By Brig. Gen. John S. Brown
U.S. Army retired

On May 27, we will pass, but perhaps not notice much, the 20th anniversary of the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty’s ratification. This initiative eliminated all ground-launched and cruise and ballistic missiles with ranges between 500 and 5,500 kilometers. A symbol of thawing relations with Mikhail Gorbachev’s soon-to-implode Soviet Union, the INF Treaty was almost immediately upstaged by the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of the Warsaw Pact, the disintegration of the Soviet Union and Operation Desert Storm. Further cuts in “tactical” or “nonstrategic” nuclear weapons via “presidential nuclear initiatives” extending into 1992 also attracted little notice. As unmemorable as these decisions seem to have been, they defined a landmark for the Army, eliminating it as a nuclear player.

Eliminating tactical nuclear weapons from Europe and the Army made sense at the time. The mammoth numerical mismatch between NATO and Warsaw Pact ground forces, which had been their original logic, was dissipating. American technological advantages, with respect to precision-guided munitions (PGMs) in particular, further redressed historical imbalances. Nonnuclear PGMs were capable of many roles envisioned for tactical nuclear weapons, offsetting the lesser yield of conventional munitions by the greater accuracy with which they could destroy high-value targets. Our European allies, scuttling out from under the nightmare scenarios of the Cold War, were eager to be rid of any U.S. weaponry that might make an attractive nuclear target. The Army was shifting to an expeditionary posture; shedding the encumbrance of nuclear weaponry would allow it to deploy that much more expediently. The encumbrance was not weight per se, but rather the security apparatus and psychological impact that necessarily accompanied nuclear forces. More than one Honest John battery had bobbed uselessly offshore while the rest of an expeditionary contingent actually did something. Most importantly, the elimination of American nuclear weapons triggered a corresponding elimination of Soviet weapons and facilitated further diplomatic engagement. As the Soviet Union broke apart, fear that nuclear weapons might fall into the wrong hands became palpable, and tactical nuclear weapons seemed the most vulnerable to such misplacement. The mutual destruction of tactical nuclear weapons made such a miscarriage less likely. Insofar as diplomacy was concerned, it is hard to imagine the Russians withdrawing from Germany had NATO still bristled with theater nuclear weapons.

The Army did not immediately bow out as a nuclear player. The INF Treaty struck the Pershing II missile from its inventory, but late in fiscal year 1988, the Army secured Department of Defense approval for a new 270-mile-range nuclear missile. This would have extended the nuclear deterrence still provided by artillery-fired atomic projectiles (AFAPs) and the venerable 70-mile-range Lance surface-to-surface missile out to limits permitted by the INF Treaty. AFAPs could be fired from 8-inch and 155 mm howitzers, but they did present planners the dilemma of assuring that rounds landed far enough from friendly troops to leave them outside of the blast radius. In addition to AFAPs and the Lance, the Nike-Hercules surface-to-air missile was also nuclear capable. The Army’s efforts to continue as a nuclear player within the parameters of the INF Treaty proved short-lived, however. The presidential nuclear initiatives of 1991–92 swept such a role away. The Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986, with its emphasis on jointness and its hostility to redundancy, reinforced the notion that nuclear munitions were best left to the Air Force and Navy alone. Nuclear weapons were redefined as essentially strategic, the former Cold War adversaries cut inventories dramatically, and Operation Desert Storm underscored the value of expeditionary mobility and the effectiveness of PGMs.

The denuclearization of the Army seems to have been a good thing. Radically diminished prospects for nuclear holocaust have made the world a safer place, and our expeditionary Army has had a lot to keep it busy without the distraction of nuclear surety. There are, however, a few insights from this earlier era that may be worthy of reflection. The first is redundancy.

The men who designed AFAPs and Honest Johns did so believing the bomber would not always get through. When intercontinental and sea-launched ballistic missiles entered the equation, time of flight and adaptability to fluid targets remained as concerns. Our now diminished nuclear arsenal originates from a few types of platforms and is heavily dependent upon global—and satellite-based—networks of communications. Satellites can be destroyed and networks compromised. This is not necessarily an argument for a return to the Davy Crockett, but it is an argument for sufficient alternatives to offset the failure of those we initially depend upon.

A second concern is the working knowledge of nuclear warfare within our units. Tactical nuclear weapons drove a culture and a way of life. Generations of artillerymen grew up in the zero defects mind-set of the nuclear surety program. Excruciating regimens of training, exercise and inspection assured that soldiers were up to their tasks, nuclear materials were never in inappropriate hands and units had skills necessary to survive in a nuclear environment. With a penumbra effect, nonnuclear units were drawn into such preparations. Operational readiness tests and field exercises featured at least one nuclear scenario. The code word “Yorktown,” for example, designated a friendly nuclear strike at a specified location and triggered a laundry list of drilled responses. Crews and squads were familiar with dosimeters and detection kits, understood downwind diagrams and vehicle protective factors, and rehearsed the various hazards of an imagined nuclear battlefield. In 1989, the Army had 141 nuclear-weapons-certified units. In 1992, it had one. Now it has none. Has our practical knowledge of nuclear warfare at the unit level declined in the same proportion? Few in the 1970s thought the Army would conduct business as usual amid nuclear holocaust. They expected much of it to survive, however, and believed it could, in fact, continue major operations in the face of relatively few nuclear strikes.

Our most likely adversaries over the next generation will have relatively few nuclear weapons. They would probably employ them in circumstances that would render the deterrent effect of massive retaliation inappropriate and irrelevant. Will our units be prepared to survive and succeed in such an environment?


Recommended Reading:

Alexander, Brian and Millar, Alistair, editors, Tactical Nuclear Weapons: Emergent Threats in an Evolving Security Environment (Washington, D.C.: Brassey’s, 2003)

Doughty, Robert A., The Evolution of U.S. Army Tactical Doctrine, 1946–1976 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 2001)

Wilson, John B., Maneuver and Firepower: The Evolution of Divisions and Separate Brigades (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 1998)