Book Reviews

  Strategy

The War for Ukraine: Strategy and Adaptation under Fire

by Mick Ryan
Reviewed by Dr. Jonathan P. Klug (colonel, US Army, retired), course integrator, Theater Army Staff Course, Center for Strategic Leadership, US Army War College

Some of my colleagues point to the Russia-Ukraine War and claim that “it’s 1938,” alluding to the last year before World War II began in Europe. They believe that ongoing war will prove to be the first phase of what will become a world war between an alliance of democracies against a coalition of dictatorial powers such as China, Iran, North Korea, and Russia. This daunting thought was in my mind as I read Mick Ryan’s superb book, The War for Ukraine: Strategy and Adaptation under Fire. The author has done a tremendous service by delving deeply into the strategies of Russia, Ukraine, and Ukraine’s NATO supporters and exploring how the Russians and Ukrainians adapted during the war—on the battlefield and institutionally.

Ryan breaks the book into two parts. In part 1, he explores strategy. Russian President Vladimir Putin was the aggressor who sought to change Russia’s status in Europe and even globally. Ryan analyzes how Putin based his strategy on poor prewar assumptions and how the Russians went “bumbling along” after their failed coup de main. Meanwhile, the Ukrainians survived and developed a theory of victory: a strategy of corrosion. Ryan delves into how American and NATO strategies can effectively support the Ukrainians and addresses the strategic leadership of the two belligerents, including how they each use narratives as part of their efforts. Ryan demonstrates how Volodymyr Zelensky, like Winston Churchill, mobilized language to keep his cause alive in its darkest hour. He also explores Putin’s efforts. The last chapter of part 1 reviews seven strategic lessons from the Russia-Ukraine War:

1. strategy matters,
2. strategic assumptions drive success and failure,
3. leadership and will are essential,
4. strategy and influence are indivisible,
5. integration is vital,
6. national resilience underpins national strategy,
7. and strategy must constantly adapt.

The last lesson foreshadows the next half of the book.

Part 2 focuses on adaptation during the Russia-Ukraine War and offers larger points on adaptation for future wars. Drawing on the extensive literature about military adaptation, Ryan explores Russian and Ukrainian adaptation. Although initially slow, the Russians improved their adaptability on the battlefield and beyond, building up an oft-neglected military and industrial base. The Ukrainians had been preparing for this war since 2014 with support from the West. They were ready to adapt much faster and more effectively, driven by their view of the war as an existential one. The last chapter explores several observations on adaptation, including the importance of effective learning cultures and adaptation as more than just technology, both of which the Ukrainians have demonstrated admirably.

Ryan’s conclusion, which stands apart from the book’s two earlier sections, provides an understanding of both the Russia-Ukraine War and future war. He offers seven continuities for Ukraine:

1. Humans are central to war,
2. the importance of surprise,
3. alliances and partnerships,
4. strategy matters,
5. the necessity of leadership,
6. industrialization of war, and
7. adaptation yet again.

These points lead smoothly into Ryan’s exploration of how the Russia-Ukraine War is changing the character of war. On page 220 he argues, “The war in Ukraine has resulted in innovative combinations of old and new warfare techniques.” These techniques include meshed civil-military intelligence, strategic influence operations, and autonomous weapons. Thus, the Russians and Ukrainians are learning costly lessons about the character of war for the next decade or more.

As far as historical analogies go, no one can know if the war for Ukraine will be a stand-alone conflict or if it will be a preliminary phase of a larger war. I have long agreed with many commentators that we seem to be in a period similar to the interwar years of 1918–39. Some see parallels between 1938 and now—meaning that we are on the threshold of world war. Others point to the grinding attrition of World War I trench warfare and seesawing offensives in the Ukraine. However, I see a parallel between the military adaptation in the Russia-Ukraine War and the Spanish Civil War (1936–39). In the Spanish Civil War, the Germans supported, equipped, and fought with the Spanish Nationalists, and the Soviets similarly sided with the Republicans. Both the Germans and Soviets learned and adapted from this experience and were better prepared for World War II. For the Russia-Ukraine War, as Ryan argues, the Russians and Ukrainians are learning and adapting but so are NATO, China, and other observers.

The War for Ukraine is essential reading for civilian and military national security professionals. The strength of the book is Ryan’s unique blend of experience, education, and access. He is a retired general officer with extensive operational experience, professional military education, and several visits to Ukraine. His analysis of strategy is penetrating and insightful, and his detailed exploration of adaptation is outstanding, especially given the challenges in sifting through the information and misinformation of the ongoing war.

