The Rest Is History
Published 5 Jun 2025This is the final episode of our series on Hannibal, which is the second season on Carthage, the whole series is here: Rome Vs Cathage
Part 1 of our series on Hannibal is here: Hannibal: The Rise of Rome’s Greatest Nemesis
How did the Battle of Cannae — one of the most important battles of all time for Ancient Rome, with a whole Empire at stake, and a reputation that had reverberated across the centuries — in 216 BC, unfold? What brilliant tactics did Hannibal adopt in order to overcome the Roman killing machine, with its vast numbers and relentless soldiers? Why did so many men die in such horrific circumstances? And, what would be the outcome of that bloody, totemic day, for the future of both Carthage and Rome?
Join Tom and Dominic for the climax of their epic journey through the rise of Hannibal, and his world-shaking war against Rome, in one of the deadliest rivalries of all time.
00:00 Context to the battle
08:30 Prelude to the battle and their plans of attack
37:28 The battle
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August 2, 2025
The Bloody Battle of Cannae | Animated(ish) Episode
July 27, 2025
Day Nine – Hitler’s Halt Order and Tragedy at La Ferté – Ten Days in Sedan
World War Two
Published 26 Jul 2025May 18, 1940. Our coverage of the German blitzkrieg in France continues. Today, we take a break from the panzers for a spot of old-fashioned siege warfare. At Ouvrage La Ferté, a small garrison of French troops makes a doomed last stand against overwhelming German firepower. We follow their final hours, the decisions that sealed their fate, and what their sacrifice meant for the collapsing French front.
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July 26, 2025
The unaffordable luxury of a second-best army
At History Does You, Secretary of Defense Rock considers the downfall of Prussia’s vaunted army at the hands of Napoleon in a blink-of-the-eye campaign in 1806:
“Prussian wounded and stragglers leaving battle [after the battles of Jena and Auerstadt]. The mortally wounded Duke of Brunswick is the prominent figure in the painting.”
Painting by Richard Knötel (1857–1914) via Wikimedia Commons.
A vain, immoderate faith in these institutions made it possible to overlook the fact that their vitality was gone. The machine could still be heard clattering along, so no one asked if it was still doing its job.1
– Carl von Clausewitz on Prussia in 1806In the autumn of 1806, the Kingdom of Prussia, “The Iron Kingdom”, suffered one of the most rapid and humiliating military defeats in modern European history.2 The twin battles of Jena and Auerstedt shattered not only its army but the myth of invincibility that had surrounded the legacy of Frederick the Great. For the young Carl von Clausewitz, then a junior officer in the collapsing Prussian forces, this moment marked a personal and national catastrophe that would shape his life’s work. Clausewitz would come to see the defeat not simply as a failure of generalship or tactics, but as the exposure of a more profound institutional and societal crisis; one in which a state had grown complacent, a military rendered obsolete, and a society stripped of civic vitality falling apart during “the most decisive conflict in which they would ever have to fight”.3 In that collapse and Clausewitz’s later reflections, one finds an unsettling parallel to present-day America, a powerful nation outwardly strong, yet increasingly vulnerable to the same internal rot.
Prussia’s disaster in 1806 was the formative experience for the author of On War. How the armies of Frederick the Great and the state that he painstakingly built collapsed like a house of cards was a question that bothered Clausewitz for many years.4 It was a comprehensive disintegration of a system that had, since the mid-eighteenth century, claimed a position of prominence in European military affairs based on its discipline, linear tactics, and centralized command. Yet by the turn of the nineteenth century, these very strengths had calcified into weaknesses. Clausewitz foresaw disaster. Even as a young lieutenant, he was already warning of the Prussian army’s growing detachment from reality. In his early writings, he criticized military exercises as highly scripted performances, lacking genuine tactical challenge, unpredictability, and creativity.5 The number of steps marched in a minute of the cadence, what awards should be placed on a uniform, how a rifle should be cleaned for parade, all of this he feared, was cultivating a “lassitude of tradition and detail”.6 Clausewitz understood that rehearsing war under artificial constraints produced not readiness but ritual. Even though he later wrote, “no general can accustom an army to war”, he worried, presciently, that when confronted by a real enemy operating under real conditions, the army would collapse, and in 1806, it did.7
Whatever reservations he may have held, Clausewitz fulfilled his duty. He led a battalion of grenadiers at the battle of Auerstedt and managed to withdraw with most of his men intact in the chaotic aftermath of defeat. His escape was short-lived; however, he was captured on October 28, 1806, and subsequently marched into captivity in France, where he would spend the next year as a prisoner.8 Napoleon’s campaigns revealed that war had been transformed: faster, larger, and fundamentally political. Clausewitz wrote, “War was returned to the people, who to some extent had been separated from it by the professional standing armies; war cast off its shackles and crossed the bounds of what had once seemed possible”.9 The levée en masse and the corps system shattered the static paradigms of eighteenth-century warfare. Yet the Prussian high command, clinging to the geometries of the past, failed to respond with imagination or speed with any kind of seriousness.
