Document created: 24 March 04
Air University Review,
September-October 1972
September 18, 1947. For so long, it has all been directed toward that ultimate aim, to that one act signifying single identity, separation—and triumph. Why? To the air leaders—some had been active in World War I—an independent Air Force was what they had dreamed, planned, and aimed at for decades. Above all, it had been an act of faith.
To airmen who had participated in the long struggle, autonomy meant recognition. It meant that their vision and hard work had mattered, had paid dividends. Above all, air had a mission distinct from ground support. Autonomy equaled legitimacy for the strategic bombing mission. It was long-range bombing of the enemy’s vitals that set air apart. The European and Pacific bombing offensives of World War II made a powerful case for independence, and now strategic bombing held the promise of capturing the power of decision in modern conflict.
The air leaders also recognized that the atomic bomb was the crucial new element. Others, military and civilian, disagreed, and the American public was not certain. Leading airmen thought the bomb solidified the hold of the strategic bomber as the major delivery instrument. War had become total. This was the awesome fact. Even before the war ended, General Henry H. (“Hap”) Arnold, Commanding General, Army Air Forces, was convinced that a force in-being was necessary because no longer would there be sufficient time to mobilize. The era of come-from-behind victories was over. World War II was the last of its kind.
Arnold, General Carl A. (“Tooey”) Spaatz (who would become Commanding General, Army Air Forces, in February 1946), and Stuart Symington (to become Assistant Secretary of War for Air in January 1946) were largely confident that citizens and politicians would agree and lend their support. This meant—based on recommendations by Major General Curtis E. LeMay and others—structuring an atomic striking force. It would not be easy. Involved was a combination of public understanding and support along with technical, organizational, and command skills. Despite the atomic experience of the 509th Composite Group against Japan, at war’s end the AAF was far short of having the requisite atomic expertise required to train large numbers of personnel and build major facilities. In addition, few B-29s had been modified to deliver the bomb.
There was also the Navy. The AAF would have to fight for independence and its 70-group program—approved by Lieutenant General Ira C. Eaker, Deputy Commanding General, AAF, on August 29, 1945, and by the Joint Chiefs on September 27, 1945—for the resources needed for the atomic force, and for pre-eminence in the strategic mission. Anticipating the end of the war, Robert A. Lovett, Assistant Secretary of War for Air, had observed in March 1945, “Our planning has been well done on the whole, but we must be prepared for a bitter struggle with the High Command and particularly with the Navy in getting the post-war set-up properly made so that airpower is recognized as a co-equal arm.”1 The Navy had come out of World War II convinced that in large measure its future was tied to the carrier task force. This called for larger carriers—flush-deck supercarriers—capable of accommodating heavier planes able to carry the atomic weapon.
Meanwhile, with the war in its final, decisive phase, President Truman supported unification and an independent air service. He therefore performed a role not unlike that of Winston Churchill, who as Secretary for War and Air backed Major General Hugh (“Boom”) Trenchard after World War I when the Royal Air Force’s independence was threatened by Army and Navy leaders. Truman strongly supported creation of a separate American air service; Churchill acted to save the RAF.
The President had long before been persuaded of the merits of unification and the necessity for air “parity” with the other services. Pearl Harbor was yet another indication—an especially direct and tragic example—that the American government had been stricken by organizational arthritis, causing debilitation of command and control arteries.
Planning for the postwar air organization started before the end of the war. Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall felt that the AAF’S performance had earned it a place as a separate service, and he and Arnold agreed that planning for the postwar air arm should be based on a force in-being. The Initial Postwar Air Force (IPWAF) plan, completed in February 1944, called for 105 air groups (87 to be bomber and fighter escort) and one million men. Marshall considered this unrealistic, and the second postwar plan described a 75-group force to be ready three years after Japan’s defeat. In the spring of 1945 another plan formulated an Interim Air Force of 78 groups and 638,286 men. During the summer, the size of the Interim Air Force was cut down, but an air force of 75 groups remained the AAF objective until 1948. In July 1945 still another plan (“V–J Plan”) called for 78 groups at the end of demobilization.