Naval Institute Press, 2024 ▪ 360 pages ▪ $30.28

Keywords: Russia-Ukraine War, World War I, World War II, NATO, Russia

How to Fight a War

by Mike Martin
Reviewed by Colonel Chase Metcalf (US Army), assistant professor, Department of Military Strategy, Planning, and Operations, US Army War College

Current member of the British Parliament, former British Army officer with Afghanistan experience, and Senior Visiting Research Fellow at Kings College London’s War Studies Department, Dr. Mike Martin delivers what he terms a “reference guide for the Commander in Chief” in How to Fight a War (3). The result is far more and will serve as an accessible primer for aspiring national security professionals and senior leaders seeking to understand the basic principles of employing violence to prosecute wars successfully.

Martin structures his analysis in three parts, beginning with warfare’s “intangible fundamentals”—strategy, logistics, training, and morale. In this section, he emphasizes that “strategy is supreme above all else” and argues that “the single most important thing that the leader of any military force must do is to develop a realistic strategy” (6, 13). His frank discussion of the cold-blooded calculus required of wartime leaders—whether sacrificing troops or accepting prolonged humanitarian suffering to achieve more enduring strategic outcomes—reflects the harsh realities of war.

In the second part, Martin examines the different domains in which wars are fought—land, maritime, air, space, cyber, and information—and nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons. As a former Army officer, Martin emphasizes the “primacy of the land domain” in determining strategic outcomes (95). While this position will provoke debate, his reasoning is pragmatic—war is a human endeavor, and humans live on land. Thus, throughout history, wars have been decided by imposing order (or a leader’s will) on an adversary in the land domain (96). Critics might argue that Kosovo and Afghanistan, at least during the early phases, disprove this point. However, Martin would likely retort that it was the threat of ground forces in Kosovo that was decisive. And, the initial success in Afghanistan relied on land forces supported by airpower, but the mission also failed to achieve an enduring outcome.

Notably, Martin acknowledges the importance of the other domains, stating, “You cannot win a war without them. Nor could you win a war by relying only on other domains” (96). At various points, Martin highlights the value of air, maritime, and space superiority as well as the significant effects cyber and information warfare can have on enemy psychology . . . “the main target in warfare” (140). Ultimately, Martin acknowledges that victory demands the integration of effects across multiple domains—a perspective that aligns directly with US doctrine and the Joint war-fighting concept outlined in Joint Warfighting, Joint Publication 1, vol. 1.

In the final section, Martin examines how to use the building blocks outlined in the previous sections to “defeat an enemy army in the field” (179). He emphasizes the importance of understanding the nature and type of war in which one is engaged; the critical importance of aligning goals, actions, and strategic narrative; and the necessity of combined arms maneuver across domains. The book concludes with brief but pointed observations about war termination and artificial intelligence’s potential to alter the fundamental nature of war.

Martin’s work is particularly valuable for its clarity and accessibility. He skillfully employs historical examples to illustrate key concepts and bring ideas to life. He also covers topics ranging from the tactical to the strategic to illustrate the links between action at all levels of war. While seasoned military professionals will find most (or all) of the content familiar, the book’s strength lies in its systematic organization and articulation of foundational principles for success in war.

The text’s primary limitations are its lack of references and limited theoretical engagement. However, this approach serves Martin’s apparent goal of providing an actionable “how-to” guide rather than an academic treatise. Moreover, his arguments align well with current US military thinking about warfare at the conflict end of the competition continuum. This last point is critical, as Martin is clearly focused throughout on war and not competition below the level of armed conflict.

How to Fight a War succeeds beyond its stated aim of being a commander-in-chief ’s reference guide. It is an invaluable primer for aspiring military professionals and policymakers to understand how modern militaries fight and win wars. In an era of increasing great-power competition, Martin provides a baseline for understanding the fundamentals of strategy and warfare essential to achieving strategic outcomes in war.

Hurst & Company, 2023 ▪ 249 pages ▪ $17.92

Keywords: Joint war-fighting concept, strategy, warfare, logistics, training, morale

Dr. Seuss and the Art of War: Secret Military Lessons

edited by Montgomery McFate
Reviewed by John Erickson, senior engineer, Axiom Technologies
©2025 John Erickson

Why write another book on strategy, and why focus on Dr. Seuss? It is recognized that we live in extremely turbulent times; Fareed Zakaria describes our era as “one of the most revolutionary ages in history” (Fareed Zakaria, Age of Revolutions [W. W. Norton, 2024], 8). Navigating this revolutionary age with sound strategic-level decision making means that military leaders and their civilian counterparts will need quality insights to draw from. This need is why the publication of Montgomery McFate’s Dr. Seuss and the Art of War: Secret Military Lessons is so important.

