—actually manned by Phoenician sailors—had the numerical advantage, but the narrow waters in the Bay of Salamis prevented them from using this to its full extent. The Greeks and Persians exchanged ramming techniques, but the Greeks used something fairly new in naval combat: they stripped the oars of their opponent’s vessels. This was accomplished by coming close alongside the enemy ship, and, at a crucial moment, making a sharp right-hand turn. The Greek vessel, from prow to stern, would then pass by the Persian one, ripping or stripping all of its oars. The Greeks would then leave their opponent—who could no longer maneuver—and come back later, at an opportune time, to capture him.

The Battle of Salamis by nineteenth-century artist Wilhelm von Kaulbach. Although the Persians had more ships than the Greeks, it didn’t matter because the narrow Bay of Salamis made it impossible to maneuver around the Greeks, who would be victorious that day.

How decisive was the Battle of Salamis?

It was even more earth-shaking than Marathon. The Greeks captured or destroyed 300 Persian ships, meaning that Xerxes’ victory at Thermopylae was useless. Lacking an effective fleet to supply and transport his troops, the King of Kings feared being trapped in Greece. Soon after the Battle of Salamis, he led three-quarters of his army in a forced march to the pontoon bridge he had built across the Hellespont. One-quarter of the Persian army remained to sustain an active threat to Greece, but it was thoroughly defeated in 479 B.C.E. at the Battle of Plataea.

Put together, the Greek victories at Marathon, Salamis, and Plataea ended the Greco-Persian Wars. Any doubt as to Greece’s continued independence disappeared with remarkable, long-lasting effects. Historians often name Marathon and Salamis among the most important battles of world history because if the Persians triumphed, Greece would have become a province of the great empire, and the Greek contributions to science, literature, drama, and the visual arts might well have been lost.

Why did the Greeks win so often, even when they were heavily outnumbered?

The answer is threefold. First and foremost, the Greeks fought in defense of their homeland and were much more familiar with the terrain. Second, Greek troops had a strong spirit of individuality and fought with greater cleverness—as well as desperation—than their opponents. The third, often overlooked, aspect is the Greeks’ athleticism. Greek soldiers were—on average—faster and nimbler than the Persians, a quality derived in part from their interest in the science of the body.

GREEK VERSUS GREEK

Why did the Peloponnesian War begin? Was it inevitable?

According to the great historian Thucydides, it was the growing power of Athens, and the resultant envy of this power among Spartans, that brought on the Peloponnesian War in 432 B.C.E.

Whether the war was inevitable remains debatable. The Athenians demonstrated arrogance during the Greek Golden Age, and they certainly made other Greeks feel less than. Even so, negotiations, and a better understanding of what each city-state had to offer, might have staved off the war. Instead the war came, with a league of city-states led by Athens arrayed against a league led by Sparta.

Was the Peloponnesian War what we call the battle between the elephant and the whale?

By 432 B.C.E., Athens had definitely become whalelike, a great maritime power whose ships ranged over the eastern and central Mediterranean. By 432 B.C.E., Sparta was still the great land power, but the numbers of its fighting men had declined, thanks to a loss of population to other, more exciting Greek city-states. When the war commenced, most observers believed that Athens would prevail within a few years because of its fleet, its trade, and above all its treasury, which had grown in recent years.

Pericles, leader of the Athenians, expressed his war policy in the following way. Athens and its allies would surely win, he asserted, so long as they did not fight Sparta on land. When the Spartans came north, the Athenians—their countrymen included—huddled within the famous Long Walls of Athens. The Spartans could ravage the countryside all they wanted, but Athens was still supplied by sea. Using this defensive posture at home, Athens would go on the offense against Sparta’s allies, and in the end, wear them down. It was an excellent strategy, but it overlooked the law of unintended consequences.

Pericles led the Athenians with a combination of military and political skill. This is a bust of the Athenian kept at the British Museum.

What kind of plague visited Athens in the third year of the war?

Quite possibly it was the bubonic plague, which would later become a byword for horror in medieval times. One third of all the Athenians died because they were packed in the city for reasons of defense. Pericles was among those who perished.

The loss of so many people meant that Athens could not attack Sparta’s allies, and the war dragged on for a number of years, with Sparta giving better than it received. In 415 B.C.E., however, Athens found a new, charismatic leader. A kinsman of Pericles, handsome and well spoken, Alcibiades seemed like the perfect new general. Most important of all, he was vouched for by none other than Socrates, whose life he had saved in an earlier battle.

What went wrong with Alcibiades’ new plan for Athens?

Alcibiades violated a key aspect of Pericles’ former policy: to avoid unnecessary entanglements or adventures. Because the Greek city-state of Syracuse on the eastern side of the island of Sicily was a Spartan ally, Alcibiades decided to strike there. Nearly half of the Athenian fleet sailed, with 10,000 troops aboard, but Alcibiades did not go; he was deprived of his command by the city fathers almost at the last moment. Not only did the Siege of Syracuse fail, resulting in the loss of nearly all the soldiers, but Alcibiades soon turned traitor, offering his services to Sparta. In one of the most circular movements of any military leader, Alcibiades went from being an Athenian admiral to a Spartan general, but he then defected from Sparta to Persia. While considering yet another defection—this time back to Athens!—Alcibiades suffered a defeat at sea and committed suicide.

