American Cannae: The Old Waggoner and Bloody Ban

Brig. Gen. Daniel Morgan
Daniel Morgan

The Battle of Cowpens captures American strategy in microcosm. Meet Daniel Morgan, the “Old Waggoner”. Morgan was a Virginia frontiersman whose first taste of military life came during the French and Indian War. He also learned to hate the British: after he punched a British officer, Morgan was whipped 499 times. He survived this experience, leaving him stronger and thirsting for revenge. So Morgan was ready for action when, after Lexington and Concord, Virginia made him captain of a company armed with accurate but slow-loading rifles for sharpshooting instead of the fast-loading but inaccurate muskets issued to regular infantry. He served with distinction in campaigns like the abortive liberation of Canada and Saratoga, rising to the rank of colonel with command of a regiment. But, repeatedly passed over for promotion to brigadier general and racked with pain from various ailments, Morgan resigned his commission and went home. He refused repeated requests to serve again until the American disaster at Camden finally drew him back into service. Morgan was quickly promoted to brigadier general by Nathanael Greene, commander of American forces in the South.

Bloody Ban
Bloody Ban

Morgan was blessed with a stereotypical British antagonist. Banastre Tarleton was a British lieutenant colonel famous for his aggressive cavalry tactics and his propensity for killing American prisoners and civilians. Tarleton was the fourth son of a prosperous slave trader, foreshadowing his later taste for innocent human flesh. Having squandered most of his inheritance on a life of aristocratic dissipation, Tarleton, reflecting the proud British tradition of military meritocracy, bought an officer’s commission. Recognizing that war could be highly profitable to a broke nouveau riche aristocrat on the make, Tarleton volunteered for service in King George III’s War on Freedom in 1775. Throughout the early years of the American Revolution, Tarleton served with distinction, even unwittingly helping the Americans by relieving them of Charles Lee. Tarleton transferred to the Southern theater of operations in 1780, where his talent for murder found full expression. His most notorious crime was a massacre of surrendering Americans at Waxhaws: “Tarleton’s Quarter” became notorious.

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Strategy of the Headless Chicken

The Magic Bullet
The Magic Bullet

[As requested by Adam Elkus]

The design of American strategy falls between two extremes: the Magic Bullet Strategy and the Strategy of the Headless Chicken. The Magic Bullet Strategy runs something like this:

Picture an Afghan village in a remote valley of the Hindu Kush. A majority of villagers are indifferent towards terrorism aimed at kittens. They support or oppose anti-kitten terrorism depending upon which way the wind is blowing. A minority of villagers favor anti-kitten jihad in principle but feel no immediate need to seek out kittens to destroy. A minority of the minority is adamantly anti-kitten and wishes to create a swath of territory from Spain to Indonesia that is 100% kittenfrei. This group of extreme kitten haters has recently been joined by kitten haters from outside the valley, some of whom are farangi. They’ve brought enough lawyers, guns, and money to shift the indifferent majority towards supporting anti-kitten terrorism.

What to do?

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My Boss’s Phone

Not my boss's phone
Not my boss's phone

Per Lex’s request, on this, the day America laid siege to Boston, MA, interrupting the otherworldly disputations of many a Brahmin:

Noted American science fiction writer Philip K. Dick once observed:

The ultimate in paranoia is not when everyone is against you but when everything is against you. Instead of “My boss is plotting against me,” it would be “My boss’s phone is plotting against me.”

My boss’s phone is rather nondescript. It’s color is a few shades darker than full oppression gray. It whimpers with the soul draining anonymity of the standard corporate VoIP phone design. It has a gray LCD, gray buttons with obscure functions, and an incomprehensible gray user manual.

It frequently finds itself on sales calls.

If it was a person, it would have no face.

My boss’s phone lacks the personality of the door from Ubik:

The door refused to open. It said, “Five cents, please.”
 
He searched his pockets. No more coins; nothing. “I’ll pay you tomorrow,” he told the door. Again he tried the knob. Again it remained locked tight. “What I pay you,” he informed it, “is in the nature of a gratuity; I don’t have to pay you.”
 
“I think otherwise,” the door said. “Look in the purchase contract you signed when you bought this conapt.”
 
In his desk drawer he found the contract; since signing it he had found it necessary to refer to the document many times. Sure enough; payment to his door for opening and shutting constituted a mandatory fee. Not a tip.
 
“You discover I’m right,” the door said. It sounded smug.
 
From the drawer beside the sink Joe Chip got a stainless steel knife; with it he began systematically to unscrew the bolt assembly of his apt’s money-gulping door.
 
“I’ll sue you,” the door said as the first screw fell out.
 
Joe Chip said, “I’ve never been sued by a door. But I guess I can live through it.”

Of course the motives of doors are usually open and shut. The hang ups of boss’s phones are more cryptic:

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