THE EXPRESSION
To give this plan expression is the purpose of the field order. Certainly if the decision is clear and simple, the translation into language ought to be easy. Infantry Drill Regulations state: “Ambiguity or vagueness indicates either vacillation or inability to formulate orders.” Since vacillation is a matter of character, the discussion of such a trait is outside of this course; but the inability to formulate orders is not. In fact it belongs only in the course of Rhetoric or English. The following terms are found in our Regulations and Text Books: “Clear and concise instructions are given as to the action to be taken in combat”;[5] “an order must be definite and the expression of a fixed decision”;[5] “field orders are brief”;[6] “field orders must be brief and definite”;[6] “clear and decisive orders are the logical result of definite and sure decisions and are the means of transforming the decision into action”;[6] “Make your order short and make it definite”;[7] “above all do not give vague orders”;[7] “be positive and definite”;[7] “a plan, promising success, may fail if it does not find correct expression in an order.”[8] And so our manuals keep on telling us to use correct English, but failing to tell us how. Putting the clarified decision into the form of an order is the business of Rhetoric. And the process requires the application of every rule for correct English we have learned or are going to learn.
“Often a faulty expression, a word too much or too little, or an omission, may become the source of serious consequences,” declares Buddecke. Even in the orders of the greatest commanders, a twist of phrase or a wrong word has given an unintentional meaning, so that troops have from the very construction of the order acted contrary to the will of the chief. Napoleon, in a despatch to Davout before the battles of Auerstadt and Jena, stated: “If the Prince of Portecorvo (Bernadotte) is with you, you may march together; but the Emperor hopes that he will be already in the position assigned him at Dornberg.” Bernadotte, as it happened, had not gone to Dornberg. He was with Davout. He determined, from the last clause of the order and from the word “may,” that Napoleon desired him to be at Dornberg. To Dornberg he marched, and there he calmly waited within sound of the guns, while the battles of Auerstadt and Jena were fought. He was useless both to Napoleon and to Davout. Indeed, he was seriously needed by Davout who, with 27,000 was opposed to 51,000 Prussians. Yet the error is attributable not to Bernadotte but to Napoleon, who meant to say, “You should march together; but the Emperor hopes that he has arrived,” etc. Napoleon for once did not say what he meant. It is likely we may be found more wanting in this regard.
There is no error in the expressiveness of a field order which the analytical and synthetical study of English will not overcome. We must first learn by analysis to recognize mistakes when we see them. We must then try to manipulate our language so that those mistakes will not occur. Indeed, we must go further than the mere negative avoidance of mistakes. We must not be satisfied until we have made our expressions exert a positive force. The ways and means of so doing are found in the simple rules of rhetoric.
It is, perhaps, not too much to say that the American works against heavier odds than the European. The syntax of the inflected languages of Europe demands that the speaker pay a proper attention to the changes of number, gender, and case, if he would not appear ridiculous, whereas the English language, being almost without inflections, permits its speaker to toss his words about with an ease unknown to Continental speech, and still be intelligible. The result is that the European is trained to more care, and, therefore, greater exactness, than is demanded of the American. Moreover, the average American’s commercial education does not include a careful, analytical study of an inflected language. His geographical aloofness from the rest of the world insures him also a linguistic isolation. The European, on the other hand, has an added advantage in that by traversing a territory no larger than three or four of our big states, he will encounter a half-dozen languages, of all of which he must have some knowledge if he is to be a financial success.
The American, then, in writing orders is competing against a handicap. Von Kiessing, a foreigner, states that “the best of plans, the most skilful combinations, may fail, if the commander or his staff officers cannot express them properly”; and Buddecke, also a foreigner, insists that “a plan, promising success, may fail if it does not find correct expression in an order.” If these men, schooled in language as well as in tactics, find admonition so emphatically necessary, how must we look upon the matter?
The form and composition of the order, if practiced now, ought to give us a certain amount of independence when we come to practical and strategical considerations later. For certainly, we shall be far ahead of our fellows who must try at once, and for the first time, both tactics and composition.