Hamas’s shocking attack was the largest incursion into Israel since the 1973 Yom Kippur War. Lessons from that conflict shaped modern U.S. defense, and Israel’s next war could have similar effects on American military thought. While the ripples of what some are calling Israel’s 9/11 remain to be seen, there is no doubt that the world will be plunged into a period of instability that should concern all Americans, especially as the war in Ukraine rages on.
Since Russia’s February 2022 invasion of Ukraine, the Western market for lessons learned has been booming. A torrent of such commentary began only months into the conflict, to the point that Ukraine has become the U.S. defense community’s distance learning classroom. Most of these lessons involve Kyiv’s exploitation of commercial technologies, or high-level discussions on the perceived value of attrition and maneuver strategies. Senior U.S. defense officials, such as Secretary of Defense Lloyd J. Austin and Secretary of the Army Christine E. Wormuth, have commented on the need to absorb these lessons into the government’s policies and military plans.
The logic behind this movement is well founded. Russia’s attack on Ukraine is the most significant conventional ground conflict involving a major state competitor of the U.S. since the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988). Much has changed since then, especially regarding technology and the character of war, so America’s voyeuristic fascination with learning lessons is natural.
Yet three factors have received far too little attention: Ukraine’s proximity to material support from NATO, the number of human beings required to wage a conventional war and the vulnerability of technological dependency in modern warfare.
Ukraine can sustain massive expenditures of unmanned systems and munitions because it is waging a fundamentally defensive war on NATO’s border. Kyiv can replenish these losses by tapping into NATO’s significant logistical resources through its relatively secure western sector; the alliance’s members are generally united in their support for Ukraine. These advantages would be contested or nonexistent in a different environment, such as the Indo-Pacific. What works in Ukraine is therefore not universally transferable.
The second lesson concerns human mass on the modern battlefield, which, despite impressive technological advancements, remains staggering. Some historical context is in order here.
The last time the U.S. military won a war decisively against an opponent with similar capabilities, it did so at the cost of roughly 15 million Allied military deaths, including about 10 million Russians, 900,000 British soldiers, 416,800 Americans, 240,000 Polish, and 217,000 French, among others. In contrast, the failed U.S.-led operation in Afghanistan (2001-2021) used at its peak 100,000 troops to secure a country the size of France and Poland combined.
On a recent podcast with Ron Granieri of the U.S. Army War College, Army officers Col. Kent Park and Lt. Col. Stephen Trynosky discuss some alarming numbers from their research on America’s personnel reserves. In 1973, when the U.S. abolished the draft and created the all-volunteer force, it had 759,000 reservists. Today, it has 75,000. According to Park and Trynosky, perhaps less than 50,000 of them would be fit for service if called upon, and it would take six months to muster them. Israel, meanwhile, has a half-million reservists, even with a population of 9.3 million. These numbers will be essential to delivering on Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s promise of an overwhelming response to Hamas’s horrific attacks.
In Ukraine, despite Russia’s generally lackluster performance, Moscow brought forward 300,000 reserves in autumn 2022 and is now adapting to the fight. Western observers have made a habit of mocking Russian incompetence on the battlefield, but America has underestimated its opponents before, and one of war’s enduring principles is surprise. In a potential fight against China, that surprise could appear in the form of how Beijing decides to employ its two million active troops in conjunction with its half-million reservists.
The third and final lesson is an indictment of America’s inherently technological way of war.
Jan Kallberg of the Center for European Policy Analysis made a salient observation last month regarding what he called “chatty micromanagers” in the Russian Army: “Generals and colonels wanting to micromanage their troops will be identified, and their command posts targeted, and as we have seen in Ukraine, they will die.” More than 250 Russian generals, colonels and lieutenant have been killed in Ukraine since February 2022, many of them for using devices that gave away their digital signatures, such as cellphones and other forms of electronic communication.
Ironically, the U.S. military is dependent upon integrated systems that offer persistent video and voice data links on the battlefield — links that are subject to compromise against an opponent. This suggests that the United States should at least question the network-centric theories and legacy systems that it has become reliant upon over the past 50 years. Answering such questions would involve a reformation of military thought that challenges many of the assumptions underpinning concepts such as multi-domain operations and combined joint all-domain command and control.
Reliable logistics, sufficient personnel reserves, and network liberation vs. integration are inconvenient lessons because they cannot be resolved through acquisition reform, doctrinal revision or buzzwords. They require political muscle to reinforce alliances, begin hard conversations about American strength and assume risk in operational design.
These three factors are likely to play a critical role in Israel’s fight as much as Ukraine’s not because of their novelty, but because of their legacy. Tackling them is one way the Pentagon can ensure the lessons purchased with Ukrainian and Israeli blood are not squandered if the American military is once again called upon to take the test for which it studies.
Capt. Michael P. Ferguson, U.S. Army, is a Ph.D. student in the Department of History at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He is coauthor of “The Military Legacy of Alexander the Great: Lessons for the Information Age.” The views expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official policies or positions of the U.S. Army, Department of Defense or Government.