In August 1945, Truman directed the services to present their postwar organizational plans. Lieutenant General Ira C. Eaker, Deputy Commanding General of the AAF, Lieutenant General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, and Major General Lauris Norstad directed AAF planning, and on August 29, 1945, Eaker approved 70 air groups as the permanent force objective. In September the Joint Chiefs approved this figure, to be reached by July 1, 1946. On March 21, 1946—based on planning done by the Air Staff and discussions between Spaatz (who had replaced Arnold as Commanding General in February) and General Dwight D. Eisenhower (who had replaced Marshall as Chief of Staff of the Army)—the AAF was organized into the Strategic, Tactical, and Air Defense Commands, Eisenhower having made the point that the postwar air organization include a separate Tactical Air Command.
General Spaatz came naturally to the top post in February 1946. He had flown combat missions in World War I, served under Arnold during the lean decades between the wars, and commanded U.S. Strategic Air Forces in the European and Pacific theaters in World War II. In 1940 Arnold sent Spaatz to London to report on the RAF-Luftwaffe air war. Subsequently, commanding the Northwest African Strategic Air Force, he refined strategy and tactics. In December 1943, when Arnold sent Eaker to command the newly formed Mediterranean Allied Air Forces, he brought Spaatz back to England to command the U.S. Strategic Air Forces in Europe, under the Allied air commander, Air Chief Marshal Arthur William Tedder, and the Supreme Commander for “Overlord,” General Dwight D. Eisenhower.
Arnold appreciated Spaatz’s loyalty and competence; he could rely on him. And Spaatz vindicated his mentor’s judgment. A master of strategic planning, Spaatz directed the decisive phase of the American bombing offensive against Germany. He displayed a knack for getting along with the British, who implicitly trusted him. Churchill had argued that destruction of Germany’s industry would not be sufficient to bring victory, and the RAF Bomber Command under Air Chief Marshal Arthur Harris pursued general area bombing without wavering. But Spaatz proved adept at singling out the enemy’s vulnerable industries and destroying them. His insistence that German oil production be systematically attacked and that the Luftwaffe’s fighters be flushed out paid handsome dividends. Arnold was confident that Spaatz, with his leadership capacity, could direct the air arm to autonomy in the crucial postwar period.
As Chief of Staff and successor to the almost legendary Arnold, Spaatz’s first priority was to achieve the long-sought-after autonomy. Arnold had seen Brigadier General William Mitchell destroyed and had himself been exiled because of his views. But he had learned well; biding his time, he laid plans, met industrialists, and built forces as best he could during lean, difficult years and thus had his hands on the levers when in September 1938 President Franklin D. Roosevelt called for substantial air expansion. Then, during the war, Arnold had cooperated with General George C. Marshall, who agreed that the AAF would be given much latitude (semiautonomy, really) in wartime and independence after the war.
Arnold and Marshall developed a relationship based on mutual respect and confidence. This camaraderie began when they met in the Philippines in 1914. In 1938, after Arnold became Chief of the Air Corps, he set about educating the Army Chief of Staff in the nuances of air power, what it could accomplish under varying circumstances. He later wrote that Marshall had an extraordinary ability to comprehend and “make it part of as strong a body of military genius as I have ever known.”2 General Marshall admired Arnold’s loyalty and became a powerful backer of the air arm. “I tried to give Arnold all the power I could,” said Marshall. “I tried to make him as nearly as I could Chief of Staff of the Air without any restraint although he was very subordinate. And he was very appreciative of this.”3*
*When Arnold wrote Marshall, it was always “Dear General.” When Marshall wrote Arnold it was “Dear Arnold.” Interview, Dr. Murray Green, Office of Air Force History, with General Carl A. Spaatz, August 8, 1969.