Clausewitz’s later concept of friction — the unpredictable resistance that disrupts even the best plans — emerged directly from this experience.10 The Prussian army collapsed not for lack of courage, but because its institutional mindset could not withstand the volatility of an age that demanded adaptability, political intelligence, and creative command.
1. Carl von Clausewitz, Historical and Political Writings, ed. and trans. Peter Paret and Daniel Moran (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992), 32.
2. Christopher Clark, Iron Kingdom: The Rise and Downfall of Prussia, 1600–1947 (Cambridge: Belknap Press, 2006).
3. Clausewitz, Historical and Political Writings, 81.
4. Frederick the Great ruled from 1740-1786 and is usually credited as turning Prussia from a regional power to a continental power.
5. Peter Paret, Clausewitz and the State (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976), 92-93.
6. Clausewitz, Historical and Political Writings, 36.
7. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, trans. Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), 122.
8. Partet, 126.
9. Clausewitz, Historical and Political Writings, 287.
10. Clausewitz discusses this concept in Chapter 7 in On War, 119-121.
July 20, 2025
Day Eight – Can Charles de Gaulle Save France? – Ten Days in Sedan
World War Two
Published 19 Jul 2025Ten Days in Sedan continues as our WW2 Blitzkrieg documentary follows the first serious counterblow against the German spearhead. Colonel Charles de Gaulle leads the 4th Armoured Division in an attack against the German flank. De Gaulle’s units are understrength and his assault is improvised but he catches Heinz Guderian by complete surprise. Is this just a fleeting gesture of defiance, or a new kind of French resistance?
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July 18, 2025
The Napoleonic-era Royal Navy
David Friedman on some of the aspects of Britain’s Royal Navy in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century which may be incomprehensible to modern readers who encounter it in works of historical fiction (like the books of C.S. Forester or Patrick O’Brian):
“HMS Victory in Portsmouth Harbour”
Painting by Charles Edward Dixon (1872-1934) via Wikimedia Commons.
I have read and enjoyed several series of novels set in the British navy during the Napoleonic wars, most recently one by Naomi Novik that departs a little further from history than its predecessors by providing the British and their enemies with dragons. The internal structure and the associated rules and customs of the navy seem very strange to a modern eye, yet it was a strikingly successful institution.
One feature likely to catch an economist’s eye was prize money. If a naval vessel captured a legitimate prize, an enemy warship or merchantman, and brought it back to port, the vessel and its contents were sold and the money distributed among those responsible. One large chunk went to the captain, another was distributed among his officers, a third among the crew, a fourth to the admiral under whose orders he was operating.
Another feature of the system was the role of patronage, political influence both within the navy and outside it in the career of an officer, especially a young officer. The critical step of promotion from lieutenant to captain depended in part on performance, in particular on the opinion of the captain under whom a lieutenant was serving. But it depended also on things that seem, to us, irrelevant.
One of Patrick O’Brien’s novels contains a conversation between Maturin, one of his protagonists, and a friend, a young officer of aristocratic birth. The officer has been having an affair with the separated wife of a high naval official and wants to know whether he should live openly with her. Maturin’s response is that, moral issues aside, it might be imprudent for him to offend a powerful official and so risk his future career. His friend replies that he has considered that matter but his family controls a significant number of seats in both houses of parliament and he thinks their influence will be sufficient to balance that of the man he will be offending.