The authors argue persuasively (and with more than sufficient evidence) that Dr. Seuss (Theodore Seuss Geisel) encoded secret military and grand strategic lessons into his children’s stories. Those lessons do not just pop out of the pages, however—readers must be observant and critical, willing to look beyond a surface-level reading of his stories. “Just as Sun Tzu’s oracular pronouncements of archaic principles of warfare must be decoded to fully understand their meaning, Dr. Seuss books require cryptoanalysis to decode the hermetic military wisdom they contain” (3). The contributors, 14 national security experts from US war colleges, academia, and think tanks, assist McFate in connecting Geisel’s background and life experiences to his literature. Then, the authors reverse engineer Geisel’s stories, using logic and evidence, to prove McFate’s thesis. More than that (and most importantly), they apply their results to geopolitical security issues facing the world today.

In part 1, the introduction, McFate explains who Geisel was and demonstrates his capability and experience encoding such a complex subject into his stories. Geisel worked in government propaganda before becoming a children’s author. He drew political cartoons targeting totalitarianism (7–8). Then, he created propaganda films during World War II while serving in the US Army’s information and education division (8). Lastly, he experienced combat in World War II, surviving behind enemy lines during the Battle of the Bulge, where the British rescued him (10).

In part 2, “Bounding the Subject,” Antulio J. Echevarria II addresses Geisel’s broad knowledge of strategy tied to root-cause analysis in a story called I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew: “The protagonist’s efforts to solve problems as they arise, rather than dealing with their root causes, only results in more of them” (25). In another example, applying Seuss’s idea of “The Great Balancing Act” found in Oh, the Places You’ll Go!, Saadia M. Pekkannen argues that “the United States ought to develop a grand strategy for outer space,” writing: “A grand strategy is necessary now to address the deeply intertwined processes of democratization, commercialization, and militarization. Without a grand strategy to contain these forces, the weaponization of space becomes more likely” (54).

In part 3, “Specialized Domains of Warfare,” the authors address specialty topics such as environmental security, cyber warfare, political propaganda, authoritarianism and resistance, and decision making in national security and intelligence. For example, Jon R. Lindsay and Michael Poznansky argue that The Cat in the Hat has applications to cyber warfare: “the Cat’s initial entry, followed by the unbundling of Thing One and Thing Two, is illustrative of how staged operations are conducted in cyberspace. . . . [C]yber perpetrators cover their tracks, giving rise to the challenge of establishing attribution” (102).

In another example, Genevieve Lester, John Nagl, and McFate discover lessons for each of the hunches in Hunches in Bunches. For example, in one of the hunches, called the “Homework Hunch,” they conclude: “Strategic intelligence implies a depth of knowledge about other societies beyond mere technical knowledge of weapons systems or order of battle” (174–75).

In another essay, Kevin P. Eubanks, interacting with one of Geisel’s cartoons called Private Snafu, reminds readers that Geisel was an expert in government propaganda; perhaps this point is the most poignant for readers to consider as they wrestle with the book’s thesis. “There is in fact widespread agreement that the bulk of Geisel’s artistic and literary output is propagandist in nature” (129). Additionally, this chapter raises moral philosophy questions about the role of propaganda in the military and in general. What distinguishes education from propaganda? Is propaganda antithetical to democracy? Eubanks addresses these and other questions in the case study.

In part 4, “Theories of Warfare,” the authors explore “luck” in war, ponder engaging with Carl von Clausewitz, and examine how Dr. Seuss understands deterrence and escalation. For example, Erich Henry Wagner and McFate argue that Dr. Seuss’s concept of luck aligns with Clausewitz’s primary trinity (not to be confused with Clausewitz’s secondary trinity: the people, the government, and the Army). “Clausewitz described war as a trinity consisting of ‘primordial violence, hatred, and enmity, which are to be regarded as a blind natural force . . . The theory of luck inherent in Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? aligns well with Clausewitz’s conception of luck” (214).

In part 5, “Consequences of Warfare,” McFate argues that How the Grinch Stole Christmas connects to Geisel’s post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms: “Recovery from PTSD demands the restoration of honor through acts of redemption (whether a symbolic reversal, a communal ritual, or the affirmation of joy). Perhaps by writing a children’s book called How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Ted Geisel attained his own personal redemption” (278).