With his vision now a blend of restraint and flexibility, General Hap Arnold became the architect of modern American air power. When the determination of others flagged, his conviction that the bombing offensive eventually would be decisive spelled the difference. Not an especially acute strategical thinker, he always emphasized the principle of concentrating massive power at the critical point thus his displeasure when he concluded that commanders, despite perhaps insurmountable problems, should be sending out more bombers. Fortunately, he had a fair measure of the diplomat’s touch and understood politics in the broad sense; consequently the Allied cause had an ideal man for its demanding task.
Arnold was a superb administrative leader, toughened—as Allen Andrews put it—”in the back rooms of war.” Deceptively unassuming and lacking creative imagination, he had an extraordinary ability to grasp and clarify an idea and drive it through seemingly interminable channels to fruition. Through the long, unfulfilled prewar years and then during the global conflict, his knowledge of American industry and his rapport with its captains proved invaluable. Ever the consummate manager and unusually competent in the scientific and technical aspects of aviation, Arnold apparently never allowed personalities or sentimentality to muddle his decisions. Despite being in poor health during the war—he suffered several heart attacks—he drove himself, and it can be said that more than any other airman he shaped the air arm and set the example with his faith, determination, and industry.
Spaatz superbly complemented Arnold, who had not seen combat in the First World War and bitterly regretted it. After commanding the First Wing of the GHQ Air Force, March Field, California, Arnold moved to Washington in 1936, became Chief of the Air Corps in 1938 upon the death of Major General Oscar Westover, and did not leave until after the war ended. He was not an innovative strategist and did not pretend to be. By contrast, Spaatz in 1918 had left his command of the Issoudun flying schools in central France and raced to the front, where in three weeks of hard combat flying he downed several planes and won the respect and admiration of young pilots serving under him. Arnold knew Spaatz to have a good grasp of strategy, of what aircraft could do and of what was required to get a tough job done. Where the Chief was a technician and logistician, Spaatz was a hard-driving operational commander and a strategist; where one was almost irascible, the other was even-tempered.
Over the years they cultivated a special rapport, often had long sessions of chess together, Spaatz learning the advantages of adaptability from Arnold. But if he could be tactful, Spaatz had also shown in 1944-45 an uncommon intransigence of purpose when it was badly needed. In 1946, he knew that the times called for extraordinary drive, stamina, and singlemindedness of purpose—all to be concentrated on the effort for independence. Arnold had turned over the reins of the Army Air Forces that he himself had largely built. Independence would be gained and the strategic mission nailed down. Based on wartime “lessons,” the two were inseparable.
Although he knew well the crucial importance that the strategic function would play, Spaatz found that Eisenhower’s support had been purchased at the price of establishing a tactical command in the postwar air organization. The former Supreme Commander, having replaced Marshall as War Department Chief of Staff, had not wavered in his support for unification. Arnold’s old friend, General Marshall, also had been a staunch supporter. So, with the reorganization of March 1946, instead of a single combat command, three functional commands were established—strategic, tactical, and air defense.
The close relationships among the top commanders of World War II were not alone shown by Arnold’s closeness to Marshall and Spaatz but also appeared between Spaatz and Eisenhower. Having ably served Eisenhower in North Africa and then in the decisive phase of the European war, Spaatz had won the unqualified respect of the War Department Chief. Eisenhower had brought Spaatz along, had nurtured his capabilities, had always called for him, and in fact had come to think of him as his air commander.
Although singlemindedly occupied with the autonomy issue, by early 1946 Arnold’s successor had come to believe that the strategic atomic force held the nation’s best hope for deterring a major war and insuring a peaceful world.
