Strategic Basing and the Great

Powers, 1200–2000

This is the first book to survey the evolution of the strategic basing systems of
the great powers. It covers an 800-year span of history, from the Mongol
dynasty to the era of the U.S. empire. The author details the progression of stra-
tegic basing systems and power projection, from its beginnings at a regional
level to its current global reach, while emphasizing the interplay between polit-
ical and international systemic factors (bipolar vs. multipolar systems), and
technological factors.
Analyzing the relationship between basing structures and national power, the
book deals with such key questions as the co-mingling of military and commer-
cial functions for bases, seapower, geopolitical theory, imperial “pick-off”
during hegemonic wars, base acquisitions, continuity between basing structures
and long-term shifts in basing functions.
This book will be of much interest to students of strategic studies, military
history and international relations.

Robert E. Harkavy is visiting professor at the Christian Albrechts University,

Kiel, Germany and professor emeritus of political science at The Pennsylvania
State University. He has authored and edited numerous books, most recently the
co-authored Warfare and the Third World (2001).
Strategy and history
Series Editors: Colin Gray and Williamson Murray
ISSN: 1473–6403

This new series will focus on the theory and practice of strategy. Following
Clausewitz, strategy has been understood to mean the use made of force, and the
threat of the use of force, for the ends of policy. This series is as interested in
ideas as in historical cases of grand strategy and military strategy in action. All
historical periods, near and past, and even future, are of interest. In addition to
original monographs, the series will from time to time publish edited reprints of
neglected classics as well as collections of essays.

1 Military Logistics and Strategic 6 Pure Strategy

Performance Power and Principle in the Space
Thomas M. Kane and Information Age
Everett C. Dolman
2 Strategy for Chaos
Revolutions in military affairs and 7 The Red Army, 1918–1941
the evidence of history From vanguard of world
Colin Gray revolution to US ally
Earl F. Ziemke
3 The Myth of Inevitable US
Defeat in Vietnam 8 Britain and Ballistic Missile
C. Dale Walton Defence, 1942–2002
Jeremy Stocker
4 Astropolitik
Classical geopolitics in the space 9 The Nature of War in the
age Information Age
Everett C. Dolman Clausewitzian future
David J. Lonsdale
5 Anglo-American Strategic
Relations and the Far East, 10 Strategy as Social Science
1933–1939 Thomas Schelling and the nuclear
Imperial crossroads age
Greg Kennedy Robert Ayson
11 Warfighting and Disruptive
Technologies
Disguising innovation
Terry Pierce
12 The Fog of Peace and War
Planning
Military and strategic planning
under uncertainty
Edited by Talbot C. Imlay and
Monica Duffy Toft
13 US Army Intervention Policy
and Army Innovation
From Vietnam to Iraq
Richard Lock-Pullan
14 German Disarmament After
World War I
The diplomacy of international
arms inspection 1920–1931
Richard J. Shuster
15 Strategy and History
Essays on theory and practice
Colin S. Gray
16 The German 1918 Offensives
A case study in the operational
level of war
David T. Zabecki
17 Special Operations and Strategy
From World War II to the War on
Terrorism
James D. Kiras
18 Science, Strategy and War
The strategic theory of John Boyd
Frans P.B. Osinga
19 US Defense Strategy from
Vietnam to Operation Iraqi
Freedom
Military innovation and the new
American way of war, 1973–2003
Robert R. Tomes
20 US Special Forces and
Counterinsurgency in Vietnam
Military innovation and
institutional failure, 1961–63
Christopher K. Ives
21 War in Iraq
Planning and execution
Thomas G. Mahnken and
Thomas A. Keaney
22 War, Peace and International
Relations
An introduction to strategic
history
Colin S. Gray
23 Clausewitz and America
Strategic thought and practice
from Vietnam to Iraq
Stuart Kinross
24 Strategic Basing and the Great
Powers, 1200–2000
Robert E. Harkavy
Strategic Basing and the
Great Powers, 1200–2000

Robert E. Harkavy
First published 2007
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007.
“To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s
collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.”
© 2007 Robert E. Harkavy
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Harkavy, Robert E.
Strategic basing and the great powers, 1200–2000/by Robert E. Harkavy.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Military bases. 2. Strategy–History. I. Title.
UA10.H38 2007
355.7–dc22 2006101906

ISBN 0-203-70007-4 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0-415-70176-7 (hbk)

ISBN10: 0-203-70007-4 (ebk)

ISBN13: 978-0-415-70176-1 (hbk)

ISBN13: 978-0-203-70007–5 (ebk)
Contents

Acknowledgments viii
Abbreviations ix

1 Introduction 1

2 The Mongols and the Mings: naval basing during an earlier

age of sail 29

3 The Mediterranean basing competition and galley warfare:

Venice, Genoa, Ottoman Empire, Spain, c.1200–1600 32

4 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 44

5 The interwar period: a transitional era 72

6 Bases during the Cold War: the bipolar base race 94

7 After the Cold War: basing in a unipolar system 147

Appendices 175
Notes 257
Index 275
Acknowledgments

The author wishes to thank a number of individuals and organizations for assis-
tance, financial and otherwise, in relation to this work.
Thanks are rendered to the Earhart Foundation, the Alexander von Humboldt
Stiftung (Germany) and the U.S. Fulbright Commission for grants supporting
this project, in the latter case involving a research/teaching award for time spent
at the Institute for Political Science, Christian Albrechts University, Kiel,
Germany. The author was also involved in some consulting work for the U.S.
Naval War College, Center for Naval Warfare, which resulted in a spin-off pub-
lication derived from work on this book. The Pennsylvania State University
granted the author a sabbatical leave year that was devoted to this project. And,
the author was hosted for that year and several subsequent summers by the
aforementioned institute at Kiel, directed by Professor Joachim Krause, where
much of the research and writing was conducted.
Several Penn State University undergraduates assisted with research for this
project: Lucian Czarnecki, James Farrand, Shauna Moser, Elizabeth Degner,
Melinda Kuritzky, Julienne Shaw, Owen Bergwall, Tiffany Iriana and Megan
Leary. They are heartily thanked. If others deserving mention have been
omitted, apologies are offered.
Tammi Aumiller did her usual super job of typing and organizing the manu-
script for a semi-computer illiterate professor, and is again thanked for a good
job. Funding for secretarial assistance was provided by the Penn State Political
Science Department.
Thanks are also expressed to Professor Edward Keynes, long-time colleague
and friend, for crucial assistance in various ways over many years.
Abbreviations

ABM Anti-Ballistic Missile

AFB Air Force Base
AFSATCOM Air Force Satellite Communications System
AFTAC Air Force Technical Applications Center
AGI Auxiliary Intelligence Ships
ALCM Air Launched Cruise Missile
ANZUS Australia–New Zealand–United States
ASW Anti-submarine Warfare
AWACS Airborne Warning and Central Systems
BMEWS Ballistic Missile Early Warning System
CADIN Continental Air Defense Integration
CBO Congressional Budget Office
CDAA Circularly Disposed Antenna Array
CENTO Central Treaty Organization
COMINT Communications Intelligence
CONUS Continental United States
COW Correlates of War
CSL Cooperative Security Location
CVN aircraft carrier, nuclear powered
DCS Defense Communication System
DEW Distant Early Warning
DF Direction-Finding System
DMZ Demilitarized Zone
DOD Department of Defense
DSP Defense Support Program
EEZ Exclusive Economic Zone
EHF Extremely-High Frequency
ELF Extremely-Low Frequency
EMP Electro-Magnetic Pulse
EPARCS Enhanced Perimeter Acquisition Radar Attack Characterization
System
ESG Expeditionary Strike Group
FLOT Forward Line of Troops
x Abbreviations
FLTSATCOM Fleet Satellite Communications System
FMP Foreign Military Presence
FOB Fractional Orbital Bombardment
GCC Gulf Cooperation Council
GCHQ Government Communications Headquarters
GEODSS Ground-based Electro-Optical Deep Space Surveillance system
GLCM Ground-Launched Cruise Missiles
GNP Gross National Product
GWEN Ground Wave Emergency System
HF High Frequency
HUMINT Human Intelligence
ICBM Inter-Continental Ballistic Missile
INF Intermediate Force
IRBM Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile
JDAM Joint Direct Attack Munitions
LF Low Frequency
LORAN Long Range Navigation
MEB Marine Expeditionary Brigade
MID Military Intelligence Division
MIDAS Missile Defense Alarm System
MOB Main Operating Base
MRBM Medium Range Ballistic Missile
NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization
NAVSTAR Navigation Satellite Time and Ranging
NORAD North America Air Defense
OEF Operation Enduring Freedom
OIF Operation Iraqi Freedom
OTH Over the Horizon
PRC People’s Republic of China
RAF Royal Air Force
RDF Rapid Deployment Force
SATRAN Satellite Reconnaissance Advance Notice
SDI Strategic Defense Initiative
SEATO Southeast Asia Treaty Organization
SHF Super-High Frequency
SIGINT Signals Intelligence
SIPRI Stockholm International Peace Research Institute
SLBM Submarine-Launched Ballistic Missile
SLOC Sea Lines of Communication
SOSUS Sound Surveillance System
SRAM Short-Range Attack Missiles
SSBN Sub-Surface Ballistic Nuclear
SSGN Sub-Surface Guided Nuclear
SSN Sub-Surface Nuclear
STADAN Satellite Tracking and Data Acquisition Network
 Abbreviations xi
SURTASS Surveillance Towed Array Sensor System
TACAMO Take Charge and Move Out
UAE United Arab Emirates
UHF Ultra-High Frequency
USAF U.S. Air Force
USG U.S. Government
USN U.S. Navy
VHF Very-High Frequency
VLF Very-Low Frequency
VOA Voice of America
WMD Weapon of Mass Destruction
WTO Warsaw Treaty Organization
1 Introduction

One of the oldest and most enduring permanent features of relations between
nations (earlier, other types of “entities” such as empires, city-states, etc.) is that
of basing access, ad hoc or long-term, for military forces. Nowhere has this been
better illustrated than by recent U.S. politico-diplomatic relations in relation first
to the Gulf War, and then to the post-9/11 operations in Afghanistan, and then
the invasion of Iraq. During the Gulf War, immediately following the end of the
Cold War, U.S. forces were given access to bases and aircraft overflight corri-
dors in a surprisingly comprehensive manner, not only by NATO and “moder-
ate” Arab states such as Saudi Arabia, but by former Soviet-bloc antagonists,
and by India. In the Afghanistan episode, crucial access for aircraft and intelli-
gence operations was provided by, among other nations, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia,
Qatar, Oman, Pakistan, Turkey, Great Britain, Diego Garcia and the several ex-
Soviet states of Central Asia: Kyrghizstan, Uzbekistan, Tadzikistan and Turk-
menistan. But in the operation in Iraq, access was grudgingly given in Turkey,
Saudi Arabia and Egypt. Involved were a combination of factors: formal
alliances, quid pro quo such as arms transfers and economic aid, political cross-
pressures on key states such as Saudi Arabia, international norms about preemp-
tive military actions, and fear of retribution by Iraq and terrorist organizations.
The events surrounding the problems of U.S. basing access in the Middle
East in the decade or so after the end of the Cold War also underscored the long-
existent interplay of political and technological factors that long has been a hall-
mark of basing diplomacy. The end of the Cold War, which had featured a rigid
bipolar international system, saw the unraveling of alliance structures tied
closely to ideological affinity after which basing access relationships became
more ad hoc, situational, and relatively less tied to patterns of arms transfers.
Hence, the U.S. access in 1990–1991 to Russian airspace and for transport
staging in India, among others. Earlier, the advent of newer nuclear submarines
carrying long-range Trident missiles had eliminated the need by the U.S. for
overseas access for its SSBN force.
On the technological side, however, the development of long-range bombers
such as the U.S. B-2 and B-1 (in connection with better capability in aerial refu-
eling) reduced the need for overseas bases for strategic bombing, though in the
case of the B-1 and B-2, airfields in Diego Garcia remained important. There
2 Introduction
was a lot of talk about a future that might see “artificial bases” in the oceans
beyond the 12-mile limits of sovereign countries.
In the past, as pertains to the political side of basing, there had been a major
divide between access provided by conquest, and that by ad hoc diplomacy or
alliances. Hence, over several centuries, Portugal, Spain, France, the Nether-
lands and Britain were provided important basing points all over the world by
dint of conquest, or by highly asymmetrical power relationships with “local”
satraps, as in the cases of Portugal in India and the Netherlands in Indonesia.
Within Europe, however, granting of basing access between sovereign and relat-
ively equal states was part and parcel of ongoing diplomacy during periods of
both peace and war. Hence, European states came to think of a division between
intra-European politics, including bases, and what went on “beyond the line,”
i.e., in colonial areas that were objects of political and economic competition.
As we shall later explain, earlier developments in ship propulsion – galleys to
sail to coal to oil – had also had a major impact on basing requirements and on
the politics of basing access.

