The battlefield of Waterloo is a popular tourist stop on the way to Brussels, Belgium, and still attracts scores of visitors more than 175 years after the famous engagement there. A cluster of small shops, museums and restaurants surrounds the base of the imposing Lion Mound monument.

The events of the Hundred Days' Campaign, and of the battle itself, constitute real-life drama that remains almost larger than life. In an area encompassing little more than three and one-half square miles, more than 150,000 men fought nearly face-to-face for more than 8 hours. Almost 45,000 of them were killed and wounded. An empire was destroyed in an afternoon.

Such catalysmic events are not easily forgotten. Hundreds of Waterloo participants recorded their impressions of battle in letters, private memoirs and books. New documents, along with scores secondary accounts, paint an amazingly accurate portrait of combat in the early 19th century. They are rich in vivid descriptions and often painstaking in attention to detail. Similarly, they cannot fail to evoke the strongest emotion in anyone interested in the profession of arms.

But any interest should transcend a mere "drums and trumpets" approach to this engagement. Examining the Battle of Waterloo can reveal much about the challenges of command faced by nations in a military coalition. This article will review some of the circumstances of the Waterloo Campaign and relate them to the inherent problems of a political and military alliance.

Mission and Command

When the allies heard the news of Napoleon's return from Elba, there was great consternation at the "Congress of Vienna." While superficially called to guarantee the peace in Europe, the conference was beset by hidden agendas, mistrust and secret attempts to extend power and influence, even if these conflicting claims threatened future war. A reactionary policy guided the congress' actions as each nation attempted to turn back the clock to prerevolutionary Europe.

One of the few things the various diplomats could agree on was disposing of the French emperor. Even the method for this proved contentious, so the ultimate decision declared war on Napoleon personally rather than on France. Selecting a suitable commander in chief was another early problem confronting the allies in Vienna. Prussia, Russia, Austria and Great Britain were firm in their resolve to defeat Napoleon once and for all, and recognized the need for continental cooperation to do so. But the reluctant allies were unable to agree on an overall commander.

It is true that Czar Alexander I mentioned such a position in a letter to the Duke of Wellington who was then serving in Paris as British ambassador. Wellington declined, however, in part, because the authority and responsibilities of the post were never clearly defined. Moreover, Wellington preferred to be with an active army in the field.

Wellington's reluctance is understandable in the context of the times. Despite overall agreement to stop Napoleon, the members of the Seventh Coalition had substantially different political ambitions and objectives. Previous alliances against Napoleon had often been fatally flawed by deep, internal divisions. In 1805, 1807 and 1809, decisive French victories at Austerlitz, Friedland and Wagram had each led to a breakdown in allied cooperation and the dissolution of three successive alliances. There had been disruptive factors at virtually every level of command. Certainly, with these thoughts in mind, Wellington had chosen to make himself available for field duty. He was duly selected to lead the combined Anglo-Dutch army in Belgium.

Wellington's decision was fortuitous for the allies. The upcoming campaign would test the patience and forbearance of the ablest commander, and the duke would prove to have the qualities of leadership necessary to organize and motivate a hastily assembled multinational army. Beyond that, his tactical genius and stubborn refusal to yield ground were precisely the sills required to defeat the French emperor.

Despite refusing to assume the overall military command of the alliance, Wellington's responsibilities were vast enough. His forces, stationed so close to France, were the natural target for Napoleon's operations. Moreover, Wellington's Anglo-Dutch army covered the approaches to Brussels, a political prize of considerable value. Several factors required Wellington to disperse his forces over a wider area than might have ordinarily been prudent.

First, it was necessary to provide sufficient billeting and forage areas for his 106,000 men and 14,500 horses. Second, since the fines of communication for Wellington's British contingents led back to the English Channel, it was important to sufficiently cover the roads and cantonment areas stretching through western and northwestern Belgium. Finally, since Napoleon's plans were unknown, Wellington was forced to extend his forces to maintain some kind of contact with the Prussians to the east.

Thus, Wellington's dispositions were dictated as much by political as by purely military considerations. He could not afford to offend the good will of his Dutch-Belgian hosts by ravaging the countryside for fodder. The location of his headquarters in Brussels was similarly calculated to stiffen the resolve of Britain's newest allies. Many of the troops Wellington would lead had recently fought for Napoleon. Also, the duke's protection of his fines of communication was as much to allow for the sensitivities of the British government as anything else.

Last, anxious to ensure the timely cooperation of the Prussians by reassuring them of his own intentions, he spread his own forces to reach them.

Wellington was busy dealing with other considerations as well, his relationship with the King of the Netherlands was particularly sensitive, especially since the king insisted on placing two young princes in positions of considerable responsibility. Neither had sufficient military experience to justify the appointments. Wellington was also concerned with finding suitable staff officers and filling the sizable gaps in his infantry units. As ever, artillery and ammunition were a problem.

Despite these difficulties, Wellington made certain he took the time to coordinate his activities with his counterpart in the Prussian forces. Field Marshal Gebhard Blucher, though old and clearly eccentric, was steadfast and determined to defeat Napoleon. Blucher's chief of staff, General August Gneisenau, was no admirer of the British but, fortunately, was just as committed to their mutual goal of defeating Napoleon.

In a meeting conducted in early May 1815, Wellington and Blucher informally agreed on a broad outline of conduct. Both would stand on the defensive in Belgium until sufficiently strong to advance into France. These promises of cooperation laid the ultimate foundation for victory. The very real personal connection between these two men, who were so dissimilar in back ground and character, was sufficient to overcome much mutual distrust, language difficulty and ideological incompatibility.