Spaatz’s views on strategic air followed the historical development of the Trenchard-Mitchell-Arnold school: Prolonged ground wars of attrition must be avoided at all costs. “Attritional war,” said Spaatz shortly after succeeding Arnold, “might last years. . . would cost wealth that centuries alone could repay and. . . would take untold millions of lives.”4 The lessons of World War II were writ clear:
Strategic bombing is thus the first war instrument of history capable of stopping the heart mechanism of a great industrialized enemy. It paralyzes his military power at the core. It has a strategy and tactic of mobility and flexibility which are peculiar to its own medium, the third dimension.5
For the future, Spaatz was convinced that another war would be decided by
strategic air power before the surface forces came into play. Consequently, we
would have to build a strategic striking force in-being that would be ready to
go “in the first crucial moment.” To Spaatz, this was the “supreme military
lesson of our period in history.”6
In 1945-1947, the airmen’s decisive fight for autonomy was set against the beginnings of the cold war. The roots of Soviet-American suspicion went back to the origins of the Bolshevik Revolution and the concomitant U.S. distrust of the revolutionary regime; America’s refusal to recognize the Soviet government until 1933; and distrust engendered by wartime relationships and the personal traits of Stalin himself. Prior to the Allied invasion of the European continent, Stalin had berated the Western Allies—and Churchill personally—for continually postponing the massive assault. Then, despite the successful invasion and $9 1/2 billion in lend-lease sent to Russia, the Soviet dictator never lost his conviction that the Allies held off the invasion in the hope that Germany and Russia would exhaust—if not finish off—each other.
Subsequently, negotiations at Potsdam and Yalta frayed the wartime alliance. And when the Soviets established control over Eastern Europe, attempted to overthrow the Iranian government, gain control of the Dardanelles, and rejected the Baruch plan for international atomic control, American hopes for a satisfactory relationship with the Soviets—within and outside the United Nations—were dashed. Also in early 1946 the U.S. government became deeply concerned over the revelation that a Soviet spy ring operating in Canada had obtained American atomic secrets. Further, after the war civil strife had erupted in China. An interim agreement between the Chinese Nationalists and Communists, worked out by General Marshall, broke down in April 1946, and by mid-1947 Chiang Kai-shek’s governmental structure was collapsing. Too, in Korea the U.S. and the Soviet Union confronted each other. Japanese troops had been disarmed north of the 38th parallel by the Russians and south of that line by American forces. Neither side was willing to gamble on a unified Korea.
Meanwhile, demobilization continued, and the U.S. military establishment that had triumphed in the war no longer existed. Not only did skilled personnel leave but aircraft and equipment fell into disrepair. Marshall, Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson, and Navy Secretary James V. Forrestal (among others) had warned against a rapid, massive military drawdown, but public and Congressional pressures understandably were too great to be resisted.
In 1947 a number of factors indicated to the airmen a historic confluence of events that could catapult the fledgling USAF to a paramount position in the national military establishment: formulation of the Truman Doctrine and the Marshall Plan, the President’s feeling that the Soviets must be dealt with firmly—they respected strength and would take advantage of weakness—acceptance in high governmental echelons of the idea of a national commitment to a strategic deterrent (to be formalized with the promulgation of NSC-20 in 1948), and signing of the National Security Act in July 1947. As important to them as was the country’s acceptance of the proposition that possession of the atomic bomb and the means of delivery provided the best avenue to deter war, the prerequisite was autonomy, coequal status with the Army and Navy.
The movement of foreign affairs gave the airmen no breather. They would have to move rapidly to prevent the Navy from encroaching on the strategic mission. Autonomy was an end and a beginning. Although it climaxed the long struggle for independence begun by Mitchell after the First World War, it also marked the beginning of another battle for resources to build a premier air force during a period of retrenchment. Decisions lay ahead that would determine the shape of the Air Force for years to come.