Introduction, background, importance of subject

The subject of the (historically) global (or sub-global) basing networks of the
rival, contending great powers and global hegemons is one which has been the
subject of surprisingly little scrutiny by academic theorists. With one exception
over a narrow expanse of time, there is no database of any sort (and the one
exception covering the period 1945–1982 has never been put in machine-
readable form, nor in an organized data format). It is perhaps only partially the
case that this absence of a database (and of accompanying analysis)1 is the result
of the difficulty of counting or aggregating bases in a meaningful way.
But, the subject is an old, enduring and important one, never more so than at
present.2 Thucydides wrote about Athenian and Spartan basing access rivalry
during the Peloponnesian wars, which involved alliance politics in the Greek city-
state systems. In the fifteenth century, the famous Chinese “eunuch admiral”
Zheng. He3 roamed the Indian Ocean littoral with a large fleet, making use of a
number of bases as far away as East Africa and the Persian Gulf and Bab el
Mandeb areas. In the thirteenth century, the expanding Mongol Empire made use of
bases in Korea and Vietnam, respectively, for launching invasions against Japan
and Southeast Asia.4 During the age of galley warfare in the Mediterranean in the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Venice, Genoa, the Ottoman Empire and Spain
conducted a constant and ever shifting contest for strategic bases over a period of
several centuries leading up to the battle of Lepanto, where what was at stake was
control of the Mediterranean and the trade routes into Asia. Crucial here were
Crete, Cyprus and other Greek Islands, the several ports in what are now Tunisia
and Algeria, Sicily, Corfu and Malta, and the crucial area at the exit of the Adriatic
Sea into the Mediterranean. After that, Portugal, Spain, France, England and the
Netherlands competed for overseas basing access in their lengthy struggle over
colonial empires, beginning with Portugal on an increasingly global basis.
 Introduction 3
Those struggles became increasingly global, but some important coasts and
chokepoints were consistently crucial: the Mediterranean, the entire East
Africa/South Asia/Southeast Asia/Indian Ocean littoral, the Caribbean, Brazil
and numerous oceanic islands, the Canaries, Azores, Mauritius, Ceylon, Indone-
sia, the Philippines etc.5 Long before Mackinder and Spykman, the “rimland”
was a constant bone of contention.
At the peak of the British Empire, observers pointed to the “keys” to that
Empire, its main naval bases: Gibraltar, Cape Town, Mauritius, Singapore, Hong
Kong, Malta, Suez, Aden, Mombasa, Bombay, Trincomalee and many others.6
During the Cold War, the U.S. and the USSR conducted a continuing struggle for
ideological “client states,” which was centered on the use of arms transfers to
acquire and maintain critical air, naval and technical intelligence facilities. During
the 1973 Arab-Israeli war, the importance of bases was underscored by the U.S.
use of air transit and tanker refueling facilities in the Portuguese Azores Islands
and in Spain to conduct an air and sea lift on behalf of Israel.
In 1975, in the case of the Angolan War, and in 1977–1978 during the “Horn
War” between Ethiopia and Somalia, the Soviets used numerous air staging
bases and overflight corridors to ship arms to clients, in the former case involv-
ing Algeria, Mali, Benin and Congo-Brazzaville.7
In the period leading up to World War II, Germany was availed by Spain of
access for its submarines in the Balearic and Canary Islands.8 At the outset of World
War II, as Germany took over most of continental Europe, the U.S. and Britain
moved quickly to secure crucial strategic basing points in Greenland, Iceland and
the Azores Islands, the former two still nominally parts of conquered Denmark.
During the Gulf War in 1990–1991, the U.S. and its coalition partners had
extensive access to naval and air bases and air overflight rights to assist their
logistics operations, greatly at variance with long-established Cold War
patterns.9 More recently, the U.S. military operations in Afghanistan in the wake
of 9/11 highlighted the critical nature of basing access, as illustrated by the
examples of Saudi Arabia, Oman, Qatar, Pakistan, British-owned Diego Garcia
and the former Central Asian Soviet republics of Tadzhikistan, Turkmenistan,
Uzbekistan and Kyrghizstan. Beyond these visible events is the less visible and
day-to-day diplomacy of port visits (“presence” or showing the flag), coercive
diplomacy and arms resupply.
Even after the end of the Cold War, bases in relation to strategic nuclear
forces remained important, though the definition of “strategic” may now have
acquired an altered meaning, no longer simply referring to the possibility of
U.S.–USSR homeland exchanges and related problems of deterrence. In the
matter of possible U.S. deployment of anti-ballistic missile defenses, in relation
primarily to Iraq (earlier) and Iran, the use of crucial radars in Great Britain and
Greenland (where radars for the BMEWS (Ballistic Missile Early Warning
System) had long been operational) became an issue between the U.S. and some
of its European allies. Likewise, more recently, a potential radar installation in
Poland and missile sites in the Czech Republic have become issues between the
U.S. and Russia. Deployment of U.S. nuclear weapons in the Far East remained
4 Introduction
an issue, now perceived largely in relation to China and North Korea and involv-
ing a panoply of technical facilities (communications, intelligence, nuclear
detection). The DSP satellite systems, crucially involving infrared detection of
multiple missile launches could, presumably, observe Chinese and North Korean
as well as Russian launches.10 Nuclear detection facilities (large seismic arrays)
likewise would be focused on new threats. And while the U.S. global SOSUS
system appears largely to have been dismantled, there are likely remnants in the
Far East and northwest Indian Ocean areas, for obvious reasons. The newer
nuclear threats in Iran and North Korea will undoubtedly induce replacements
for access for theater missile defense systems as well as ports for AEGIS ships
mounting such systems, in regional ports. Access for B-1 and B-2 bombers in
places like Diego Garcia will also require continued access for “strategic”
systems. And, as the prospect of a new Cold War involving the U.S. and China
loomed, China was reported as having achieved some access for technical facili-
ties in the Coco Islands belonging to Burma, provisionally also with the building
of deep water ports in Bangladesh and Pakistan.11
Not only does the crisis following 9/11 highlight the current importance of
basing diplomacy. So too does the whole panoply of diplomatic activity con-
cerning U.S. relations with Russia and Europe. Continuing U.S. access in
Central Asia and the Caucasus depends on continuing improved relations with
Russia, which maintains a sphere of influence in these vital (for Middle Eastern
operations) regions. But, U.S. ambitions to build an effective ballistic missile
defense with reference to Iran (maybe yet Pakistan) depend critically on access
to radars in Greenland and northern Britain, and also perhaps Poland, which
would involve upgrades of the long-existent BMEWS.
In the past, this subject pertained almost entirely to naval bases and ports of
call, and associated army forts and garrisons. Now, beginning with the Cold War
and extending on to today, a superpower will require a bewildering array of
technical facilities – satellite downlinks for missile launch detection, underwater
sonar detection of submarines, navigation, ocean surveillance, down-range mon-
itoring of missile tests, navigation and positioning of ships and planes, solar flare
detection, radar picket lines, etc.
In particular, the relevance of basing access to the Cold War nuclear arms race
and arms control agreements is worth noting in retrospect. In the late 1950s, the
U.S. had forward-based medium range ballistic missiles in the U.K., Italy, Turkey,
Taiwan and Okinawa.12 It had earlier stationed B-29 bombers in the U.K.; later,
F-111Es armed with nuclear weapons. Morocco and Spain provided access for the
B-47 bomber “Reflex Force.”13 Nuclear-armed strategic submarines utilized for
hunting Soviet nuclear-armed submarines were based in Faslane, Scotland, in
LaMaddalena, Sardinia and in Sasebo, Japan. All across the Arctic rim (Labrador,
Newfoundland, Greenland, Iceland, etc.) were tanker-refueling bases. To the
reverse, the USSR, lacking the equivalent of the U.S. Eurasian rimland basing
system, packed a lot of facilities (communications, satellite downlinks, etc.) into
Cuba, in close proximity to the U.S., which is what triggered the Cuban Missile
Crisis and kept U.S.–Cuban relations on a tense basis for a long time.
 Introduction 5
Bases in history
As a “unit of analysis,” we are using “base” or “basing access” to provide the
basis for historical analysis. Most people assume they know what a base is –
there is the vivid imagery of an air, naval or missile base, replete with arrays of
attendant weapons systems and related infrastructure. But, otherwise, there are a
host of definitional and semantic problems surrounding this subject, shifting
through the centuries, and in some respects involving important political
considerations.
In the late Cold War period, for instance, the term “facilities” came com-
monly to replace “bases,” particularly in U.S. national security circles. The dis-
tinction involved matters of relative sovereignty between users and hosts.
Where, as had normally been the case, the user country, most often the U.S., had
near complete discretion when it came to use of the “base,” it could then be
defined as such. Hence, if the U.S. could on its own decide to use an air base in
the Philippines or Thailand for a military mission (or was required to provide no
more than pro forma notifications), then, it was a “base.” Likewise, use of the
latter term was preferred if the user was not much subject to onerous status of
forces agreements that might, for instance, preclude local prosecution of foreign
personnel for criminal activity.
By the 1970s, however, with the fading context of post-World War II, many
countries hosting U.S. (maybe also Soviet) “bases” began to insist on their sov-
ereign rights over foreign military enclaves. Increasingly permission needed to
be granted for launching military missions from the host’s territory. The Philip-
pines and Japan began insisting on permission; likewise, Britain gave permis-
sion for the U.S. bombing raid on Libya in 1986, but this subsequently led to a
political firestorm over Britain’s characterization as a stationary “aircraft carrier”
for the use of the U.S. in Europe.14 Not only “traditional” air and naval bases
were at issue. Some nations also began to demand a share in the intelligence
“take” from overseas U.S. collection facilities such as electronic listening posts.
This shift of sovereignty led some to abandon the use of the term “base” and, in
its place, “facility” came into vogue as a matter of allegedly precise definition.
Others preferred the more neutral term “installation.” Others modified “base”
with “basing access,” or “strategic access.”15 The latter could accommodate a
broader range of activities, including aircraft overflights, occasional ship port
visits, or even access for intelligence assets, i.e., spies and covert operations.
If that was not confusing enough, the Stockholm International Peace
Research Institute (SIPRI) took to the terminology of FMP – Foreign Military
Presence. This entailed also a rather broad construing of what earlier had been
called “bases,” involving some ten sub-categories.16 The “presence” needed to
be stationary on the ground, so overflights were not included. Generally,
however, by the early twenty-first century, “bases” and “basing access” had
appeared to come back into vogue; whether or not this was related to the end of
the Cold War was not very clear.
In earlier times, there were also definitional problems, but in a far different
6 Introduction
political context, and applying mostly to cases involving imperial control either
over large territories, or, points d’appui or enclaves. The issue basically is one of
the combined military and economic functions of bases in earlier periods. For
instance, Portugal had numerous feitoria (factories) all along both coasts of
Africa, trading posts often protected by small forts and garrisons and where war-
ships paid visits and patrolled to deter others.17 Such combined bases/entrepôts
are altogether lacking today, though numerous bases, such as those utilized by
the U.S. in the Persian Gulf area, are largely devoted to protecting nearby eco-
nomic assets, in this case oilfields; others strung out along SLOCs are also
intended to deter the efforts of others at cutting an economic lifeline.

