J.F.C. Fuller: Military Thinker

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August Grist nineteen sixteen the Western Front. In the first World War the opposing armies had dug into entrenched positions stretching five five hundred miles across France and Belgium from the mountains to the sea barbed wire and machine. Guns meant that it was all but impossible for either side side to advance the Noble Cavalry long the most celebrated force in the army utterly useless. It was a murderous stalemate stalemate but a few miles behind the allied lines. Hundreds of people both civilians and British and French army officers. That brought picnics. Emma waiting patiently for a demonstration of Agra marketable invention it was pleasantly warm day and a quiet quiet spot if you tuned out the artillery of the Psalm battlefield thundering away beyond the horizon then. Another noise began to cut across that distant rumbling the Chug of a powerful engine the relentless metallic clattering of Caterpillar tracks carrying twenty eight tons of cannon armour-plating to walking pace. Everyone was talking and chatting when slowly came into sight. The first I tank I ever saw not a monster but very graceful machine with beautiful lines lozenge shaped but with too clumsy looking wheels behind it. That's major J F C fuller. He's the central figure in our story. He's thirty seven a small roll man with a neatly trimmed moustache. His hairline is retreating over his crown and beginning to March down the back of his hand. He could pass for a Buckler in a costume. Assume drama but beneath the surface of J F C fuller is an inner radicalism. Not long ago he'd been friends with the notorious. Torius occultist Alister Crowley Crowley called himself. A wizard one newspaper called him. The wickedest man in the world cavorting with self proclaimed walks is not the typical social pastime of a British army officer. But as we'll see that isn't even the strangest first thing about the life and the fate of J F C Fuller Fuller sees instantly this new machine. The tank is the solution to the basic tactical problem of the war of how to cross MoD and trenches and barbed wire against Storm of bullets. Nothing else has worked not even the novel atrocity of poison gas. But the tank will do the job. Bob And J. F C fuller concede that with absolute clarity. The tank is the unknown x in the equation of victory. All that is necessary is to get the people to see the problem but getting other people to see the problem was well. Perhaps that was the problem problem.

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