On January 31, 1946, Stuart Symington was appointed Assistant Secretary of War for Air. He had served as an Army second lieutenant in World War I and after the war earned a degree at Yale and began a successful business career. After World War II President Truman, impressed by his record as a businessman and administrator, offered him a choice of three posts: Assistant Secretary of War for Air, Assistant Secretary of the Navy, or Assistant Secretary of State. He chose the first and aided passage of the Unification Act through Congress. In September 1947 he became the first Secretary of the Air Force. He had already worked with General Spaatz and had come to admire his ability in technical and strategic matters. To Symington, Spaatz was “a wonderful person.”7
As Secretary of the Air Force, Symington immediately began an intensive campaign for 70 air groups. The role of chief advocate for the new service fit him well. A deep believer in air power, he was convinced it was the sine qua non of national security. Knowledgeable in air matters, managerial techniques, and Congressional relations, he immediately took command of the drive to steer Air Force requirements through Congress. “My theory in functioning as a good Secretary,” he recalled, “was for them [the military] to make the balls and I’d roll them.” As an advocate, Symington was determined “to get as much of the pie as I could for the Air Force.”8 The keys were the 70 groups and the strategic mission.
James V. Forrestal, the first Secretary of Defense, firmly believed that foreign relations could not be conducted successfully without strong military forces. After World War II, he was one of the first in the United States to recognize the Soviet threat and call for a stronger military. In early 1947 he observed that “if we are going to have a run for our side in the competition between the Soviet system and our own, we shall have to harness all the talent and brains in this country just as we had to do during the war.”9 Forrestal was a former naval officer and Secretary of the Navy, who had distinguished himself in these roles and who brought to his new position a predominantly navy-oriented staff. There was little question in the minds of leading airmen that Forrestal and his staff would attempt to block them at every turn. Had not the Secretary of Defense for a long time opposed unification and coequal status for the air service? Symington and Spaatz would have to marshal all their resources to compete against what they thought basically a “reactionary” view in the Office of the Secretary of Defense.10
Having gained independence and with a clear view of their own objectives, the air leaders debated tactics. “As with any rigorous organization freed from onerous restraint,” observed Major General Hugh J. Knerr, Secretary-General of the Air Board, “there is danger of its feeling its oats and lashing out at all obstacles at the very beginning. Such action would be a great mistake, for we simply do not have the muscle on our bones to carry through with such desires.”11 But the Congress and citizenry had to be convinced that U.S. security depended on the 70-group program. Congressmen were impressed with the record of air power in World War II. Despite postwar pressure for tax relief, they were reluctant—so soon after Pearl Harbor—to risk not voting for adequate defense.
Support came from the War Department Policies and Programs Review Board, which had been meeting since February 1947. In August its final report noted that the nation faced an “undeclared emergency,” brought about by the onset of cold war, a “situation other than traditional ‘peacetime’ but short of an immediate threat of war.” As a result of this extraordinary situation, a partial mobilization was required. The report concluded:
in light of the international situation, the traditional concepts of mobilization or conversion from a “peacetime” army to a “wartime” army were not applicable to the existing military establishment nor to the military establishment we will require in the foreseeable future.12”
The Board’s view of the kind of air power required could hardly have been more pleasing to airmen. It noted that the “favorable psychological effect of air power in being and the adverse psychological effect of the lack of air power are factors of much greater importance before the initiation of hostilities than are the state of readiness or the existence of other types of forces.”13
Nonetheless, despite the evolution of the cold war along with postwar occupation duties, the military could not expect carte blanche when it came to the budget. After all, a global war had just ended, and insistent pressure for stringent economy was therefore not unexpected. Though Congressmen did not want to be charged with neglecting national security, they were determined to scrutinize military appropriations carefully. According to one observer, with the possible exception of 1939, Congressmen “had never explored the connections between military and foreign policies so extensively in the decade and a half after 1932 as they did in 1947.”14
Militating against pressure to cut the military completely to the bone were the facts that there was no agreement on peace terms for which the war had been waged and that a Congressional consensus held that the U.S.S.R. constituted a real threat. Moreover, there existed substantial backing for a strong air arm, which many Congressmen felt would be decisive in any war and which some saw as an attractive alternative to a large draft to support universal military training (UMT).