How did Sparta finally win the Peloponnesian War?

Though Alcibiades was a major disappointment to Sparta, the Spartans used his strategy, which was to seek a naval alliance with Persia. This resulted in the creation of a Persian-built fleet, manned by Spartan sailors. In 405 B.C.E., Sparta won the naval Battle of Aegospotami. As a result, Athens lost the ability to resupply its population with grain from the Black Sea, via the Sea of Marmara and the Hellespont.

Athens sued for peace, and the terms were harsh. Sparta required that the Long Walls—running from the city proper to the naval port—be pulled down. Athens had to yield practically all its war-making capacity, and at the end of the war, only one-third of the population of the city survived. Sparta’s allies wanted to go even further. They urged Sparta to kill all adult Athenian males, but that was too much, even for the elephant which had finally conquered the whale.

THE PHALANX

Given their success against the Persians, why did the Greeks need a new fighting style?

They probably didn’t. It was their own set of civil wars (Sparta versus Athens and Thebes versus Sparta) that made the rise of the phalanx necessary.

By about 350 B.C.E., the Greeks fought in this new formation, which was quite different from any which had before been seen. The phalanx was an oddly shaped, irregular rectangle, with about 300 men packed into tight ranks. Men in the outer ring carried spears, some as long as twenty-two feet. Men in the second, inner row carried shorter spears and deadly swords. The innermost part of the phalanx was composed of men who hurled rocks at the foe. All together, the phalanx formation resembled a hedgehog or a porcupine, lurching toward the foe, but in modern terms we would probably associate it with a tank.

Where was the phalanx developed?

The phalanx formation was first deployed during a set of wars between Sparta and Thebes, but it reached the peak of its development under the leadership of Philip II, king of Macedon. Philip had been a hostage at Thebes during his teenage years; there, he saw and learned the best that Thebes had to offer. Returning to Macedon, Philip developed a new phalanx, adding a new dimension, that of cavalry on both wings. As a result, the Macedonian phalanx combined speed and strength, power and flexibility.

By the time of his death in 336 B.C.E., King Philip was the master of all of Greece except Sparta. He had begun to turn his attention east, with plans to invade the Persian Empire. However, Philip was assassinated at the age of fifty-six, and his plans were carried out by his son, the remarkable person known as Alexander the Great.

Was Alexander’s childhood as tortured as we have sometimes heard?

Yes, indeed. Though he was prince and heir to the throne, Alexander lived a precarious life, alternating between the wishes and desires of his father—King Philip II—and his mother, Olympias of Epirus. These strong-willed personalities gave much to their son, particularly in terms of ambition, but his childhood was a dangerous time as he sought to adjust to their conflicting demands.

King Philip divorced his wife when Alexander was about fifteen, and there was concern that the son by his new marriage might replace Alexander as heir to the throne. Whether or not Alexander had a hand in his father’s assassination (the full truth has never come out), he doubtless suffered some guilt after his father’s death and his own elevation to the throne. Olympias was, naturally, thrilled with the developments, especially when it became clear that she would be the real power in Macedonia when her son went to invade Persia. First, however, Alexander had to deal with a rebellion in Greece.

What happened to Thebes?

At its height, Thebes was a city-state with a population of around 70,000. Today, all that remains of the city is a series of corn fields and olive groves, with almost no trace of its former glory. The culprit was the brief Theban Revolt of 335 B.C.E.

Believing that Alexander was an easier target than his deceased father, the people of Thebes rose in revolt and asked the other city-states to join them. While the issue hung in the balance, Alexander came south with his Macedonian army and utterly defeated the Thebans. He then proceeded to destroy the city, brick by brick. Tradition has it that he left exactly one house standing, which belonged to a poet whose work he admired. This display of ruthlessness was sufficient: there were no further revolts or rebellions against Macedonian rule.

ALEXANDER

How many men were in Alexander’s army?

Alexander left Macedonia in the spring of 334 B.C.E., with 35,000 infantry and 5,000 cavalry. This seems like a preposterously small number with which to commence an invasion, but Alexander—whose spies kept him informed about Persian weakness—was supremely confident. Tradition has it that he slept with a copy of Homer’s Iliad under his pillow and that he regarded himself as the new Achilles.

At twenty, Alexander was a superb combination of lean, athletic grace and razorsharp intelligence. He had been tutored for a time by the philosopher Aristotle. Alexander had no doubt that Greeks and Macedonians were superior to all other peoples and that they were meant to govern the world. At the same time, he had some rather advanced ideas about ethnic and racial harmony, believing that he would one day create a blended society of Greeks and the people they conquered.

Where was Alexander’s first battle?

Alexander performed the same passage of the Hellespont as Xerxes, but in reverse (he performed sacrifices on the Asian side, vowing to avenge Greece for the Persian invasion of 480 B.C.E.). The first three months saw only skirmishes, but the Persians gathered an army of roughly equal strength and the two sides clashed at the Battle of the Granicus (River).

The battle was fought on a dry riverbed during a time of drought, with the Greeks on the west side and the Persians to the east. Both sides struggled for possession of the riverbed, and the outcome was doubtful for hours. Then Alexander took a fall from his horse—the famed Buchephalus—and lay on the ground for several minutes (very likely, his staff performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation). The Greeks and Macedonians lost heart when Alexander went down, but when