Existing literature and data

The existing literature specifically pertaining to bases is very sparse. The author
has previously written two books on this subject plus a variety of articles and
book chapters on aspects of this subject, for instance, its connection with arms
transfers. There is a short 1987 monograph by Blaker et al., mostly from a then
contemporary American policy perspective.18 Scattered through the national
security literature are narrowly based articles on one or another base or country
host, such as the Philippines, or on one or another technical basing system such
as LORAN or SOSUS.19 There is also a substantial policy-oriented literature on
power projection, much of it produced in the late 1970s and early 1980s in the
wake of the Carter Doctrine and its resultant Rapid Deployment Force
(presently, the press and journals are full of similar analyses in the wake of
9/11).20 Earlier, in the wake of World War II, Weigert wrote a both seminal and
somewhat obscure article on the need for the U.S. to abandon its previous isola-
tionism and absence of attention to strategic bases, which was published in
Foreign Affairs almost at the same time as the far more famous “Mr. X” article
by George Kennan.21
But, there are numerous works on broader subjects, historically speaking,
from which data and analysis of basing matters can be gleaned; indeed, these are
the sources from which our data will mainly be derived.22 The two volumes by
C.R. Boxer, respectively, on the Portuguese and Dutch seaborne empires are
very useful in this respect; likewise the work of Parry on the Spanish seaborne
empire.23 Historians such as Paul Kennedy and Gerald Graham have written
detailed works on the maritime history of the British Empire, containing exten-
sive data on bases.24 So too, the very valuable Atlas of British Overseas Expan-
sion edited by Porter. The historian Fredrick Lane has done likewise for the
Venetian maritime republic over several centuries.25 Perhaps the most valuable
work of all is the three-volume series on naval warfare by the British historian
Peter Padfield, which provides a veritable goldmine of data on basing activities
over several centuries26 for Venice, the Ottoman Empire, Portugal, Spain, the
Netherlands, France and the British Empire.27 Additionally, there are works on
galley warfare in the Mediterranean (useful for mining data on Venice, Genoa,
the Ottoman Empire and Spain) and on Baltic warfare over several centuries up
 Introduction 7
to the eighteenth century, which provides a picture of the complex basing-access
diplomacy and endless territorial changes involving Sweden, Denmark, Russia,
Britain, France and the Netherlands.28 There is much more, mostly requiring a
detailed reading of maritime history, for various great powers and for regions
such as the Baltic, Mediterranean, West Africa, India and the Indian Ocean, etc.
The first book on basing by Harkavy, published in 1982, was an effort at
comparing the interwar and postwar (up to around 1980) periods.29 That
involved an effort at analyzing basing networks and associated diplomacy as a
function of system structure, i.e., the more multipolar and less ideological driven
(in terms of international alignments) interwar period versus the ideologically
polarized Cold War period. For the interwar period, data were derived from the
resources of the Military Intelligence Division (MID) files in the U.S. National
Archives. That book also had to deal with the obvious fact that basing access in
the period before 1940 was mostly a function of colonial control, whereas after
World War II the colonial empires gradually collapsed (and with them, some
very important points of U.S. access), and basing diplomacy more and more
came to be hinged on client relationships derived from security assistance, in
turn rooted in ideological affinity. In the interwar period there was also very
little provision of access by one sovereign state to another, clearly a function of
the absence of long-term stable alliances in what was to a degree a multipolar
system (German bases in the Spanish Canary Islands and Japanese access to
Siamese facilities were exceptions).30 Then, later, after 199l, the Cold War and
the superpower ideological rivalry came mostly to an end and, with it, the total
collapse of the Soviet basing system, and the concomitant partial collapse of its
U.S. equivalent, somewhat compensated for in the latter case by newer techno-
logical developments involving aircraft ranges and refueling and the lesser need
for ground-based satellite downlinks because of newer satellite capabilities. But
in the U.S. case at least, the need remained for extensive global networks for
technical facilities related to communications and intelligence.
The second Harkavy book, published in 1989, detailed the rival U.S., Soviet,
and also British and French, basing networks as they had evolved to the end of
the Cold War. That book relied in part on a fairly detailed data set compiled by
Owen Wilkes at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, which
was particularly strong concerning esoteric technical facilities.31 The Wilkes
data set is still useful, albeit in need of updating even for the recent 25 years,
aside from everything before 1945. In this present book we shall extend the
database way back in time, encompassing the entire period since the thirteenth
century, as it pertains to the great powers and maritime hegemons (in all periods,
the basing assets of the several leading powers accounts for virtually all of what
is involved, easily more than 95 percent of all basing relationships).

Data sources: a note

When first envisaged, the aim of this book was to tie the work almost solely to
long cycle theory, or a combination of that and the more Marxist inspired work
8 Introduction
by Wallerstein and others on international system theory. In one form or
another, that would have involved gathering data for the serial hegemonic mar-
itime and commercial powers, probably just Venice, Portugal, the Netherlands,
two phases of the British Empire, and the current period of U.S. hegemony
(there are arguments in the literature about whether Portugal or Spain deserves
the label of hegemon in the sixteenth century). This simplified study of basing
access would have been sufficient in allowing for a focus strictly on the hege-
mons (and hence, theoretically, a focus on long cycle theory, international
system theory, seapower theories and some aspects of traditional geopolitical
theory). But, it would also leave out much that is important in the history of
basing access, i.e., “base races” between hegemons and their rivals, or between
predominantly maritime powers and their European continental landpower
rivals. It would also not allow for a focus on regions such as the Mediterranean
and the Baltic seas during critical periods in which contending powers were con-
testing access to bases. Also, a focus on long cycle theory incorporates the
assumption of serial unipolarity in the system, something that is contested by
theorists of polarity and system structure who are more likely to see alternation
between periods of unipolarity, bipolarity and multipolarity, and who, despite
the claims of seapower theorists that seapowers have habitually won out in hege-
monic competitions with landpowers (the denouement of the Cold War has
appeared to reinforce this view, the absence of a deciding hegemonic war
notwithstanding),32 might insist on not forgetting the power and importance of,
for instance, France in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Germany,
France and Russia in the nineteenth century, and, of course, the Soviet Union in
the Cold War period.
For these reasons, the project became more ambitious and involves a consid-
erably more extensive dataset than originally envisaged. Using an extended
version of Jack Levy’s33 definition of the “great powers” and also going back
earlier than the modern European state system, so as partly to modify the
problem of Eurocentrism, it was decided to compile data for the following coun-
tries in the indicated time frames:

• The Mongol Empire at its peak in the thirteenth century;

• Ming China at the time of Zheng Ho and the “Voyages of the Dragon”;
• Venice during the long period its ascendancy to hegemony in the Mediter-
ranean, roughly from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries;
• Genoa during the same time frame, but truncated toward the end after its
decline relative to Venice;
• The Ottoman Empire at its peak, from the fifteenth century through the end
of the sixteenth century;
• Portugal from the late fifteenth century into the seventeenth century;
• Spain from the late fifteenth century into the eighteenth century;
• The Netherlands, during its peak of empire in the seventeenth century and
beyond;
• France, from the seventeenth century up to the present;
 Introduction 9
• Britain, from the seventeenth century up the present;
• Russia in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and the Soviet Union
during the Cold War;
• Germany during the late nineteenth century and on up to World War I,
again up to World War II;
• The U.S. in the twentieth century and on up to the present; Japan in the
period preceding World War II.

One major problem is that of the vast asymmetries in the sizes of the datasets for
the serial hegemonic or great powers. The Mongol Empire had only a few naval
bases in Asia. Venice, Genoa and the Ottoman Empire may have had numbers
of bases at the peaks of their maritime power numbered in the low to middle
tens. The numbers begin to expand for Portugal, Spain and the Netherlands. By
the time of the British Empire, we are dealing with perhaps 100 or more naval
bases, points d’appui and coaling stations. But when we get to the Cold War, the
numbers explode because of advancing technology, to incorporate air as well as
naval facilities, and a vast proliferation of technical facilities, adding up to hun-
dreds of facilities on both sides (the U.S. numbers were much higher). The
expanded number of independent sovereignties, and thus, potential basing hosts,
is also relevant here.
Stated another way, up to World War I, the “story” with bases concerned
mostly naval facilities and some army garrisons – the sole exceptions were the
terminals for the underwater communications cables established by Britain and
Germany before World War I.34 By the end of the twentieth century, in sheer
quantitative terms, the number of U.S. and Soviet technical facilities far
exceeded the number of their air and naval bases. One can see this, for instance,
in the appendix of Richelson’s and Ball’s book on the U.K.–USA intelligence
network, The Ties That Bind,35 in which they list literally hundreds of communi-
cations and intelligence facilities used by the combined Anglo-Saxon nations
during the Cold War.

Key questions, issues

Following are the key questions, themes and criteria amounting to a range of
conceptual and historical-developmental questions, to be addressed and ana-
lyzed over some 700 years, involving the great powers and/or long cycle
hegemons.

• The correlation of basing networks to measures of national power.

• The fundamental problem of reciprocal causation involved in the question
of whether maritime dominance has resulted in corresponding dominant
patterns of basing access, or whether the latter has provided for maritime
dominance, or both have developed simultaneously in ways perhaps too
complex to allow for easy attribution of causality.
• The long-term evolvement of basing networks from “regional reach”
10 Introduction
(Venice in the Mediterranean) to “quasi-global reach” (Portugal around the
Indian Ocean littoral and across the Atlantic in Brazil), to truly global reach
in the more recent cases of Great Britain and the U.S. “Global reach” has
become increasingly global.
• The vastly increasing proliferation of types of basing access. Venice, Portu-
gal, and the Netherlands sought and acquired naval bases only (albeit of
somewhat differentiated types), i.e., basing networks were almost entirely
defined by naval installations. By the later twentieth century, rival U.S. and
Soviet global networks comprised a diverse array of military functions
under the general rubrics of air, naval, ground, missile, communications,
space-related, intelligence, research, logistics bases, etc. Whereas earlier
bases related almost entirely to surface naval activities around the major
seas and oceans, today they relate to complex interactions between land, air,
outer space and underseas military activities as well as those on the surface
of the major seas.
• The earlier mixing or co-mingling of military (naval) and commercial
(entrepôt) functions for specific external bases; later, these military and eco-
nomic functions would largely be separated out.
• The relationship of rival basing networks (often highly asymmetric) to the
traditional Mahanian concept or dictum about the indivisibility of seapower
or “command of the sea.” Has the coexistence of rival basing networks,
albeit asymmetric, diluted this maxim or dictum?36
• Does the coexistence of naval basing networks even amidst periods of
seemingly global dominance dilute the central thesis of long cycle theory
and perhaps provide indicators of multipolarity and power diffusion?
• The long-range connection of long cycle theory to traditional geopolitical
theory (Mackinder, Mahan, Spykman, et al.), as informed by analysis of
basing networks as reflective of “heartland vs. rimland,” or landpower vs.
seapower dualisms.
• The relationship of basing access networks to the outcomes of hegemonic
wars, but also, the gradualness of “base races” or contests over access
before, after, and in-between major wars.
• The ability of dominant naval powers to “pick off” rival bases and colonial
outposts during wars, further, the deterrent aspects of this possibility. There
may be a relationship here to the recently evolved concept – during the
latter part of the Cold War – of “horizontal escalation.”
• The use of external bases for offshore ship production in earlier phases of
hegemonic cycles; in modern times, the crucial role of ship repair but also
licensed ship and other weapons production as a contemporary analog.
• The long-term shift in the mix of basing functions, i.e., from commerce
raiding in earlier times to various aspects of interventions, arms resupply,
coercive diplomacy etc., in modern times.
• The evolvement of mixed governments-private basing activities earlier
(trading companies, privateers) to the more or less entirely state-based
nature of contemporary basing diplomacy.
 Introduction 11
• How bases are acquired and retained in historical context, i.e., the varying
roles of colonial conquest, alliances and arms transfers as quid pro quo, etc.,
in different historical epochs. Stated otherwise, the historical evolution of
basing diplomacy.
• The changing technological requirements for bases, namely, for naval
basing, the progression from galleys, to galleons, to coal-fired ships to oil-
fired ships, and nuclear-powered ships.
• Thompson’s recent work on “system leader lineage,” the extent of congru-
ence of the serial basing networks of Portugal, the Netherlands, Great
Britain and the U.S., emanating from a core area of hegemonic dominance,
and the long-term nature of the strategic importance of certain key oceanic
areas and routes, naval chokepoints, islands, etc.37

Many of these questions will be addressed below, not altogether in the above
order, as they are in some cases inextricably entwined with one another. The
others will be picked up in the subsequent analysis of basing structures in the
earlier, serial historical eras.