Neither party sees anything strange in either the assumption that giving personal offense to someone within the bureaucracy will make it harder for a competent officer to be promoted or that having a politically influential family will make it easier; that is just part of how the system works. It was a system that produced extraordinarily successful results, a navy that, from the late 18th century to the early 20th won almost every ship to ship or fleet to fleet battle it fought at anything close to even odds.1
A third feature was the seniority system. Once a lieutenant was promoted to captain, his future rank depended only on how long he survived. His name was on the list of captains, the list was ordered by strict seniority, and the next captain to be promoted to admiral would be the one at the top of the list. When two or more captains were working together it was the senior who commanded. That provided an unambiguous rule for allocating command, since every captain knew where he was on the list and knew, or could readily find out, where any other captain was. But it was a rule that had nothing to do with the relative competence of two officers of the same nominal rank.
Promotion beyond captain was entirely determined by seniority; what the officer got to do with his rank was not. An insufficiently competent captain who made it to admiral would end up as an admiral of the yellow, an admiral without a fleet, effectively retired on half pay. A sufficiently competent captain could be assigned particularly important duties, including the command of a group of ships with the temporary position of commodore — provided none of the other captains in the squadron was senior to him. A sufficiently incompetent captain could end up without a ship, on half pay with no chance of prize money. In peacetime, when there was no shortage of competent captains, a minor failing might do it.
[…]
Consider the case of the pre-modern British navy. Prize money was a property solution. The admiralty wanted captains to have an incentive to capture enemy merchant ships, defeat and capture enemy warships, even at risk to their lives. Most of the relevant decisions were made by the captain, so he got the largest part of the reward, but other people, including the admiral whose orders determined what opportunities the captain had to earn prize money, got some of it. A pattern that shows up in the novels, and presumably in the real history, is an admiral who puts an unusually competent and aggressive captain in places where he is likely to encounter enemy warships not because he likes the captain but because he hopes to profit from successful encounters.
Allen argues that prize money was an imperfect property solution because capturing a warship was much riskier, more likely to get the captain killed, than capturing a merchant ship, but prize money was awarded for both. One puzzle he does not consider is why the navy did not solve the problem of misaligned incentives by lowering the prize money awarded for merchant ships or raising it for warships, which should have been easy enough to do.
Allen offers the imperfect alignment of incentives, such as the temptation for a captain in a fleet action to hang back and let other ships and their captains take the risk, as a reason why the property solution had to be supplemented with elements of the other two systems. The admiralty had detailed information on what a captain did through a system of three different logs, one by the captain, one by his first lieutenant, one by the sailing master, the ship’s senior warrant officer. A captain whose career showed him to be incompetent or too inclined to go after merchant ships and avoid warships might end up spending the rest of his career on shore with no ship, hence no opportunity for prize money. A captain who declined a clear opportunity for combat with a ship of the same class was subject to trial by court martial; one admiral ended up convicted and executed for failing to pursue the enemy fleet after an engagement.
1. With the possible exception of the War of 1812.
July 16, 2025
Matt Gurney’s “Hollywood Thesis”
I almost skipped reading this one, as Matt and Jen usually keep their own columns behind the paywall, but this one is free to non-paying cheapskates like me:
… I actually think there is one way that Hollywood — and probably mass entertainment writ large — has kind of warped our society. It’s not that it has promoted degeneracy or loose morals or shameless enjoyment of vice. It’s more insidious. And probably more dangerous.
I think Hollywood has tricked us into thinking that, in an emergency, our governments will prove to be a lot more competent than they will be. And usually are.
This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I’ve mentioned it to my Line colleagues before, and I call it my Hollywood Thesis. As I see it, the broader public has fairly accurate expectations about the level of service they can expect from their government. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, but it’s mostly realistic. We basically know what we’re getting into when we, for example, drag the trash bin to the curb, or turn on a tap in the morning, or go to an emergency room because you need to get stitched up after a minor mishap.
But I’ve observed over the years an interesting exception. When the public is confronted with any kind of new or unexpected threat, people, for some reason, believe their government will have some secret ability or unexpected expertise in dealing with it. Maybe it’s a quirky scientist working in the bowels of some ministry or department. Maybe it’s an elite team of experts. Or some hidden base loaded with commandos and advanced weaponry.
Wrong. And I’ve been thinking about this. Why do we assume the same government that is, for instance, struggling to fill potholes in my city, or hire enough nurses in my province, or fix a federal payroll system, is going to be more competent when presented with something totally out of the blue? This flies in the face of all of our lived experiences with government. It’s a generous assumption of state capacity that is, to put it charitably, unearned.
So why? What explains this?
It’s Hollywood. It has to be.