It is significant that this meeting also produced agreement on a liaison officer. Count Friedrech von Muffling, who would figure prominently in overcoming the fog and friction inherent in multinational command, was appointed to serve between the two staffs. His key role in coordinating the subsequent allied success is difficult to overestimate.

STRATEGY AND TACTICS

Wellington and Blucher faced a considerable threat in early summer 1815. Even then their opponent was widely acknowledged as one of the greatest generals of all time. Blucher knew this all too well, having seen firsthand the 1806 Prussian debacle at Jena. Wellington, of course, had enjoyed considerable success against the French on the Spanish Peninsula, but this had not been against the emperor personally.

These consideration aside, Wellington was forced to rely on a military strategy that placed his army in a position easily within striking distance of the French. Recognizing the general unsuitability of his troops for vigorous offensive action, he decided to remain on the defensive, at least for as long as it took for the rest of the allied armies to forma up and advance. Ultimately, France was to be invaded by forces exceeding 1 million strong.

Napoleon's response to the military situation facing him on his return to Paris has been discussed extensively over the years. Legitimate questions remain on his selection of suitable subordinates for the subsequent campaign, as do sound criticisms of his overall goal. Yet, one thing is certain, Napoleon's decision to seize the initiative and go on the offensive was totally in keeping with temperament and, more important, with the temperament of his newly recalled army.

From a strategic point of view, the campaign deserves special attention. Aware almost form the beginning of the divergent allied lines of communication, Napoleon chose to employ a previously successful operational concept. He planned to march his army between his two opponents. Once there, the objective was to defeat whichever army seemed most vulnerable at the time. It would, therefore, be necessary to hold off the other temporarily.

Only after the first battle was successfully completed would Napoleon turn back on the remaining army to ensure its defeat. Students of Napoleonic military planning refer to this concept as "the strategy of central position." Clearly, its necessary prerequisites were swiftness, surprise cohesion, and tight command and control. A high premium was also placed on the French army's ability to fight and win successive engagements.

The multinational character of the battle also had its impact in the tactical arena. Wellington was acutely aware of the different tactical principles employed by the elements of the allied armies. Only two days before, he had commented on Blucher's willingness to openly display Prussian formations before the French army at the Battle of Ligny. Wellington's forces contained large contingents of Brunswickers, Nassauers, Dutchmen, Belgians and Havoverians. Only the latter could be trusted to completely understand the reverse slope and linear tactics practiced by the "Iron Duke" in Spain. Moreover, Wellington lamented his lack of veteran British infantry, some of which had not returned from the Americas.

An even more serious problem was occasioned by the overall lack of standard equipment in Wellington's army. Its multinational character and the speed at which it had been put together prevented any attempt at weapons standardization. This fact, particularly the various kinds of ammunition, would be pivotal for some of the key units in the duke's position. Similarly, there were also significant variations in uniforms. This would lead to serious identification problems and more than one case of misdirected fire.

All of these factors affected Wellington's tactical disposition and how he conducted the battle. His decision to intersperse his allied infantry formations between veteran British units was as much to provide example as to fortify resolve. He placed his cavalry reserve in the rear to further fortify the position and prevent mass straggling. Finally, he resolved to conduct much of the battle personally and declined to act in the normal role of commander in chief. Instead, he became something of a super divisional commander.

Historians have suggested, with some justification, that this was always Wellington's preferred command technique. Yet, at Waterloo, there may have been a further imperative. He selected the positions for units personally and moved them from place to place often by direct verbal command. This very likely was a partial response to his recognition of the language barrier. He clearly wanted no misunderstandings. So, he not only set the broad objectives but also painstakingly dealt with details. As it turned out, this was precisely the course of action that was required at Waterloo. Indeed, it may have been the only course of action that could have prevailed on that day. A strong case can therefore be made that this style of command became necessary because of the Army's multinational character, as well as its lack of a tried and true staff.

The rewards and potential dangers of Wellington's tactical approach are vividly illustrated by several critical events of the battle. Throughout the engagement, Wellington took a keen interest in the pivotal French attack on the Chateau de Hougoumont. Although only one note remains, he is known to have sent several messages to the commander of its garrison with orders pertaining to its defense. Wellington always seemed to be on the spot to offer necessary support and reinforcements where required.

At the penultimate stage of the battle and in a different location, Wellington was similarly disposed to take the correct action at the correct time. His famous command to General Peregrine Maitland's brigade, "Now, Maitland, now's your time," signaled the final defeat of Napoleon's Imperial Guard attack. In short, Wellington was a master of the time-space problem that confronts any commander during an engagement. He almost always managed to be, at the right place at the critical moment. When by chance he was not, disaster could result.

Consider, for example, what happened to Major General Bylandt's infantry brigade. Overlooked somehow by the watchful duke, this unit's position was far in advance of the protective ridge used by the balance of the army. Frightfully pounded by the French grand battery at the opening of Napoleon's great infantry attack, it fled without making any serious contact with the enemy. This reverse was only made good by British infantry and cavalry on the ridge. In any event, Wellington's hands-on tactical role is even more striking if compared to Napoleon's actions.

As was his custom, the French emperor gave operational-level orders and usually did not interfere in the actual tactical management of units smaller than corps. He could have exerted more control. of course, and had ceminly demonstrated the finesse and tactical acumen necessary again and again throughout his brilliant career. But, at Waterloo, he did not, even to the point that he missed much of the battle while away from the field. Perhaps had he been more closely involved on Sunday, 10 June 1815, the day might have turned out differently.

The article is a condensed rewrite of a story which first appeared in Military Review in mid 1991. Although the original article dealt with much more serious matters than wargaming, the underlying message can still be of interest to gamers who find themselves in multi-player campaign games.