The small snippets above provide a glimpse of the book’s great content. The issues that keep American leaders up at night most likely deal with extremely complex strategic decisions. The contributors’ analyses are useful because they are written for readers trying to make sense of the “revolutionary age” (which has domestic and international implications) we live in. McFate’s book is not a lighthearted grouping of vignettes that vaguely connect to Dr. Seuss stories—quite the opposite. It is a thoughtful, well-researched volume for serious students of strategy. The contributors’ lessons alone make the book valuable; it is almost incidental that Geisel subversively hid strategy in his stories. The contributors do a superb job unveiling those lessons to the public and applying them to today’s contexts.

While any modern strategy book is likely not a replacement for Thucydides, Sun Tzu, or Clausewitz, McFate’s book is unique in that it uncovers lessons derived from children’s stories. The all-time strategy greats did not write their works in such a veiled form, hoping they would be decoded after they were dead, but because Dr. Seuss used the genre of story as a pedagogical device, he likely made military strategy digestible to a wider audience. Get the book—and reflect on the content. It is a great addition to the bookshelves of military leaders at the field-grade level or higher, students of strategy and statecraft, and practitioners across the US Intelligence Community.

Rowman & Littlefield, 2024 ▪ 349 pages ▪ $32.00

Keywords: Dr. Seuss, Theodore Seuss Geisel, strategy, post-traumatic stress disorder, warfare

  Military History

Origins of the Just War: Military Ethics and Culture in the Ancient Near East

by Rory Cox
Reviewed by Dr. Pauline Shanks Kaurin, Stockdale Chair in Professional Military Ethics and professor, College of Leadership and Ethics, US Naval War College
©2025 Pauline Shanks Kaurin

Arguably, only when a society seriously considers the possibility of defeat can it fully engage with military ethics. Being forced to consider one’s fate in defeat may encourage a greater sense of empathy and restraint (197).

Rory Cox, in his Origins of Just War: Military Ethics and Culture in the Ancient Near East, has assembled an impressive tome of meticulously researched and historically grounded material to support his exploration of three Near East ancient cultures—Egyptian, Hittite, and Israeli—and how they engaged the relationship between ethics and war. His conclusion is well stated: “in its presumption in favour of war, ancient just war thought is best described as jus pro bello. Further, I posit that a more accurate understanding of the ancient origins of just war thought provides lessons about how we should think about and apply just war theory in a modern context” (2). A core aim of the book, taken up in the conclusion, is to examine insights this exploration and documentation of just war in the ancient Near East might have for contemporary debates and discussions.

I focus on the broader philosophical issues (and will leave the assessment of the historical sources and methods to others), highlighting themes of interest to both academic and lay readers with an interest in just war.

First, claims of political authority are central to all three societies, but Cox stresses the roles that pragmatism and prudence played in moderating and providing restraints, especially for jus ad bellum considerations (4–5). He observes that there is not much in the way of jus in bello limitations that are consistently adhered to, but he does note the origin of some of these things that will appear later.

Second, the role of the divine in leadership (especially in kingship) is worth considering in some depth since it strongly informs the just war accounts, especially the account of justice that is operational. This role varies across the three cultures, but there are interesting connections along with the tensions.

Third, in this vein, contemporary just war often seeks to distinguish itself from holy war ways of thinking, but Cox notes that the distinction between these two is emerging and not the same as contemporary scholars might have it, especially in terms of who the combatants are and the role of the divine and human agency (97). Fourth, the theme that only complete victory can guarantee justice—a core idea for Egyptian thought—seems to resonate in a different way for Israel, where justice is rooted in its identity as the chosen people and their relationship to the Yahweh (137). This idea of justice also seems to undermine the potential of jus in bello limitations in ways that contemporary readers will recognize as familiar from the global war on terrorism. Fifth, the role of rebellion and putting down rebellion (internally and externally) is fascinating and critical as a just cause in all three accounts and could certainly be related to discussions of war as punishment and preventive war in the current context (213). Finally, as the opening quote highlights, Cox argues that the Hittites were the first who were actually doing military ethics as such; he highlights the meaning of defeat in this discussion of military ethics, which has important implications for contemporary military ethics (266).

Overall, this deeply researched and carefully argued book is an impressive contribution to the just war literature and includes a variety of disciplinary perspectives including philosophy, religion, art, history, sociology, and international relations. The discussions of the roles of pragmatism and prudence give a realist-adjacent flavor that will interest readers more focused on international relations, military history, and politics. Cox provides compelling insights in his conclusion on applications to contemporary just war, but there are also touchpoints that students of current geopolitics in the region will find instructive for reflection on current events. This book will be of interest and accessible to academics, practitioners, and general interest readers alike; it reminds us about the value of broadening our philosophical arguments with the influence of history, religion, law, and culture.