Regional reach to global reach

Although it has become habitual to speak of long-cycle hegemons beginning
with sixteenth century Portugal as having a global or near-global reach, it is
perhaps the case that only the British Empire and post-World War II U.S. have
truly exhibited a global or near-global presence, measured by colonial posses-
sions and bases in the former case, and bases in the latter.38 Of course, whereas
earlier basing and colonial systems involved just naval bases and (mostly
coastal) land fortresses and garrisons, more current global powers (U.S. and
USSR during the Cold War) have had those naval and land bases, but also air-
fields, missile bases and a range of technical facilities, relating to not only the
sea and land surfaces, but to airspace, outer space and the undersea domains. In
that sense, the latter’s presence has become multidimensional and global.
The earlier merely regional nature of basing networks is clear enough. Ming
China had naval access in the Far East and in the Indian Ocean to East Africa,
but nowhere else.39 The Mongols had naval bases just in Korea, China and
Vietnam. Venice and Genoa had naval access all over the Mediterranean Sea
and also the Black Sea; in the former case also on Europe’s Atlantic littoral in
the Spanish Netherlands and England (here one is speaking mostly of entrepôts
with naval backing).40 The Ottomans too had a comprehensive basing presence
in the Mediterranean Sea, but also in the Persian Gulf and Red Sea.41
Portugal is referred to by some long cycle theorists as the first maritime
power to achieve a near-global reach and a “strategic system” for its empire, fea-
turing not only bases, but also forward deployed “station fleets,” overseas build-
ing of major warships and major repair and maintenance for them.42 Its access
system stretched all around Africa, into the Arabian Peninsula, South Asia
(India and Ceylon), Southeast Asia, Taiwan and Japan, and also Brazil. As such,
12 Introduction
there was major access in and around all three major oceans, though it is note-
worthy that Portugal’s access was absent in the Mediterranean (Spain’s baili-
wick), in North America and in South America other than Brazil. Also
noteworthy is that Portugal had naval bases and fortresses or factories on various
coastlands, but had little ability, even when working with “local” allies, to
project power inwards, inland. As such, its control over some areas such as India
and Arabia was tenuous and very dependent on local allies.
Spain, by contrast, had a perhaps less global basing system, as measured by
representation around the major oceans and in all the relevant continents.43 Its
system of access was concentrated in South America and the Caribbean, in the
western Mediterranean, and in the Far East (Philippines). It too built major war-
ships overseas for its far-flung fleets (Havana). But, unlike Portugal, and in part
because of the lesser resistance offered by more primitive peoples, it was able to
penetrate inland and to establish control over large continental areas, i.e., much
of South and Central America and Mexico. It made less use of local alliances
than Portugal did. But Spain’s basing system was absent from most of East,
South and West Africa, the Near East, South Asia and the Far East other than
the Philippines and some outposts in Indonesia.
The Dutch Empire, centered on and peaking during the seventeenth
century, is characterized by Wallerstein and other devotees of international
systems theory as the first truly global power (or long-cycle hegemon), based
on its (relative to predecessor Portugal) dominant commercial position
(Lisbon’s was far weaker and dependent on and subsidiary to Antwerp).44
Some analysts consider Spain to have been an alternative hegemon (to Portu-
gal) in the sixteenth century, or maybe one of two poles of a bipolar system.
Far less frequent are questions about Dutch hegemony despite the fact that
commercially dominant Amsterdam lost two of three naval wars to Britain in
the latter part of the seventeenth century, and was throughout its hegemonic
reign highly vulnerable to superior French landpower. Withall, the Dutch
inherited most of the Portuguese overseas empire; Brazil (for a time), outposts
in West Africa, India, Ceylon, Indonesia, Taiwan (via outright warfare), and
like the Portuguese, were not represented on South America’s west coast and
the Mediterranean (they established a presence in North America and the
Caribbean as an add-on to the skeleton of the Portuguese empire as well as uti-
lizing numerous bases in the Baltic region during this period.) Here one is at
least closer to a global network.
Britain, before the Napoleonic Wars, acquired what was really the first truly
global network of bases, involving numerous points d’appui, but also political
control over huge swathes of sub-Saharan Africa, Egypt, much of the Middle
East, India, Australia etc. Even so, as indicated by military failures in
Afghanistan and Sudan, it had some trouble penetrating far from ocean littorals.
But its basing structure included such far-flung outposts as Kingston, the Falk-
lands, Halifax, Esquimalt (British Columbia), Gibraltar, Malta, Cyprus, Free-
town, Simonstown, Zanzibar, Mombasa, Aden, Basra, Trincomalee, Bombay,
Singapore, Hong Kong, Auckland and Perth.45 No part of the maritime world
 Introduction 13
was left out, though Britain had little military access in continental Europe,
much of Eurasia and inland North America.
The U.S., as much or more so than the British Empire, has had a truly global
basing network, including all around the several ocean littorals. Even at present,
in the wake of the post-Cold War contraction of basing assets, the U.S. is
represented in such far-flung places as Canada, Iceland, Norway, the U.K.,
Germany, Italy, Spain, the several Persian Gulf states, Kenya, Djibouti, the
several ex-Soviet Central Asian states, the Philippines, Singapore, Japan, Aus-
tralia, etc. There is no outright colonial or military (excepting the recent cases of
Afghanistan and Iraq) control; all access is based on alliances and diplomacy.
And, with the aid of tanker refueling, satellites, missiles, etc., these bases allow
for a comprehensive coverage in terms of military reach and surveillance. As
will elsewhere be examined, the sheer “quantitative” requirements for naval and
air bases has been reduced as a result of technological advances – aerial refuel-
ing, longer-range aircraft, at-sea refueling for ships, etc. But that trend has gone
only so far, still leaving requirements for a global network.
Concerning the historical distinction between regional and global basing net-
works, it is worth pointing out that the Cold War USSR, particularly from the
early 1970s, may have had the third most significant near-global basing network
in world history, albeit as the weaker side of a bipolar pairing. Mostly a Eurasian
landpower that traditionally had not fielded a large navy (recall the history of its
trying to acquire warm water ports outside the Black Sea, Baltic Sea, Kola
Peninsula, Sea of Okhotsk basing structure), under the aegis of Admiral
Gorschkov and paced by extensive arms transfers to acquire overseas bases, the
USSR acquired a near-global network of naval and air bases in Cuba, Algeria,
Egypt (up to 1972), Syria, South Yemen, Guinea, Congo-Brazzaville, Angola,
Mozambique, Somalia (up to 1977), Ethiopia (after 1978), India, Cambodia and
Vietnam.46 The Soviet navy compiled impressive “ship-day” statistics in the
Mediterranean, Indian Ocean, western Pacific, South Atlantic and even the
Caribbean. Absent from this network were the European Atlantic littoral, North
America and South America. This does indicate that with the ongoing techno-
logical developments related to power projection, that more than one major
power at a time could field a global basing network. Whereas Spain’s and Portu-
gal’s basing networks were geographically almost separate and, in a sense, non-
competitive, those of the U.S. and USSR were sometimes cheek-to-jowl, as in
the Mediterranean, Indian Ocean area and in the Far East.
“Below” the level of global or near-global reach on the part of hegemons or
great powers, as measured by basing access or the reach of military activities,
some other examples may be noted. During World War II, at the zenith of its
expansion, Japan conducted military operations all the way from Attu and Kiska
Islands in the Aleutians in the north Pacific, to Sri Lanka and even East Africa
on the Indian Ocean, though its basing network extended only to Indonesia and
Thailand. German U-boats roamed from Cape Hatteras to the Arctic Sea. In the
nineteenth century, each of the European powers and the U.S. had “station
fleets” in the Far East and South America, but here symbolic shows of force or
14 Introduction
“presence” were involved, short of actual forward power projection in any
meaningful sense. France, long at a level of near-hegemon, had a near-global
basing network encompassing the Caribbean, North and West Africa, Reunion,
India and later Vietnam. Concerning regional reach, Sweden, Denmark and
Russia long tried for points of access around the Baltic Sea, reminiscent of the
Ottoman-Spain-Venice triangle earlier in the Mediterranean.

Offshore ship production as a form of power projection

Concerning power projection and global reach, it has been noted that major dry-
docking and repair at bases overseas can act as an important mitigator of the
problem of having to move major combat ships back and forth from the home
country. Hence, in recent years, U.S. bases at Yokosuka, Japan and Subic Bay, the
Philippines, allowed the U.S. Navy to repair and maintain even its largest ships
overseas so as not to have to rotate them back and forth across the Pacific Ocean.
In earlier times, when the transit of warships (sailing ships) took much longer
than at present, some major powers partially resolved this problem by conduct-
ing shipbuilding overseas at major bases (there has been no equivalent to this in
recent years by the U.S., USSR or other powers, though Nazi Germany did
evade restrictions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles by building submarines in
Turkey). Portugal built numerous warships in the sixteenth century in India.47
Spain had major shipbuilding capability in Havana at the same time. In both
cases, superior wood for building ships seems also to have been a contributing
factor. Portugal could use local labor in Goa; Spain needed to bring labor to
Cuba or rely on recently arrived colonists. Britain later did major repairs and
refittings in Cape Town and Singapore, among other places. Of course, in these
earlier cases, there was colonial control of bases, contrasted with present U.S.
basing access based entirely on diplomacy and various quid pro quo.

Shifts in the functions of bases

To some extent, there have been long-term shifts in the very functions of bases,
though that of long-range projection of power seems, in a general sense, always
to have been present. One may look at this problem at present, then gauge how it
has changed over the centuries.
Nowadays, as pertains to the U.S. and other major powers, there are the
following functions for bases:

1 conventional power projection, i.e., interventions in conventional wars such

as the recent one in Iraq;
2 nuclear deterrence, and, potentially, nuclear war-fighting;
3 arms resupply during conflict, also, arms transfers during peaceful times;
4 coercive diplomacy, aka, “gunboat diplomacy;”
5 shows of force or “presence,” such as ship port visits both to friendly and
not-so-friendly countries;
 Introduction 15
6 force interposition, peacekeeping etc., as for example, current U.S. and
others’ force deployments in Bosnia, Macedonia, Hungary and the Sinai
Desert.

Note that there are no specifically economic functions for bases, though in a
broader, vaguer sense, U.S. bases in the Middle East or in East Africa might be
related to the security of oilfields or the protection of SLOCs (sea lines of com-
munication) from the Persian Gulf area to the U.S., Europe and Asia. There is
little now that might fall under the heading of “imperial control,” what with
empires having vanished, most recently the Soviet empire in Central Asia (some
might argue the existence of an “informal” U.S. empire).48
Earlier, the mix of basing functions was different, both broader and narrower.
There was no need for nuclear deterrence nor general deterrence in any sense,
meaning protection of the homeland from sudden attack. There was no peace-
keeping. We have little if any data regarding arms transfers during much earlier
periods, though no doubt, weapons were sold or given to the local allies of the
Portuguese, Dutch, French etc. But basing was not used specifically for that
purpose as, for instance, the Lajes air base in Portugal’s Azores Islands for tran-
siting U.S. arms to Israel in 1973.
In the earlier hegemonic cycles, bases were used for conventional power pro-
jection, imperial control and, far more directly than is now the case, to protect
economic interests and to promote, if not enforce, trade. The Spanish model of
imperial control in Latin America has been noted. In Portugal’s case and that of
the Netherlands, where there was little colonization and inland penetration,
bases were used to control an empire based on points d’appui. Britain’s empire
contained elements of both models. But most noteworthy, in the cases of
Venice, Genoa, Portugal, the Netherlands, and to some extent Britain, was the
commercial function of overseas military bases. Bases were co-located with
“factories” or entrepôts, and the military forces associated with these bases had,
as a primary purpose, the protection and extension of trade as, for instance,
demonstrated by the Portuguese feitoria all along both African coasts and in
India and Brazil. In the cases of the Netherlands and Britain, “private” com-
panies such as the Dutch VOA or the British East Indies Company, both inter-
twined with and protected by their governments, made extensive use of bases in
order to pursue trade in far-flung overseas areas.
The role of privateers and pirates with national identities and backing further
illustrated the close connection of security and economic functions of bases, as
pertains to commerce raiding and the non-national nature of “guerre de
course.”49 Spain’s use of numerous bases – Cartagena, Nombre de Dios, Havana,
the Canary Islands – in connection with its navy’s conveying of the annual silver
fleet perfectly illustrates the role of bases in relation to trade. Similar was the use
of bases throughout the Mediterranean by Venice’s navy, and armed merchant
galleys, to protect its trade with the Levant and also Europe’s Atlantic coast.
16 Introduction
Proliferation of types of bases and/or basing access
In earlier times, indeed up to the interwar period after World War I, basing
access had almost entirely to do with navies, with ships. There were, of course,
no aircraft or “technical” facilities in the modern sense, all of which required the
invention of electricity. There were some predecessors to contemporary land-
force access, mostly pertaining to small army garrisons (co-located with naval
bases and fortresses built to protect them).
Even in earlier times, the Venetian, Portuguese and Dutch basing access
systems revealed some diversification, subsumed beneath the generality that
almost entirely, naval basing was involved. In each of these early systems, what
would today be familiar as “navy bases” actually combined, sometimes, the
functions of naval bases and entrepôts, i.e., factories and commercial trading sta-
tions used for warehousing, transshipments of goods etc.50 In short, there was
perhaps a less clear line then between specifically military and specifically eco-
nomic functions, centuries before the U.S. overseas military presence would
inspire charges of “imperialism,” that it was intended to protect corporate assets
overseas.
Venice and Portugal not only used bases for provisioning, ship repairs and
rest and recreation, but also had small fleets more or less permanently stationed
overseas (or in Venice’s case, at the other end of the Mediterranean). That
anticipated later U.S. use of “station fleets” in the Caribbean and the Far East
early in the twentieth century, not to mention the homeporting of fleets during
the Cold War in places such as Yokosuka, Bahrain and Naples.51 In the Por-
tuguese case as well, whole fleets of ships were actually constructed overseas,
for instance, in India, so that overseas fleets need not have been rotated back and
forth between external bases and home ports in Portugal. Even with extensive
license-production of weapons systems all over the world by the U.S. in recent
years, there has been no overseas or offshore production of capital ships or sub-
marines for use by the U.S. Navy (Germany under the Versailles regime had
produced submarines offshore in Turkey and Spain).52
As it happens, and apparently beginning with Venice, the basing structures of
the serial hegemonic powers have probably all had landforces associated with
naval bases and fortresses that guarded harbors. The extent to which these were
permanent garrisons, as opposed to armed colonies, personnel from trading com-
panies, or temporarily stationed personnel from fleets, is a question that needs
further research. For instance, the Atlas of British Overseas Expansion avers that
“from the mid-eighteenth century Britain began stationing permanent military
garrisons in her colonies, at first haphazardly and then routinely, as an adjunct to
naval protection.”53 That was seen as a qualitative shift, and these commitments
constantly overstretched London’s budget “at a time when Parliament
begrudged expenditure on a large standing army in years of European peace.”54
France maintained large garrisons in places such as Algeria, Morocco and
Senegal at the same time, as would the U.S. later in Germany, South Korea,
Japan (to a lesser degree, Italy and elsewhere) during the Cold War, albeit on the
 Introduction 17
basis of alliances (hence, limited sovereignty over bases) rather than naked colo-
nial control.
But skipping over the centuries, the twentieth century was to see a vast prolif-
eration of new basing requirements driven by the ongoing march of military
technological innovation. Before World War I, Britain and Germany had under-
water cable systems going to their colonies that required terminals in these over-
seas possessions, perhaps the first of the C3I (command, control,
communications and intelligence) technical facilities. By the interwar period, all
of the major powers had external air bases – in the cases of the major colonial
powers, mirroring the locations of major naval bases. Britain even had an exten-
sive network of mooring masts for long-range dirigibles. The 1930s saw the
extensive proliferation of requirements for communications facilities (also, for
communications intercepts) and the beginnings of external access for radar
stations.
But during the Cold War period, there was a truly staggering explosion of
basing functions. The Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI)
has developed a typology of forward military presence functions with the
following general categories: naval, air, land, missile, command and communi-
cations, intelligence, space-related, research and logistics. Each of these cat-
egories subsumes a host of others.55 Under air bases, there are forward fighter
and bomber bases, tanker bases, maritime patrol aircraft bases, transport staging
bases, etc. Under naval, there are surface ship and submarine bases, including a
spectrum from homeporting and major drydocking facilities to places merely
utilized for port visits. There are separate facilities for strategic surface-to-
surface missiles and surface-to-air missiles. Under intelligence are a host of
basing functions, for example, nuclear detection, SOSUS (sound surveillance
systems to locate submarines), early warning radars, satellite down-links and
master control stations, etc. The U.S. also made extensive use of overseas facili-
ties for such purposes as solar flare detection, tracking of others’ satellites,
weather forecasting, Voice of America transmission stations etc. The full list
was much, much longer. Whereas earlier, basing pertained only to the surface of
the ocean, now its functions deal with the land, sea surface, the underseas, the
atmosphere and outer space, and increasingly, the links between all of these, so
that, for example there are land-based and space-based communications links to
submarines patrolling under the seas.