Lots of smart, competent people have government jobs. One of the great joys of my career has been the opportunity to speak with many. There are shining lights of unusual competency in every department, and at every order of government, really — my colleague Jen Gerson recently told our podcast listeners about how one of these hidden gems helped her cut through a confusing and dysfunctional process so she could get a permit. And I will never get tired of saying good things about the men and women of the Canadian Armed Forces — true miracle workers we do not support enough.
But there aren’t hidden capabilities. There aren’t secret teams. The same people trying to prevent Canada Post from going on strike will be the same people handling the next pandemic — or who would be responsible for opening a dialogue if aliens decided to land their mothership in the middle of a Saskatchewan farm.
It’s within the range of possibilities that, presented with a unique challenge, government leaders could rise to meet it … as long as it’s a completely unexpected situation with no pre-existing rules or regulations or bureaucratic processes in place. I admit it’s not the way the smart money would bet, but it’s technically a possibility.
July 14, 2025
Day Seven – Ghost Division! – Ten Days in Sedan
World War Two
Published 13 Jul 2025May 16 1940: Our WW2 Blitzkrieg documentary, Ten Days in Sedan, continues as Winston Churchill arrives in Paris. The Prime Minister still has hope but he’s shocked to see the French burning documents and preparing to evacuate. Meanwhile French and German tanks slug it out in Stonne, Guderian reaches Montcornet, and Rommel leads his Ghost Division far behind French lines.
Chapters
00:00 Intro
00:58 Recap
01:38 Stonne
03:05 Panzers Drive West
07:02 New French Plan
12:23 Rundstedt’s Halt Order
16:06 Ghost Division
21:53 Churchill in Paris
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July 11, 2025
The 1st Canadian Infantry Division in Operation Husky, 10 July 1943
For Project 44, Nathan Kehler describes the role of the 1st Canadian Infantry Division as the western-most part of Montgomery’s 8th Army landings on the southern tip of Sicily:
In the days leading up to Operation Husky, the Canadian contingent suffered two major losses – one in leadership and one in logistics. Though the landings would ultimately succeed, these events cast a shadow over the operation before a single boot touched Sicilian soil.
The Death of General Salmon
On July 2, 1943, Major-General G.G. Salmon, commander-designate of the 1st Canadian Infantry Division for the Sicily campaign, was tragically killed when his Hudson aircraft crashed near Barnstaple, Devonshire, shortly after takeoff from Hendon Airfield. Also on board were several senior officers, including Rear-Admiral P.J. Mack, the Canadian naval force commander, and Lt.-Col. C.J. Finlay, the newly appointed senior logistics officer for the division. All were killed.
Major General Guy Simonds, commanding 1CID.
General Salmon had been hand-picked to lead Canada’s first major amphibious campaign. His death, just days before the invasion, shook the command structure. With no time to replace him formally, Major-General Guy Simonds was appointed in his place. Simonds was known for his drive, discipline, and tactical focus. The loss of Salmon meant an abrupt shift in leadership style and planning assumptions on the eve of battle.
Sinking of Canadian Troop Ships
Only days later, Canadian forces suffered another blow. Between 4–5 July, as convoys moved across the Mediterranean from North Africa toward Sicily, Axis submarines attacked Allied shipping near the Algerian coast. Three ships were torpedoed: the St. Essylt, City of Venice, and Devis.
While the first two sinkings resulted in relatively few casualties, the loss of the Devis was severe. Carrying 261 Canadian troops, the ship was hit and engulfed in fire. Fifty-two Canadians were killed, with many trapped in the holds below deck. In total, the convoy lost over 500 vehicles and 40 guns, along with critical headquarters and signals equipment. Divisional Headquarters suffered particularly heavy equipment losses, forcing last-minute improvisation in communications and command coordination.
Despite these losses, the Canadian Division adapted quickly, and the operation went forward as planned. These early setbacks, however, underscore the high cost and uncertainty of even reaching the battlefield in the Second World War.
Canadian Beaches
On 10 July 1943, the 1st Canadian Infantry Division landed in southeastern Sicily as part of Operation Husky – the Allied invasion of Europe’s “soft underbelly.” The division’s assault was split across two main beaches: “Roger” Beach to the east and “Sugar” Beach to the west of the village of Le Grotticelle. These beaches formed the right flank of the British Eighth Army’s landings.
General Simonds’ plan for the Canadians was a two-brigade front:
- The 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade would land on Roger Beach and push inland to destroy a coastal battery near Maucini, seize the Pachino airfield, and establish contact with nearby British forces around Pachino town.