Princeton University Press, 2023 ▪ 536 pages ▪ $45.00

Keywords: jus ad bellum, jus in bello, just war, military ethics, religion

Into the Void: Special Operations Forces after the War on Terror

edited by James D. Kiras and Martijn Kitzen
Reviewed by Eric Robinson, special operations researcher, RAND Corporation

The end of the war on terrorism sparked a relentless yet often monotone debate within the special operations community over its relevance in a world dominated by peer competitors and potential high-end conflict. For a community so transformed by two decades at the forefront of global expeditionary counterterrorism, it seems natural that changes are in store again for the special operations forces (SOF) enterprise. Yet, much of the current debate over SOF roles in strategic competition starts from the assumption that its size, shape, and structure are worth preserving.

Taking a refreshing approach, James D. Kiras and Martijn Kitzen assemble an impressive array of experts in the edited volume, Into the Void: Special Operations Forces after the War on Terror. They present a positive, forward-looking vision of what makes special operations forces unique and explore how the SOF enterprise’s character, concepts, and capabilities can—and must—evolve.

Central to this vision is the premise that special operations forces are not meant to be elite; rather, they are meant to be special. This argument stands in stark contrast to the prevailing image of special operators in the war on terrorism as Spartan-like warriors on the leading edge of tactical war-fighting expertise. While such framing has been (rightfully) criticized by others, Into the Void identifies the most harmful side effect of this warrior-first ethos—it inaccurately conflates the importance of special operations forces’ adaptability and agility with the outcome of the last, most ambitious transformation into an elite find-fix-finish force over the last 20 years.

The book’s mix of contributors—including academics and practitioners from a mix of countries and backgrounds—make a strong case that special operations forces should be boldly transformed toward operating in a peer-dominated security environment and that the SOF enterprise is uniquely capable of adapting to reduce uncertainty and deliver effects that cannot be addressed through conventional military action alone. The editors offer ample historical evidence to make this case, including chapters exploring early Australian and British experimentation in counter-subversion efforts in the Indo-Pacific in World War II (by Andrew Maher) and the mechanics of state and non-state actor development of novel special operations capabilities to overcome novel hard problems (by Ian Rice and Craig Whiteside). Similarly, Troels Burchell Henningsen makes a clear argument for special operations forces’ ability to maintain a “volatile alignment” of proxies that has borne out well in the history of successful SOF-led coalitions of fragile proxies in Bosnia, Iraq, Syria, and even occupied France in World War II (20).

Into the Void also presents a range of new operational concepts through which special operations forces can experiment. Pierre Jean Dehaene proposes a localization strategy that reimagines military assistance in frontline states as partner-driven, not just partner-centric. Thomas R. Searle makes the case for enduring counterterrorism assistance to partners as a democratic counterweight against Chinese and Russian autocratic expansion that stands ready to take its place. Ben Gans, Leo Blanken, and Robert Stelmack argue for SOF operators’ unique potential as multidomain integrators of physical, virtual, and cognitive effects.

Helpful deep dives into adversary thinking include Christopher Marsh, who explores likely future Russian conceptions of the gray zone through maskirovka (deception). David Kilcullen similarly breaks down Chinese organization and thinking about future roles for special operations forces in similar environments.

One challenge raised throughout Into the Void, albeit never fully settled, is how best to anchor the SOF enterprise’s core value proposition for agility and adaptation in future defense strategy to harness its full potential. Several contributors note the growing dichotomy between increased operational demands placed upon the SOF enterprise and downward budgetary pressures for these forces to demonstrate their value vis-à-vis China and Russia, and in response, propose a range of potential SOF missions to help, for example, counter Chinese coercion in the Indo-Pacific or bolster resilience in Europe’s high north. Such menus of static options largely undersell the SOF enterprise’s real potential as dynamic campaigners. Instead of options, further work is needed to develop and articulate strategies for the agile employment of special operations forces in time and space to expand decision space for policymakers.

Overall, the book’s emphasis on adaptation and transformation remains its most important contribution and one that should resonate with policymakers and military leaders looking to move beyond simply defending the enterprise as it exists today and toward unleashing the enterprise to transform to meet the next generation of threats.

Oxford University Press, 2024 ▪ 394 pages ▪ $59.99

Keywords: special operations forces, war on terrorism, elite, Indo-Pacific, World War II

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