Increasingly, Russia’s menacing behavior reinforced the air leaders’ opinion that the Soviet Union was the threat. The airmen viewed the Russians through realistic eyes: they had dealt with them during the war. When building shuttle bases, negotiating in Moscow for an Anglo-American air presence in the Caucasus, or arranging for lend-lease shipments, American air leaders found the Russians extremely difficult. After the war they had felt, like most Americans, that a lasting peace might be achieved, based on an amicable relationship between the two nations. Now that things were breaking down, pessimism and foreboding increased. Among military and government officials, the talk was of grave differences between America and Russia. Ire had mounted over the Soviets’ international intrigues; particularly galling was what appeared to be their unethical action within the United States in attempting to undermine U.S. institutions. The Russians did not play by the rules.15
The feeling of betrayal was strong. Had the Soviets ever manifested a true spirit of cooperation during the war? It was doubtful. We had gotten along because of necessity. The Russians were uncompromising. Their policy never deviated. For them, the war had not ended. Since world domination was the Communist objective, a general war was probable sometime in the next 10 to 15 years. Though the Soviets probably were not planning to attack immediately, an incident involving a satellite country might well spread to a general conflagration at any time.16
Interestingly, the Soviets had mounted a postwar public campaign calling nuclear weapons militarily insignificant. According to the Russians, atomic bombing could not force any government to surrender. Also, this was in line with their view that the Allies’ World War II strategic air offensives had accomplished little and that the Japanese surrender had been forced by the Soviet entry into the Far Eastern war. Nevertheless, during the war the U.S.S.R. asked for B-17s and never returned three B-29s that they interned in Siberia in 1944. Several years later, the Russians went into production with a copy of the B-29. Meanwhile, what of a Pax Americana? An article by one U.S. air officer mentioned “the mission of manning, training, and deploying our air strength so that it is capable ‘of defending the integrity of the United States. . . and enforcing the United States foreign policy . . . .’”17 Another airman (this one middle echelon) thought this force ought to “guarantee” we could win a war quickly, thus enabling the U.S. to “impose” terms. Lieutenant Colonel Frank R. Pancake, on the faculty of the Air Command and Staff School, wrote:
. . . we have come to the realization that if we are to have peace in our time it will have to be a Pax Americana. There has been further awakening to the fact that the instrument of Pax Americana must be Air Power, just as the instrument of Pax Britannica a century ago was sea power.18
There was talk of destroying Soviet industry and decimating her manpower. How? What price would have to be paid? If ever raised, these questions seem never to have been answered.
What was the cast of mind of these airmen? They were idealists as well as practical men, dreamers as well as technologists. Their idealism was rooted essentially in the belief that there existed rational, structured solutions to the difficult problems of the postwar world. To the charge that their view was self-serving, they might have replied that their belief in air power was not recent, that its contribution to the victory over the Axis was substantial, and that their opinion of its postwar role remained an eminently positive one—peace mainly through air strength.
Nor was this vibrant idealism rooted in a parochialism divorced from global concerns. Forgotten in the mists of the past is their record of support for the United Nations organization and their belief that it could succeed and deserved a chance to structure a feasible framework for a peaceful world order. Among the reasons given in Army Air Forces letter 47–32, June 17, 1946, why “an adequate Air Force in being is vital to the future peace and security of the United States” were these:
—To defend the U.S. and its territory with an alert force.
—To support the United Nations with adequate and effective air contingents.
—To preserve the peace until the international organization succeeds.
—To stimulate a continuing program of research and development.
—To further public understanding of air power.
—To avoid the cost of war by insuring peace.
Although a United Nations military force—including air units—was never established, this rationale for air power reflected an interesting strain in the American tradition. Throughout our history some have argued that America has a special world mission or destiny. The air leaders were not only convinced that air machines held the power of decision in modern conflict; they believed that with a strong Air Force there need not be war. With their belief in what air power could accomplish—”winning the peace,” deterring war, and making the U.N. credible by an international military force—the airmen were undoubtedly among this nation’s premier idealists.