- The 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade would land on Sugar Beach, clear beach defences, support the adjacent British Special Service Brigade landing on the far left, and advance north past the Pantano Longarini marshes.
- The Special Service Brigade (British Commandos) would land west of Punta Castellazzo, eliminate enemy resistance in their zone, and cover the Canadians’ western flank from elevated ground north of the marshes.
The landings were scheduled for 2:45 a.m., with Commandos hitting the shore ten minutes earlier. Objectives were clear: knock out coastal defences, secure strategic positions, and quickly link up with Allied forces to expand the beachhead.
The Landings
Despite rough seas from a storm the day before, the landings went ahead as planned in the early hours of 10 July 1943. Just after 1:00 a.m., British Commandos began landing west of the Canadian sector, encountering only light resistance. By 1:34 a.m., the 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade – the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada and Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry – were heading for Sugar Beach under covering fire from naval guns, including the 15-inch guns of HMS Roberts.
Navigation errors caused the Seaforth Highlanders to land to the right of the Patricias, reversing their intended order. But the heavy surf helped carry landing craft over a false beach, and both units came ashore with minimal opposition. They quickly cleared light beach obstacles and scattered Italian machine-gun posts. By 3:00 a.m., both battalions had successfully landed and were advancing inland toward their objectives.
On Roger Beach, however, the 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade faced delays. Their assault relied on DUKWs and landing craft (LCTs) arriving from Malta. When these were delayed, Brigadier Howard Graham initiated a backup plan, switching to Landing Craft Assault (LCAs). Confusion and the heavy swell caused further delay, with some units landing as late as 5:30 a.m. – nearly three hours behind schedule.
Despite the setbacks, the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment and the Royal Canadian Regiment landed successfully. The Hastings had one reserve company land 5,000 yards off target in the Commando sector but regrouped without major issue. Both units met minimal resistance. The RCR encountered light shelling from the Maucini battery, but naval gunfire quickly silenced it.
By 6:45 a.m., all three lead brigades had secured their assigned beachheads, with support units and armour – including Shermans from the Three Rivers Regiment – beginning to land. The 48th Highlanders of Canada and The Edmonton Regiment followed their respective brigades ashore, some accompanied by pipe bands.
Opposition during the landings was light overall. Many Italian defenders withdrew as the naval bombardment and confusion of the assault overwhelmed them. However, isolated machine-gun fire and limited artillery shelling still resulted in several Canadian casualties, primarily on Roger Beach.
The pre-invasion loss of ships to enemy submarine or air attack was taken fully into account during the weeks before the convoys set out. But as with all military planning, the enemy gets a vote too.
July 10, 2025
The Prussian defeats at Jena and Auerstadt in 1806
At Dead Carl and You, Kiran Pfitzner describes the disastrous 1806 campaign that knocked Prussia out of the war against Napoleon and shattered the military reputation of the army built by Frederick the Great:
In brief, the course of the 1806 campaign was that the Prussians met the French at Saalfeld and were initially defeated. The Prussians therefore decided to retreat before meeting Napoleon himself in battle. However, poor command organization and irresolution ended up dividing and delaying the Prussian forces. Thus, the rearguard ended up meeting the French main body under Napoleon which was able to overwhelm it at Jena.
The battle itself was not especially punishing, but the relentless pursuit of the French cavalry yielded many prisoners and prevented the reconstitution of the army. On the same day, the Prussian main body had encountered a French corps under Marshal Davout at Auerstedt, but failed to overcome it in a series of piecemeal attacks that cost it the lives of its commanders. The Prussians were demoralized enough that an attack from the outnumbered French was enough to force the main body into disorder. The arrival of fleeing forces from Jena spread a general panic and prevented any chance of recovery. From there, the campaign was a matter of pursuit and capitulation — within weeks the French were parading through the streets of Berlin. This humiliating defeat gave Clausewitz impetus to seek an understanding of the nature of war. How could the vaunted Prussian army, envy of the world in the days of Frederick the Great (still within living memory), be so summarily dispatched?
It was clear to virtually all military thinkers of the time that war had changed. To many, Napoleon was utilizing a higher, more perfect form of war than had been previously known. Clausewitz instead recognized that Napoleon was not refining war, but recognizing that changes in social conditions had enabled fighting with more energy and violence than had been possible in the cabinet wars of the 18th century. This had proven significant because the limitations of the 18th century made maneuver and logistics central to skilled generalship. Battles were important, but much that was won or lost in a battle could be subsequently lost or won outside it.