How bases have been acquired – and retained

Although there have been significant long-range, historical shifts regarding the
acquisition of bases, one fundamental divide has remained valid. That is the
divide between bases acquired as the result of outright conquest, i.e., imperial or
colonial possessions, and those acquired, either “permanently” or on an ad hoc
basis, via diplomacy, alliances, or various forms of related quid pro quo, i.e.
economic aid, “rents,” arms transfers. Once beyond this simple distinction, the
subject becomes very complex, and with standard practices varying through
18 Introduction
time as international “norms” related to this subject change. And, it must be con-
ceded, there is a problem regarding limited information on this subject, particu-
larly regarding the nature of political arrangements in connection with basing
access.
Simplest to analyze are those basing arrangements resulting from outright
conquest, amounting to imperial or colonial control. Here, the “user” of the base
(current terminology sees “hosts” and “users”) need not negotiate over basing
access with already pacified “local” rulers, either regarding routine use by naval
units or permanent garrisons, or over the use of the bases for military action in
the surrounding areas.
The Mongol Empire’s bases in Korea, China and Vietnam all resulted from
outright conquest. So too all of Spain’s bases in the New World and in the
Philippines. The bases associated with the Portuguese and Dutch empires
(mostly the same network) were virtually all the result of outright conquest, but
both hegemons relied on local alliances, particularly in India (and in East Africa
for Portugal) to maintain their points d’appui. The British Empire relied almost
entirely on conquest. Venice and Genoa in the Mediterranean had bases mostly
on the basis of conquest and political control but also relied heavily on “local”
commercial relations to soften the realities of military dominance. The Ottoman
Empire relied mostly on conquest, but had various local Muslim satraps to assist
the continuation of control over basing access, for instance in North Africa.
By the time of the 1960s, as the former British, French, Portuguese, Dutch
and Spanish empires had largely withered away (the U.S. had relied heavily on
them during the early years of the Cold War), the U.S. and USSR had to rely on
alliances and diplomacy to maintain their rival basing structures (the exceptions
were those of outright Soviet control over Eastern Europe and Mongolia).
Indeed, by around the 1960s, the U.S. had constructed an elaborate structure
of multilateral and bilateral alliances, stretching all around the Eurasian rim, that
is, around the then Sino-Soviet bloc, stretching from Iceland around to Japan,
backed up by the Rio Pact for Latin America, and bilateral alignments with
Morocco, Saudi Arabia, Liberia and Ethiopia. That elaborate alliance structure
was, most fundamentally, undergirded by arms transfers, or more broadly,
various forms of security and economic aid.56 Then and later, key U.S. basing
hosts – Spain, Portugal, Turkey, Greece, Oman, Kenya, Thailand, the Philip-
pines – were provided annual tranches of security assistance which, in fact, was
a form of “rent” for bases. Meanwhile, beginning in the late 1960s, but acceler-
ating into the 1970s, the USSR developed a large network of client states that
provided it basing access: South Yemen, Egypt, Syria, Algeria, Guinea, Angola,
Mozambique, Somalia, India, Vietnam, Cambodia and Cuba. In all of these
cases, arms transfers, in addition to “ideology,” was the basic underpinning of
the provision of basing access.
Further research is required to determine the nexus between arms transfers or
economic aid, and basing access, in those situations earlier where the latter was
not entirely determined by colonial or imperial control. Or, more might be
learned about the role of formal alliances in determining such access, particu-
 Introduction 19
larly within Europe during periods of non-ideological determination of affinity and
enmity. Portugal appears to have used the provision of “trinkets,” i.e., various
traded goods, to help solidify alliances and hence basing access in various places
around Africa (contrariwise, its goods were often considered uninteresting in more
advanced India and Southeast Asia). And, as is well known, Britain utilized finan-
cial inducements in Europe to underpin its alliances; hence also, basing access
provided by alliances. Mostly, intra-European basing access over a long stretch of
history appears to have all related to (mostly formal) alliances. These factors
amount to a multifaceted measure of power projection.

System structure, polarity, geopolitical theory and bases

One area of potential applicability of international relations theory to the study
of basing access is that of the role of systems structure, specifically that of
various types of polarity, i.e., unipolarity, bipolarity, multipolarity. This is both
an important but difficult area of analysis, particularly because of the near tau-
tology involved. The extent of basing access is, or can be, a primary measure of
national power, hence feeding into characterizations of polarity, particularly
given the role of bases in allowing for long-distance power projection. But, of
course, it is great power status that is correlated with, or allows for, the acquisi-
tion of and retention of extensive basing networks.
These questions are embedded in those endless arguments in the international
relations literature over definitions of, and measurements of, national power and
hence systems structure. There is a wide area of disagreement, in part the result
of poor data before the twentieth century that would allow for comparisons of
national power. But even when applied to the twentieth century, where excellent
data for GNP (the mostly commonly used bottom-line measurement of national
power) are at hand, scholars differ over fundamental characterizations of
systems. Hence, the interwar period has variously been characterized as unipo-
lar, bipolar and tripolar.57 The post-World War II Cold War system is usually
characterized as bipolar, but some scholars insist upon seeing it as having
largely been unipolar in view of the vast GNP gap between the U.S. and USSR,
the near even military balance (the USSR had a much higher ratio of military
expenditure to GNP throughout) notwithstanding.
These debates extend back into time over the entirety of the period we are
examining, some 500–600 years. Waltz and others see a constant, unremitting
alternation of bipolar and multipolar periods as a hallmark of international rela-
tions (hence too the debates over whether either is more or less conducive to
stability or instability).58
Of course, the characterizations of bipolar or multipolar (or unipolar) are ulti-
mately rooted in measurements of national power, itself a bone of scholarly con-
tention. As noted, GNP is the mostly commonly used contemporary
measurement, but data are largely lacking for earlier periods. The Singer and
Small Correlates of War project (COW) uses six equally weighted indices of
power capabilities: total population, urban population, iron and steel production,
20 Introduction
fuel consumption, military personnel and military expenditures.59 The combina-
tion of these presumably correlates largely with GNP figures. Those who use
GNP figures, however, also look at ratios of military expenditure to GNP, hence,
distinguishing between potential power (just GNP) and actual power or power-
in-being, which is perhaps best measured by military expenditure. But, if that is
not complicated enough, Ted Hopf, observing systems structure in the sixteenth
century, measures the distribution of power, hence defining polarity by four
factors: population, soldiers (i.e., men under arms), numbers of ships and
government revenue.60 Using those measures, he sees Europe as having been
multipolar between 1495 and 1521 at the outset of the modern international
system (Austria, England, France, Spain, Ottoman Empire, Venice) and bipolar
(Habsburg and Ottoman Empires) from 1521 to 1559. In this analysis as in
others, bipolarity tends to be defined by the gap between the second and third
most powerful members of the system.
But, other analyses provide completely different perspectives. There are those of
long cycle theory and “international systems analysis” which, while differing
between themselves, nevertheless offer a view of history which sees a succession of
unipolar hegemonic phases rooted in maritime and commercial dominance. Long
cycle theory, propounded by George Modelski and William Thompson, sees the
history of the last 500 years or so as one of successive hegemonic cycles, approxi-
mately each of 100 years’ duration, running from Portugal (sixteenth century), the
Netherlands (seventeenth century), Great Britain (two phases in the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries divided by the period of the Napoleonic wars), and then the
U.S. (twentieth century).61 These periods of hegemony are seen as rooted in techno-
logical and commercial preeminence, and the number of major capital ships, war-
ships, is the most relevant, fundamental basis for analysis. Meanwhile, in a more
Marxist rather than “liberal” analysis, Immanuel Wallerstein and others, focused on
unequal development and dependency, see the Dutch phase of commercial preemi-
nence as the first of several leading to the American era.62
Then, finally, there are those such as Jack Levy who, eschewing characteriza-
tions of polarity presumably as mere reifications, focus merely on defining
which nations (and when) deserve the characterization of “great power.” Seeing
the modern great power system as having begun in the late fifteenth century, and
– rooted in realist conceptions – focusing primarily on military might, Levy uses
a number of general criteria to define great power status. It must play a major
role in international politics with respect to security-related issues, must have a
high level of military capabilities relative to other states, has continental or
global interests rather than local or regional ones, defends its interests more
aggressively and with a wider range of instrumentalities, including the frequent
threat or use of military force, is perceived by other great powers as
relative equals, and is differentiated from others by formal criteria, including
identification as a great power by an international conference, congress, organi-
zation, or treaty, etc. On these bases, Levy comes up with the following list and
periodicity.63
 Introduction 21
• France 1495–1975
• England/Great Britain 1495–1975
• Austrian Hapsburgs/Austria/Austria-Hungary 1495–1519, 1556–1918
• Spain 1495–1519, 1556–1808
• Ottoman Empire 1495–1699
• United Hapsburgs 1519–1556
• The Netherlands 1609–1713
• Sweden 1617–1721
• Russia/Soviet Union 1721–1975
• Prussia/Germany/West Germany 1740–1975
• Italy 1861–1943
• United States 1898–1975
• Japan 1905–1945
• China 1949–197564

Noteworthy in this list is the absence of Portugal, one of Modelski’s serial

hegemons, and also Venice, earlier one of the poles of Hopf’s early sixteenth
century multipolar system. Levy’s analysis is largely devoid of data for GNP,
government expenditures, military personnel and capital ships, and there is
little effort to compare the relative power of the great powers at any given
point. Also noteworthy is the simultaneity through most of the 500-odd years
covered by Levy’s analysis of several extant great powers, only perhaps con-
veying the idea of near-constant multipolarity albeit obvious differences in
overall power.
What then accounts for the differences in perspectives on global power struc-
ture over 500 years between, among others, Levy, Hopf, Wallerstein, Modelski
and Thompson? To a degree, the answer lies in the facts of asymmetric power,
specifically involving the comparison of sea and landpower. Here, one can point
to the corpus of traditional geopolitical theory, facing off “landpower theorists”
such as Halford Mackinder versus “seapower theorists” such as Alfred T.
Mahan, Colin Gray, perhaps also Nicholas Spykman, who have perceived a
tendency for hegemonic rivalry between landpowers and seapowers.65 Gray and
Mahan have further averred the superiority of the latter, that is, the history of
victories in hegemonic competitions by the seapowers, all the way from Athens
to Cold War America. This tendency for seapower–landpower rivalry is
summed up by Osterud in defining the core of geopolitical theory as follows:

Recent usage is still very heterogeneous. “Geopolitics” is sometimes just

political inquiry with a spatial dimension, sometimes the label on a norm-
ative-strategic doctrine, sometimes an analytical way of thought, sometimes
the term for a pretentious “scientific theory” of the development and power
of states. The adjective form “geopolitical” perhaps tends to be used in a
wider and softer sense than the noun “geopolitics.” Henry Kissinger, for
one, fancies the adjective form, but evades the noun for its fascistoid conno-
tations. In the abstract, “geopolitics” traditionally indicates the links and
22 Introduction
causal relationships between political power and geographical space; in
concrete terms it is often seen as a body of thought carrying specific stra-
tegic prescriptions based on the relative importance of landpower and
seapower in world history.
Early geopolitics also acquired an influential strand from a somewhat
different angle. In 1890 the American naval strategist Alfred Mahan voiced
the view that sea power was the key to global control, in contrast to Ratzel’s
confidence in land territory as the ultimate source of strength. Now the
geopolitical Leitmotiv for half a century to come was set; the debate
between “the Blue Water school of strategists” and the advocates of vast
continental areas on the strategic key to world power. Mahan employed
historical evidence to support his view on the priority of naval hegemony,
and his prime objective was to call the US to follow Britain’s imperial role:
from the Caribbean towards and across the Pacific the US could fulfill her
Manifest Destiny far beyond the shores of North America.
Now the cards and the maps of the geopolitical tradition were laid out
and the Leitmotiven established: the endemic antagonism between British-
American sea power and Russian land power; the inherent dangers of the
German “Drang nach Osten’; the strategic importance of different geo-
graphical areas; the reshuffle of geo-strategic relationships by technological
innovations in warfare and transport.66

In a similar vein, the historian Peter Padfield has developed a somewhat

simple three-way typology of seapowers, landpowers and hybrids – France,
Spain and Germany all have fit the latter category.67 The hybrids are said usually
to have lost hegemonic competitions with seapowers because of the extent they
have been forced to divide attention between threats from the land and the sea,
whereas an island seapower such as Great Britain or the “offshore” U.S. have
had the luxury of concentrating on maritime power alone.
How then to relate the history of system structure, international power struc-
tures, and the assertions of long cycle and geopolitical theorists to the question
of bases? Dominant global basing structures (or earlier, more regional versions
in the Mediterranean and perhaps the Baltic) have been associated with hege-
monic seapower regimes. In their time, Portugal (to a lesser degree Spain), the
Netherlands, Great Britain and the U.S. have had the most extensive basing
structures, in all but the latter case based primarily on conquest as opposed to
quid pro quo diplomacy. But some of the hybrid powers that have concentrated
on landpower but contested for global hegemony – France, Germany, particu-
larly the Soviet Union – have also had extensive, albeit subordinate, basing
systems. Hopf’s bipolar system in the early eighteenth century involved primar-
ily two landpowers, only one of which, the Ottoman Empire, had extensive
external basing, related to the Mediterranean Sea and Red Sea–Persian Gulf
areas. It was during that time that Portugal, not conceded great power status by
Levy, elaborated a more global basing network and seapower dominance not
backed up by significant landpower on the European continent. Contrariwise, of
 Introduction 23
the 14 nations cited by Levy as great powers during the 1495–1975 timeframe,
two (Austria Hapsburg/Austria/Austria-Hungary and China) had little if any
external basing access or long-range power projection capability, while several
others – Ottoman Empire, Sweden and Prussia/Germany/West Germany – were
limited in those respects.

System leader lineage

In some recent work, William Thompson has written about the various aspects
of “system leader lineage,” conceding, however, that “strictly speaking, the pre-
vious system leader does not give birth to its successor.”68 Yet, he avers, “there
are clear lineage patterns in the technological innovations that provide the
foundations for systemic leadership,” “A long history of assistance and resource
transfers from the old leader to the new that could be likened to parental nurtur-
ing and offspring learning,” and “an even longer history of interaction in the
security realm that paints system leaders as a special community in international
relations – not unlike a kin or clan relationship linked by some real or imagined
bloodline.”69 He even refers loosely to a longitudinal “geopolitical community
foundation,” whereby despite the wars between the Portuguese and Dutch, the
Portuguese and English, the Dutch and the British, and the British and the
Americans (Genoa and Venice are left out here), there are also historical security
linkages, primarily among the British, Dutch and Americans. He concludes that
“the states that have become system leaders have been unusually prominent sup-
pliers of protection and security assistance before, during, and after the recipi-
ents’ periods of systemic leadership.”70
In this same vein, one may point to the lineage aspects of the serial basing
networks of the Chinese, Venetian, Portuguese, Dutch, British and U.S. mar-
itime empires. Some of these links are stronger than others, i.e., there are no
links between the Chinese and Venetian networks, and none either between
Venice and Portugal. Nonetheless, some obvious longitudinal linkages may be
cited, on two related levels. First, in the progression from Portugal, the Nether-
lands, Britain and the U.S., there is a tendency for some naval bases or strong-
points or points d’appui (either precisely or in the vicinity) to be passed along
from one empire to the next. In some cases that has resulted from conquests, the
results of wars; in other cases, the inheritance has been more peacefully
acquired. Second, it is noted that throughout this long history, certain areas,
certain littorals, have been the primary foci of basing networks, i.e., the Mediter-
ranean, the entire African littoral from Morocco around the Cape of Good Hope
and on to the Bab El Mandeb, the entire arc of the Indian Ocean from southern
Africa to Southeast Asia, bracketing the South Asian sub-continent; and the
Asian littoral running from present day Vietnam on up to China, Korea and
Japan. Access to and control over strongpoints throughout these areas has been a
consistent bone of contention throughout most of this past millennium. The rela-
tion to Mahan and Spykman, i.e., sea control and control of the rimlands, or (in
Saul Cohen’s terminology) “shatterbelts,” is fairly apparent.71
24 Introduction
Interestingly, many of the naval access points that were established by Zheng
He’s Chinese navy in the early fifteenth century were those later re-established
by Portugal and the Netherlands; indeed, were later contested for by the U.S.
and the USSR during the heyday of the Cold War in the 1970s and 1980s: bases
near and around the crucial Indonesian Straits, Sri Lanka, India, Hormuz, Aden
and Jidda near and around the crucial chokepoints of the Straits of Hormuz and
Bab El Mandeb. (The Japanese navy tried to take over many of these same posi-
tions in its attempt at supplanting the British Navy in the Indian Ocean in 1942.)
The Dutch eventually took over many of the bases established first by Portu-
gal: Colombo and Jaffna (Ceylon), Calicut and Cochin (India), Malacca, Macas-
sar (Indonesia), several places in Southwest Africa, Cape Town, and also Recife
and Bahia in Brazil (the latter have not entirely been part of a system lineage,
but note the use of air bases in northeast Brazil by the U.S. in ferrying aircraft to
the British in the Middle East in 1942).72 Later, Britain was to inherit much of
what had been the Portuguese and Dutch naval basing networks in the Indian
Ocean/South China Sea area, establishing naval bases at Cape Town (Simon-
stown), Mauritius, Mombasa, Aden, Muscat, Basra, Bombay (near the former
Portuguese base at Diu), Colombo, Singapore (near Malacca) and Hong Kong
(near Macao).
During the early part of the Cold War, the U.S. used many of the British
bases in this area. But as the Cold War progressed, the Soviets made competitive
inroads, establishing naval bases or lesser forms of access in Nacala and
Lourenco Marques (Mozambique), Berbera and Mogadiscu (Somalia), Aden
(South Yemen), Port Sudan (Sudan), Vishakapatnam (India) and Haiphong and
Camranh Bay (Vietnam), even as the U.S. maintained access at Cape Town,
Mombasa (Kenya), Muscat and Masirah Island (Oman), Bahrain, Colombo, Sin-
gapore and Subic Bay (the Philippines), among others. There was a competitive,
rival conflict over access points just as there had been in the seventeenth century
as the Dutch only gradually took over much of what had been the Portuguese
seaborne empire.
The entire Mediterranean littoral has been an area of competition over basing
access over a long stretch of time, even though neither the Portuguese nor Dutch
seaborne empires penetrated into this inland sea area (Portugal had bases at the
Atlantic entrance at Tangier and Ceuta). But it is striking to note that in the
struggles between Venice and the Ottoman Empire, then later between Britain,
France, and Spain, and still later between the U.S. and USSR, many of the same
naval strongholds were contested for. Venice, for instance, had important bases
on Crete (as did the U.S. throughout most of the Cold War, inheriting the former
British base at Souda Bay) and at Ragusa on the Adriatic (later a Soviet point of
access) and on the Turkish coast. Britain, at the height of its empire, established
important bases first at Gibraltar and Minorca, later at Malta, Crete, Cyprus,
Alexandria and Port Suez. During the peak of the Cold War, U.S. main naval
and air bases at Rota (Spain), Sigonella (Sicily), La Maddalena (Sardinia),
Naples, Piraeus, Souda Bay (Crete) and Izmir (Turkey) were balanced off by
Soviet access to Annaba (Algeria), Tripoli (Libya), Alexandria and Port Said
 Introduction 25
(Egypt). Tartus and Latakia (Syria), and several ports along Yugoslavia’s Adri-
atic coast.73 Perhaps further afield, one might note that the rivalry among Britain,
France, Spain and the Netherlands (ending up with British dominance after the
Napoleonic wars) for points of access in Cuba (and the U.S. fearing further
incursions in Guatemala in 1954, the Dominican Republic in 1965, Nicaragua in
the early 1980s, and acting accordingly, for good or worse). In short, there has
been a form of system leader lineage as pertains to what Saul Cohen refers to as
the “world that matters,” some consistently contested over strategic seas, stra-
tegic regions and strategic basing points whose importance has been remarkably
enduring.
It may be worth pointing out that the Pentagon has already begun to sweat
over early adumbrations of China’s putative desire for long-range power projec-
tion capability in the Indian Ocean area. A few years ago, reports (true or false)
of Chinese bargaining for access to some islands offshore of Burma inspired
scenarios bearing an eerie resemblance to Zheng He’s westward thrust in the
direction of the Persian Gulf, albeit then absent the oil factor.

Technological change, basing requirements and global

networks
Needless to say, changes in military technology have had a huge impact on
basing requirements over the 500 or so years since Venice and then Portugal
were (regional to semi-global) hegemons. This is a large subject, but several
main preliminary points may be made.
First, there is the important impact of the progression, as regards naval
propulsion, from galleys to sail to coal to oil and then nuclear naval propulsion.
Each phase has had its own requirements regarding bases. During the age of sail,
for instance, particularly as applied to Portuguese naval activities all around the
Indian Ocean and across the Atlantic to Brazil, the major sailing routes were
greatly altered or determined by patterns of wind and currents. Hence, the
famous “Carreira da India.” Thus some base locations in West and East Africa
derived their importance. The bases were then utilized, variously, for reprovi-
sioning, rest and recreation (all the more important before antidotes for scurvy
were developed), and ship repair and rebuilding. Later, during Britain’s reign in
the nineteenth century, the development of coal-powered, steam-driven ships led
to requirements for networks of coaling stations, whereby coal was stockpiled
even on islands in the middle of oceans.74 That became an important diplomatic
desideratum, as the Russians learned in trying to move a fleet from Europe to the
Sea of Japan in 1905 and having to rely on British coaling stations. Oil-powered
ships and the development of fleet oilers to accompany fleets changed this equa-
tion again, lessening overall requirements for bases but still in some instances
retaining the use of facilities for refueling.
The development of aircraft added a whole new dimension to basing require-
ments, while the need for naval bases was retained. But over the past half
century or more, the development of longer range aircraft and ships, plus the
26 Introduction
development of techniques for aerial refueling of planes and at-sea refueling of
ships has had the effect of greatly decreasing the number of basing points
required by major powers to maintain global access networks. In 1942, the U.S.
needed an extensive basing chain (Florida–Cuba–Trinidad–British Guyana–
Recife–Takoradi–Kano–Khartoum) to ferry aircraft and other supplies to belea-
guered British forces in the Middle East. In 1973, the U.S. was able to resupply
Israel with arms using just one transit point in the Azores. In 1991, the U.S.
B-52 bombers, with the aid of tankers, conducted bombing raids over Iraq all the
way from a base in Louisiana. Further, the number of aircraft and ships in the
inventories of all major nations has declined (more combat power per ship and
plane, fewer of each), and this too has militated toward lesser basing require-
ments in a quantitative sense.
In the modern world, of course, the development of satellites and the advent
of an array of new communications and information technologies has spawned
numerous new basing requirements: satellite down-links, radars for early
warning, signals intelligence (SIGINT), satellite-tracking, nuclear detection etc.
This has meant a massive long-run trend, whereby major powers require fewer
naval and air bases, but a proliferated array of global networks for various “tech-
nical functions.”