Arnold, Spaatz, Symington, Eaker, Vandenberg, LeMay and all the rest—theirs was “a whole new military philosophy.” They were “the revolutionists” of their time, as Colonel Kenneth F. Gantz, USAF (Ret), observed.19 They lived at a historic crossroads. World War II was unique; it would never be repeated. The period 1945-47 was also singular; it would not recur. The airmen clearly foresaw that the critical mixture of air power was the long-range bomber and the atomic weapon. Were they sure of themselves, their conception of what was required for postwar security? In general, they were, but they also recognized that they would have to contend for missions and money.
Forces in-being would be absolutely necessary, replacing the American peacetime tradition against a standing military force. But a capacity to deter aggression was required. Peace through deterrence. Peace through strength.
Silver Spring, Maryland
Notes
1. Ltr, Robert A. Lovett, Assistant Secretary of War for Air, to General Carl A. Spaatz, CG, USAFE, March 25, 1945, in General Carl A. Spaatz Collection, Library of Congress, box 21 (file March 1945 personal).
2. General Henry H. Arnold, Global Mission, cited in Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall: Ordeal and Hope, 1939-1942, vol. II (New York: Viking Press, 1966), p. 85.
3. Quoted in Pogue, vol. II. p. 290.
4. General Carl A. Spaatz.,“Strategic Air Power,” Foreign Affairs, April 1946, p. 385.
5. Ibid., pp. 388-89.
6. Ibid., p. 396.
7. Flora Lewis, “The Education of a Senator,” Atlantic, December 1971, p. 56.
8. Ibid.
9. Warner R. Schilling, Paul Y. Hammond, and Glenn H. Snyder, Strategy, Politics and Defense Budgets (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), p. 142.
10. Air Force Plans Review, June 11, 1953, “A Short Summary of the Development of U.S. Air Power Since the End of World War II,” OPD 373 (January 4, 1951), Modern Military Records Center, National Archives.
11. Statement by Major General Hugh J. Knerr, Secretary-General to the Air Board September 9, 1947, in RG 340 (SAF), Air Board Interim Reports and Working Papers, file 4, box 24, Modern Military Records Center, National Archives.
12. Final Report of the War Department Policies and Programs Review Board, Washington, D.C., August 11, 1947, in RG 340 (SAF), Air Board Interim Reports and Working Papers, 1946-1948, file 2, box 22, Modern Military Records Center, National Archives.
13. Ibid.
14. Elias Huzar, The Purse and the Sword: Control of the Army by Congress through Military Appropriations 1933-1950 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1950), p. 171.
15. Presentation by the Army Staff (Chamberlain, Lincoln, Park, Trichel) to the Army Chief of Staff on postwar military establishment, September 5, 1946, in OSAF files, 1j (2), 1949, Defensive and Offensive Plans for Fighting War, Modern Military Records Center, National Archives.
16. Presentation by the Army Staff, September 5, 1946.
17. Colonel Thomas E. Moore, “Employment of Strategic Air Power,” Air University Quarterly Review, I, 4 (Spring 1948), 61.
18. Lieutenant Colonel Frank R. Pancake, “The Strategic Striking Force,” Air University Quarterly Review, II, 2 (Fall 1948), 48.
19. Interview, Thomas A. Sturm and Herman S. Wolk with Colonel Kenneth F. Gantz, USAF (Ret), Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama, February 16, 1972.
Because of the necessity to focus on a very few, the author has not meant to ignore the very many who contributed so much over the decades to the making of the United States Air Force.
Herman S. Wolk (M.A., American International College) has been with the Office of Air Force History since 1966. For seven years he was a historian for Hq Strategic Air Command. During the Korean War he served in the U.S. Army information and education program. Mr. Wolk has taught history and lectured on strategic nuclear deterrence and matters related to the cold war. His articles have appeared in Air Force and Space Digest, Military Review, and Air University Review, among others.
Disclaimer
The conclusions and opinions expressed in this document are those of the author cultivated in the freedom of expression, academic environment of Air University. They do not reflect the official position of the U.S. Government, Department of Defense, the United States Air Force or the Air University.
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