The removal of these restrictions drastically increased the importance of battle as it was able to produce results that could not be compensated for actions outside of it. Skilled generalship was therefore no longer a matter of outmaneuvering the enemy or protecting your supply lines while threatening his, but of bringing maximum force to the point of battle. Initiative, coordination, and aggression become the key traits of an officer. Thus, more expansively, the task of the officer is to recognize changes to the character of war and so understand what is required in practice. Neither history nor experience can anticipate these developments — it falls to the judgment of the individual to recognize them.
This framing shows clearly the mistakes of the Prussians. Operating in the old paradigm, they sought to make good with maneuver what they had lost in the opening battle of the campaign. They had divided their forces under the assumption the French would be unable or unwilling to aggressively pursue their retreat. At the same time, when they engaged the French, they showed caution entirely congruent with a cabinet army but fatally out of place when facing a Napoleonic force. On numerous occasions, the French made serious blunders that went unpunished because the Prussians failed to take the initiative and capitalize on them.
Nowhere is this more clear than in the failure of the Prussian main body to overcome the single corps it faced at Auerstedt. While outnumbering the French, the Prussian attacked piecemeal, becoming demoralized under French fire. The morale of the Prussians was substantially more brittle on account of their relative lack of nationalism — the state and therefore the army were not objects of any great affection by those subject to them. While this would require social reforms to remedy, Auerstedt had nevertheless been an opportunity for the Prussians. They had a French corps outnumbered more than two-to-one and merely needed to bring that force to bear to inflict a serious defeat. A Prussian victory would have positioned the main body to receive the retreating forces from Jena, allowing another confrontation with Napoleon on at least equal terms. Timidity and irresolution therefore played as big a part in the disaster as did the deeper defects.
In part, this must be ascribed to the advanced age of Prussian leadership. The senior commanders at both Jena and Auerstedt were over seventy. Not only did this ensure continuity with older forms of war, but men of such an age were unlikely to have the energy to campaign aggressively — by contrast, Napoleon and his marshals were three or four decades younger. The Prussian leaders did not lack physical courage, as their valiant deaths attest, but exposing oneself to danger is not the same quality that is needed for decisive and energetic action over an extended period of time.
The Prussian strategy deserves further criticism because by that point Bonaparte’s character was well known. There was no justification to have any illusions as to what the consequences of defeat would be. Prussia’s status amongst the great powers — if not its very existence as an independent state — would be determined by the confrontation. Leaving troops in Silesian fortresses or Polish garrisons (through which Prussia’s available forces were reduced by half) meant narrowing the odds of victory in pursuit of things that could be no substitute for victory and no comfort in defeat.
QotD: Frederick the Great on defence
Defense lines take up more ground than one has troops to occupy […] Little minds want to defend everything, sensible people see only the main thing, parry the big blows and tolerate a slight misfortune in order to avoid a greater one. He who will defend everything defends nothing.
Frederick II of Prussia, aka Frederick the Great
July 6, 2025
Day Six – Breakout – Ten Days in Sedan
World War Two
Published 5 Jul 2025May 15 1940 — Ten Days in Sedan, continues as our WW2 Blitzkrieg documentary follows Germany’s drive through France. Today French 2nd Army chief Charles Huntziger faces a pivotal choice: try and contain the German bridgeheads at Sedan, where Heinz Guderian is trying desperately to breakout, or pivot south to shield the Maginot forts he still trusts. His choice may just decide the fate of France.
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June 30, 2025
Day Five – Massive Allied Air Attack – Ten Days in Sedan
World War Two
Published 28 Jun 2025May 14 1940. The blitzkrieg continues in today’s episode of Ten Days in Sedan. British and French bombers roar over Sedan, braving curtains of flak and German fighters in a bid to smash Guderian’s hastily built bridges across the Meuse. Further north, French infantry and tanks battle against the German crossings at Houx, Dinant, and Monthermé. German general Erwin Rommel has a narrow escape as the French nearly blow him and his tank to pieces!
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June 22, 2025
Day Four – The Meuse Must Hold! – Ten Days in Sedan
World War Two
Published 21 Jun 2025May 13, 1940: In today’s episode of our WW2 documentary, Ten Days in Sedan, the German Blitzkrieg reaches its climax. Guderian’s Panzers launch a daring river assault as the Luftwaffe pounds French lines into chaos. Away from Sedan itself, Rommel and Reinhardt strike further north, opening new fronts. France scrambles to counterattack, but the German bridgeheads are growing fast.