Rival basing networks and “command of the sea”

There is the familiar albeit arguable Mahanian dictum about “command of the
sea” that posits a tendency for maritime hegemons to maintain complete mastery
of the high seas. That mastery is said to be based at any time on the hegemon’s
main battle fleet’s ability to defeat a rival’s main battle fleet, rather a Clause-
witzian notion applied to naval warfare. For a long time, in a related vein,
Britain maintained a policy of fielding a navy equal at least to the two next most
powerful navies, a policy only reluctantly abandoned after World War I in the
face of the growth of the U.S. Navy.
But even though the serial hegemons have maintained “command of the sea”
in Mahan’s terms, and even though there has been a tendency for each hegemon
to inherit the previous one’s global basing network, basing access has never
been the exclusive preserve of one power. Rather, there have been asymmetries
in varying degrees; and also constant competition for basing access in periods of
peace as well as war. At the conclusion of hegemonic wars, large shifts in the
balance of basing access have occurred, but not always to the point of total
exclusion of losers from such access. There have also been some rivalries –
U.S.–USSR during the Cold War, Portugal–Spain in the 1500s – when more
than one maritime power has been availed of significant levels of access on a
global or quasi-global basis. The history is complex and not so easily reduced to
simple generalizations.
 Introduction 27
Bases, hegemonic transitions, maritime power and “imperial
pick-off”
A discussion of Mahanian undivided sea control (perhaps arguable at the
extremes) in relation to long cycle hegemons and great power rivalries leads
directly to the question of what role bases and rivalry over basing access has
played in hegemonic transitions.
For the Mongols and Ming China external basing access was somewhat irrel-
evant to their eventual declines, the former imploding due to defeats on the
ground in Central Asia, the Middle East and China, the latter withdrawing vol-
untarily from its overseas naval ventures. For the Mediterranean and its galley
warfare, bases were a crucial element of what was being fought over, as witness
the ebbs and flows of Venetian, Ottoman and Spanish control of access points in
that big inland sea.
But it was only with the progression of the serial European seaborne empires
based on sailing ship fleets – Portugal, Spain, the Netherlands, Britain and
France – that the issue of external basing networks becomes intertwined with
hegemonic wars and hegemonic successions. The circumstances varied consid-
erably.
Portugal and Spain’s maritime empires, particularly the former, were created,
relatively speaking, in a power vacuum, with little opposition from a preceding
maritime hegemon. By the time of Lisbon’s ascendance, Ming China had with-
drawn from the Indian Ocean. There was some naval competition with the
Ottomans and their allies in India, the Arabian Sea and Red Sea that, to a degree,
involved struggles over Hormuz, Aden and Jidda, with the Ottomans having the
advantage of land logistics and interior lines. But the latter, fighting mostly with
galleys hugging the coasts, were no match for the Portuguese in the open sea.
The Netherlands gradually replaced Portugal as a naval power, over decades
taking over Portuguese positions in Brazil (temporarily), India, the East Indies,
the Far East and both coasts of Africa. It was the result of superior naval and
commercial power, a stronger economic base. There was no climactic hege-
monic war, rather, a long attrition struggle, during which a quasi-global basing
network gradually changed hands. The process was largely divorced from diplo-
macy and politics within Europe. Afterwards, after a long maritime struggle
with Great Britain, mostly centered on the English Channel and the English and
Dutch coastal waters in the second half of the seventeenth century, England pre-
vailed. But it took over from Dutch influence in Africa and India mostly on a
peaceful basis and after the accession of a Dutch line to the British crown.
Britain and France fought over maritime predominance throughout the eight-
eenth century and on up to the conclusion of the Napoleonic wars in 1815.
During that period, the two contending powers were involved in at least six
major wars, the last three of which involved extensive fighting overseas.
Throughout, Britain’s predominant seapower was faced off against France’s
continental landpower, with Britain utilizing a shifting pattern of alliances to
maintain a balance on land with Europe, all the way from Blenheim to Waterloo.
28 Introduction
During this period Britain perfected the practice of imperial “pick-off” (an
earlier version of what during the Cold War, in hypothetical terms, came to be
known as “horizontal escalation”), involving the use of maritime superiority to
capture French overseas possessions and bases, many or most of which positions
had to be returned to France after wars in exchange for postwar territorial con-
cessions in Europe. Despite that, the endings of these wars did not see a com-
plete return to the prewar status quo ante, so that Britain gradually expanded its
overseas empire at France’s expense between 1714 and 1815 – the British
takeover of North America and India were central to this picture. In the process,
Britain acquired an unrivalled overseas basing network, not so much a function
of hegemonic transition but rather of hegemonic extension and consolidation
based on naval power.
In 1914, at the outset of World War I, Britain again successfully executed a
strategy of “imperial pick-off” against Germany, severing the latter’s underseas
cable communications network, colonies and bases in Togo, Namibia,
Cameroon and in the Southwest Pacific region. Those possessions were perman-
ently lost to Germany.
At the outset of World War II, the combined, superior U.S. and British naval
power allowed for preemptive capture of important basing hubs in Ireland and
Denmark, and in the Azores Islands, belonging respectively to German-
controlled Denmark and neutral but fascist-leaning Portugal. After World War
II, in another example of “imperial pick-off,” the U.S. maintained control of
important former Japanese bases, albeit under a U.N. trusteeship, in the Mari-
anas, Marshalls, Carolines and Belau island groups.
During the latter part of the Cold War, after the USSR had become a serious
maritime rival to the U.S., defense planners on both sides, looking forward to a
possible “protracted conventional phase” of an hypothesized World War III,
looked to the possibility of “picking off” the other side’s overseas basing assets.
That would have been part of a strategy for tilting the balance of nuclear power
one way or the other (the U.S. for instance, relied heavily on overseas bomber
bases and access to intelligence facilities in relation to satellites). Presumably,
superior U.S. naval power would have rendered vulnerable external Soviet posi-
tions in Cuba, Vietnam, South Yemen, etc., but we shall never know.
2 The Mongols and the Mings
Naval basing during an earlier age of
sail

Before the advent of the serial European long-cycle hegemonic basing systems
(beginning with Portugal in the sixteenth century), at least two Asia-centered
empires featured some basing access related to naval power, perhaps often unre-
marked upon because of the Eurocentric nature of most Western international
relations theory. In both of these cases – the Mongol Empire and Ming China –
we are dealing with largely contiguous land empires whose naval power was
marginal to their overall imperial policies. And, in both cases, there was no rival
offshore seapower equivalent to the role played by Britain over several cen-
turies, so that there was no major problem regarding trade-offs between sea and
landpower, as would later be the case for the (in Padfield’s terminology) Euro-
pean “hybrids” such as France, Germany and the USSR. Japan, geographically
in a situation similar to the later U.K.,1 lying offshore a great continent from
which it was separated only by narrow straits, did not field significant naval
power until the late nineteenth century, and did not exert itself to influence poli-
tics on “the continent.” So here, Mahan and others to the contrary, fundament-
ally landpowers could also dominate the seas, albeit in a limited way.
The Mongol Empire, peaking in the thirteenth century, was almost certainly
the most extensive “formal” empire in the history of mankind (as distinguished
from what now is defined as an “informal” U.S. global empire featuring bases
derived from diplomacy, cultural “soft power,” etc.). At its peak, this contiguous
empire stretched from Korea and Siberia, included all of China and much of
Southeast Asia, all the way to Central Europe, and to the Sinai Peninsula,
including what is now Iran and much of the Arab world.2 In a way, with refer-
ence to classical geopolitical theory, the Mongol Empire fit what James Fair-
grieve much later saw as an alternative (to Eastern Europe) landpower heartland
centered more on the eastern side of the Eurasian continent.3
In the latter part of the thirteenth century, at the height of its imperial power,
the Mongol Empire under Kublai Khan, in attempting to extend its imperium to
Japan and Southeast Asia, and in developing significant naval power, utilized
bases respectively in Korea and along the southern coast of China.4
Both in 1274 and 1281, the port of Masan in southern Korea was used as a
jumping off point for failed invasions of Japan involving in the latter case
150,000 men and 800 ships.5 In both the 1274 and 1281 efforts, the offshore
30 The Mongols and the Mings
islands of Tsushima and Iki were used as basing points for invasion. In 1274,
Mongol forces landed near Hakata Bay, ravaged areas of Kyushu, but had to
withdraw. In 1281, another attack on Hakata Bay was beaten off, and then
another fleet set to invade at Karatsu was destroyed by the famous “divine wind”
(a typhoon), amounting to the first war lost by the Mongol Empire. An earlier
established base at Hangchow Bay (1277), 900 miles to the south, was used as
an assembly point for a Chinese fleet sent to Masan as part of the invasion fleet –
the Southern Sung Navy defeated at Yaichen Island near Canton in 1279 had
been incorporated into the Mongol navy.6
Canton, captured by the Mongols in 1279, was used as a forward base for
seaborne operations in Vietnam and the Champa Empire in what is now northern
Vietnam, from 1283 to 1288.7 The Mongols were defeated there in 1285, then
succeeded in 1288, when Vietnam and Champa submitted as vassals and agreed
to pay tribute. Using Annam (Vietnam) as a forward base, in 1292 the Mongols
sent a force of 1000 ships to strike Java in Indonesia. Hence had the Mongols, as
a “hybrid” state in Padfield’s terms, become a significant naval power, one
without a major maritime power rival after the defeat of the Southern Sung
in 1279.
More than a century later, and after the retreat of the Mongols, China’s
Second Ming Emperor made a bid for seapower, maritime dominance, and an
extended network of basing access all across the Indian Ocean. This was based
at first on a very extensive shipbuilding program beginning in 1403 and extend-
ing some 16 years to result in the construction of more than 2000 large, seagoing
vessels. At this time, the Chinese Emperor called Yongle talked openly of build-
ing a navy that would give China “world supremacy,” and as part of that strat-
egy, enable China to counter the influence of the Turkic Tamerlane, who was
trying to extend his influence in the Muslim world. This resulted in the famous
expeditions of the so-called “eunuch admiral,” Zheng He, born of a Muslim
family.
Zheng He’s navy made some seven major expeditions to the Indian Ocean
area. And they were large expeditions!8 The first, underway in 1405, comprised
27,000 men aboard some 317 ships. These expeditions, using the Chinese port
of Fuzhou and the Vietnamese base at Qui Non as jumping off points, reached
eastward to Surabaya in Java, and Palembang in Sumatra, and westward via the
Malacca Straits to Colombo (Sri Lanka), Calicut (India), Hormuz, Aden and
Jidda (Arabian Peninsula), Mogadiscu (Somalia) and Malindi (East Africa).
Zheng He established suzerainty over Malacca (Sumatra), which then became a
jumping off point for expeditions into the Indian Ocean. Battles were fought at
Colombo, and there were unfriendly receptions in East Africa. Mostly, these
expeditions did not result in permanent military presences nor bases, save in the
case of Malacca. The extent or distance of power projections is, however,
remarkable.
Noteworthy is the extent to which destinations of the Chinese expeditions
(Malindi, Aden, Hormuz, Calicut, Malacca) would in the subsequent century
become the hubs of the Portuguese seaborne empire whose expeditions would
 The Mongols and the Mings 31
come from the opposite direction (here, perhaps another example of “system
leader lineage”).9 These Chinese expeditions were, indeed, contemporaneous
with the expansion of Venetian and Genoese maritime power in the Mediter-
ranean, and the difference in scope is indicative of the superiority of Asian mili-
taries relative to the West up to that point.
But at the end of Zheng He’s expeditions, according to Swanson, “a version
of neo-Confucianism developed that was markedly idealistic and influenced by
Buddhism, resulting in a loss of interest in geomancy and maritime expan-
sion.”10 China went back to “continentalist” policies. Its maritime withdrawal
was due to domestic factors and not to a rising threat from another naval power.
The Portuguese navy arrived almost a century later.
A perhaps interesting point emerges here with respect to “system leader
lineage,” whereby some basing networks, wholly or partially, are passed from
one hegemon to another, as from Portugal to the Netherlands, the latter to Great
Britain, and then on to the U.S., suggesting a strong continuity in the importance
of certain locations or basing points such as Aden, Hormuz, Malacca/Singapore
etc. But in Thompson’s work on system lineage leadership, the baton passes
through a succession of Western maritime hegemons. In this earlier history of
Mongol and Ming China maritime dominance in Asia, there were hints of a
similar syndrome, interrupted by the Portuguese takeover of the Indian Ocean
and control over the Indonesian Straits. It is a reminder that with now rising
China, things might revert to a previous pattern of system lineage leadership,
perhaps foreshadowed by initial Chinese access to some island bases in Burma.
Noteworthy too in relation to the basing competitions in the Mediterranean
and in relation to the race for global empire, the two Asian naval powers had no
significant maritime rivals (to be discussed later). Mostly, they acquired access
unopposed and dominated weaker vassal states devoid of naval power.
3 The Mediterranean basing
competition and galley warfare
Venice, Genoa, Ottoman Empire,
Spain, c.1200–1600