00:00 Intro
00:48 French Defences, German Air Assault
04:13 Guderian Crosses The Meuse
08:25 Hartlieb’s Houx Crossing
11:28 Rommel Crosses At Dinant
16:04 Einhardt Crosses At Monthermé
19:15 Summary & Conclusion
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June 15, 2025
Day Three – Guderian, Rommel, and The Race to Cross The Meuse – Ten Days in Sedan
World War Two
Published 14 Jun 2025May 12, 1940: Blitzkrieg, WW2’s new form of war, arrives in Sedan as Heinz Guderian’s Panzers capture the town and prepare to cross the river. Further north, Erwin Rommel drives toward the Meuse in the face of fierce French resistance. With the Luftwaffe dominating the skies and French reinforcements en route, the battle for Sedan is about to ignite.
June 12, 2025
QotD: Napoleon Bonaparte, arch-meritocrat
Jane: But Napoleon was a meritocrat, in the strictest and most literal sense. He made himself emperor through sheer excellence, and the men he elevated were the same. I mean, let’s look at his first set of marshals: Augereau is the son of a fruit-seller, Ney’s father was a cooper, Masséna’s father was a shopkeeper, and Bessières’ was a doctor (in an era when that was a lot less prestigious than it is today). Bernadotte starts out the son of a provincial prosecutor and ends up king of Sweden. Only Davout had an aristocratic background. Obviously this was sort of inevitable, because the previous elite had been literally decapitated and a new one had to come from somewhere. Maybe it’s just what happens when you have a particularly profound disruption: people end up in power because they’re better than anyone else at making war to get the power in the first place. Just like you can’t follow the lineage of any European aristocrat back farther than the Germanic conquerors of the early Middle Ages. (The Psmiths, as is well attested, trace descent from the Viking Psmiðr who came to Normandy with Rollo in the 8th century.) But I think it’s more than that. Napoleon set up all kinds of meritocratic institutions outside the military: he had his competitive examination lycées, he was constantly promoting the talented young auditeurs he ran across in the Conseil … (Can you tell I liked the civil administration chapters better than the battle chapters? #thetwogenders)
So what is the difference between Napoleonic meritocracy and our present sort? I think the real difference is that in his case there was someone doing the choosing. This is important for a couple of reasons: first, because it takes a certain amount of talent to recognize excellence. You can get away with being a Salieri, but you need to have something. I think we’ve all seen institutions whose HR departments were so packed with drones that they couldn’t have recognized a genius if one fell into their laps, let alone wanted to work for them. And it’s way, way harder to keep around an institution full of competent intelligent people with correctly aligned incentives than it is to just … be good at identifying talent, personally. Second, a person exercising judgment can take a way more holistic view than any standardized metric. This is what college admissions claims to be trying to do when they’re not just using it as an excuse to keep out Asians. But a well-functioning meritocracy — or an emperor picking his men — should be searching for excellence. Studying hard and doing well on a test not only fails to reliably indicate excellence, it actually encourages and cultivates habits of mind that undermine excellence.
But the biggest reason this is important, I think, brings us back to Napoleon again, and might be the key to what you described as the strange inconsistency between his loving concern for his men and his willingness to send them to a hideous death. Because I don’t actually think it’s an inconsistency at all! And it has to do with mission. What’s the deal with our current meritocratic system? “We want to have the smartest people in power”. Okay but why? “So they can be effective”. Effective at what?
No one ever had to ask Napoleon “effective at what”.
He was willing to throw himself, and his closest friends, and the meanest infantryman whose boots he nevertheless obsessed over, into some of the most hellish experiences yet devised by men1 in service of something greater. And you can be snide and say the something greater was “Napoleon”, and that’s sort of true, but to him and to France “Napoleon” had come to stand for law and knowledge and liberty and order and greatness itself. Napoleon’s meritocracy worked because it had a telos. Our meritocracy is the idiot fluting of a blind inhuman blob.
Jane and John Psmith, “JOINT REVIEW: Napoleon the Great, by Andrew Roberts”, Mr. and Mrs. Psmith’s Bookshelf, 2023-01-21.
1. Another book recommendation! The Face of Battle.