Telescoping both the Mongol/Ming China maritime expansion and basing acqui-
sitions between about 1270 and 1410 in Southeast Asia and the Indian Ocean
and Portugal’s elaboration of a closer-to-global basing network in the sixteenth
century, was the some four-century long (1200–1600) battle for colonies, bases,
commercial access and maritime supremacy in the Mediterranean involving first
Venice and Genoa, then the Ottoman Empire and Spain, amounting at times to a
complex quadripolar struggle over access and influence which, to a lesser
degree, involved France as well. Venice, indeed, largely dominated the Mediter-
ranean for more than two centuries to the extent it is sometimes mentioned in
“long cycle”1 treatises as an early prototype maritime hegemon, an early
example of the interplay between commercial and maritime dominance, albeit
its small size and incapacity to field large armies and to dominate more than a
small corner of Europe.
And, surely, neither Venice, Genoa nor the Ottoman Empire was a global
maritime power, rather, regional ones (Spain’s ventures in the Mediterranean
were somewhat of a sideshow to its vast expansion of colonies and bases in the
western hemisphere and Asia). But, Venice’s reach did go beyond the Mediter-
ranean Sea, what with navy bases around the Black Sea, and a reach for its
galley fleets extending to England and the Spanish Netherlands in Bruges and
Antwerp (Belgium).2 The Ottoman Empire, while extending its basing access
network westward in the Mediterranean almost to the Straits of Gibraltar, also
had maritime outlets in the Red Sea/Persian Gulf area, making it a double-
window maritime power analogous to later France with its windows on the
Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts.3
The competition for access in the Mediterranean involved a shifting of tides
between rival states. Their basing access often overlapped, geographically
speaking. Aside perhaps from the early period of Venetian ascendance, there
was no fully unipolar maritime dominance. Nor was there an analogy to the
separate and coexisting Portuguese and Spanish empires, which were clearly
demarcated. There was incessant warfare and changing of control over basing
points, hence, no analogy to the Cold War, with its slowly shifting tides of influ-
ence and access, but without actual fighting. The best analogy would be to the
later British–French–Dutch–Spanish competition over naval access in the
 The basing competition and galley warfare 33
Caribbean, Africa and in South and Southeast Asia, albeit on a much smaller
geographical scale. This was the period of galley fleets and warfare; hence, short
radii of naval operations, longer times for naval movements, more challenging
logistical problems in provisioning fleets and sustaining external garrisons.4 In a
way, it was a microcosm of future European maritime rivalries.
The expansion of the Venetian maritime and commercial empire, held
together by an elaborate string of naval bases, points d’appui and control of
commercial quarters of major entrepôts, began at the outset of the thirteenth
century (note this was about 70 or 80 years before Mongol maritime expansion
in the Far East). The expansion took place rather rapidly, beginning early on in
the first decade of the thirteenth century in Corfu, Candia (Crete), Rhodes,
Modon, Coron and Negroponte in Greece, Famagusta in Cyprus and Constan-
tinople (well more than two centuries before its capture by the Ottomans).
Later in the thirteenth century, Venice’s reach would be extended to Soldaia
(Romania), Tana (Ukraine) and Trebizond (Turkey) on the Black Sea; a bit later
to Ragusa (Yugoslavia) on the Adriatic Sea,5 to Lajazzo (Turkey) in the eastern
Mediterranean, Acre (Israel), Tyre (Lebanon), Moron (Greece); still later in the
fourteenth century to Tenedos (Greece), Scutari (Yugoslavia), Beirut (Lebanon),
Treviso (Yugoslavia), Smyrna (Turkey), Pola (Yugoslavia), Ibiza (Spain), and
others. In the first-named group were major bases for galley fleets used to intimi-
date other navies and to protect commerce.
Genoa’s basing network, smaller than that of Venice, was elaborated almost
50 years later, beginning around 1250. Its major points of access, entrepôts and
commercial control (also often small colonies devoted to commerce) were in
Acre and Tyre, Chios (Greece), Cyprus, Trebizond (Turkey), Tana (Ukraine),
Porto Longo (Greece), Dalmatia, Rhodes and Famagusta.6
Constantinople’s harbor was shared with Venice; so too access to Pera, Trebi-
zond and Tana, at least during periods of peace between the two Italian city-state
maritime powers. The Mediterranean was mostly a Venetian and Genoese lake for
200 years or more in the thirteenth, fourteenth and part of the fifteenth centuries.
Also noteworthy during the period of Venetian, and then Genoese, maritime
expansion was the close relationship between naval power and competition, and
commercial rivalry. The latter was what it was all about: trade routes, entrepôts,
carrying trade, etc. This maritime and commercial competition was also related
to a degree of colonization, hence, portending the later Portuguese, Spanish,
Dutch and British empires, but on a much small scale. In Constantinople, Acre,
Tyre, Lajazzo, etc., the main Venetian and Genoese bases and entrepôts, small
commercial colonies, really foreign enclaves, were set up on a long-term basis.
In some of these ports around the eastern Mediterranean, Aegean and Black
seas, Venetian and Genoese colonies, at least during peaceful interludes, coex-
isted side-by-side in a kind of peaceful competition. Both assisted the Crusaders
(Pisa was also involved in this commercial and maritime competition, for
instance, in Romania).
However well before the Ottoman Empire and Spain became major factors in
the Mediterranean competition for bases, territories and commercial access,
34 The basing competition and galley warfare
Venice and Genoa periodically went to war, so that their competition was a
deadly one. There were, actually, five major wars between the two city-state
maritime powers: 1258–1270, 1295–1299, 1350–1355, 1378–1381 and in 1431.7
This maritime rivalry extended over some 175 years, and as such, might be
viewed as similar to the equally very lengthy maritime competition between
England and France in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The situation in
which Venice and Genoa, in between fighting, often shared basing points and
entrepôts was repeated by England, the Netherlands, and France in India a few
centuries later. The latter colonial powers, with mixed commercial and territorial
motives, also had a long history of wars “beyond the line,” but with colonies and
bases cheek by jowl, and with intermittent fighting. There is a marked contrast
here with the Cold War pattern of rival basing networks, few if any colonies,
minimal commercial rivalry and no warfare.
Trade routes to China and India were also bound up in the competition for
bases in the eastern Mediterranean and Black Sea areas between Venice and
Genoa. One route to China went through Constantinople and across the Black
Sea to the Crimea (Soldaia, Kaffa),8 on to Tana in the north Caucasus, and then
on through territories controlled by the Mongols towards China. Another went
from Constantinople to Trebizond on Turkey’s Black Sea coast9 then to Tabriz
in Persia, and then either to Ormuz and on to India or to China via Bukhara. Still
another route went to Cyprus and then to Lajazzo (near modern-day Alexan-
dretta) and hence to Tabriz and on to India or China. More southerly routes went
through Alexandria, Cairo, on to Jidda, and to Aden, and then India. Maritime
competition between Venice and Genoa in the Mediterranean and Black Sea
concerned all of these alternative trade routes.
To begin with, Venice had to establish control of its own bailiwick in the
Adriatic Sea. Hence, according to Lane:

In medieval Europe, no navy exercised a cut-and-dried command over any

extended body of water, but the Venetians very nearly did so in the Adri-
atic. Their patrols on the rivers and off the mouths of the rivers were rein-
forced as need be by fleets of galleys strong enough and fast enough to
suppress all opposition. The boost given Venetian naval power by the con-
quest of Constantinople made the Venetians feel more responsible for the
suppression of piracy, especially in the Adriatic. Every year, not only in
time of war but as a routine measure, they outfitted a fleet of galleys
devoted to making the seas safe. Naturally it accompanied the merchant
ships going to Apulia and Romania and used the Dalmatian cities, espe-
cially Ragusa, as subordinate bases. A separate squadron for the protection
of commerce in the Gulf was felt necessary in 1330. Frequently thereafter it
was patrolled by a Captain of the Gulf, while the main war fleet was operat-
ing in the Aegean or Beyond-the-Sea.10

Control over the Mediterranean was, however, not possible. There was not a
possibility of establishing what later would be recognized as a “Mahanian”
 The basing competition and galley warfare 35
command of the sea, requiring the naval hegemon to have the ability to sweep
the enemy from the seas, as later Portugal, the Netherlands, Great Britain and
the U.S. were able for the most part to do. Further, according to Lane:

Neither Venice nor any of her rivals was able to sweep the enemy from the
seas. They lacked the technical means of setting up effective blockades.
Trade moved, or could move, by short hops through many alternative
routes. Vessels were not built and rigged so that they could patrol off a port
indefinitely in variable weather to the extent that the British did at the end
of the eighteenth century. War fleets had even more difficulty finding an
enemy who wished to avoid battle than Lord Nelson had when he crossed
the Atlantic twice in search of Napoleon’s fleet. And even after an over-
whelming victory, the winner was unable to blockade effectively the enemy
city. He could not prevent the defeated from sending out a new fleet, even if
only a very small one, for a quick raid on an exposed point or an attack on
merchant shipping.11

The Venetian basing system outside the Adriatic was gradually developed
beginning in the early thirteenth century. The most important bases were those
related to two streams of trade; one to “Romania” (the Greek Peninsula, Aegean
Islands, neighboring land that had been part of the Byzantine Empire); the other
referred to as “Beyond-the-Sea” (Cyprus, Syria and Palestine). The main base
for at least the first of these streams was Constantinople, where a large Venetian
colony developed in the thirteenth century. There were other important
colonies/bases related to trade: Corinth, which was a center of trade for the Pelo-
ponnesus;12 and Solaia, on the eastern coast of the Crimea from which grain,
salt, fish, furs and slaves were exported to Constantinople.
On the critical route between Venice and Constantinople, the main subsidiary
bases were Ragusa (Yugoslavia) on the Adriatic, Modon and Coron in southern
Greece, and Negroponte on the Greek Aegean coast. Negroponte was the main
base in the Aegean between Crete and Constantinople. Modon and Coron, near
the southern tip of Morea, became known as the “two eyes of the Republic,”
where all ships returning from the Levant were ordered to stop and give news of
convoys and pirates.13 Ragusa on the Adriatic was a loyal dependency and a
base for fleets operating out of the end of the Adriatic.
In the second main trade route, after rounding the southernmost part of
Greece, convoys went to Candia on Crete, perhaps to Rhodes, and on to Cyprus
and then to St. Jean d’Acre north of Haifa, where a road then led to Safed and
Damascus (here was the remnant of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem after
the fall of Jerusalem itself). Both Acre and nearby Tyre, as with the cases of
Constantinople and Corinth, had large Venetian colonies with a considerable
industrial and commercial infrastructure.
One reason, however, that it was difficult for a galley-based fleet then to
achieve complete control of the sea was the slow speed of power projection. For
example, it took almost two months for a galley fleet to move from Venice to
36 The basing competition and galley warfare
Constantinople.14 And there was a seasonal nature to this; as winter storms had
to be avoided. Typically, Venetian “caravans” (commercial fleets accompanied
by galley warships) left in the spring and returned in the fall, or left in August,
wintered in the eastern Mediterranean, and returned in the spring. Hence, there
was a very slow reaction time for military actions in an era of slow long-distance
communications.
Almost all of the main base areas were also important producers of commodi-
ties that Venice developed as part of its carrying trade. Crete was an important
producer of grain, wine, oil and fruits. From Romania came raw silk, alum, wax,
honey, cotton and wine. As would still later be the case for the Portuguese and
Dutch empires, bases and entrepôts were nearly inseparable and naval power
was closely related to commercial competition (and colonization) in an era when
commerce raiding was a normal part of conflict between nations and empires.
For the first half of the thirteenth century, Venice maintained a near unipolar
maritime dominance in the Mediterranean and the Black Sea, in the period of the
Crusaders, the faded Byzantine Empire, Arab might in the core Middle Fast, and
a bit before the zenith of the burgeoning Mongol Empire. Europe itself was in its
Dark Age, politically fragmented, before the development of more centralized
monarchies in France and Spain, much less Germany.
In the middle of the thirteenth century, Genoa became a rival naval power to
Venice, and for more than a century, in a context of complex diplomacy among mul-
tiple political centers, there was a form of maritime bipolarity in the Mediterranean/
Black Sea region. Central to this struggle, highlighted by five wars punctuating
long periods of peace, was the contest over basing access and colonies. This was
despite the fact that both Venice and Genoa were Guelf (as opposed to Ghi-
belline), that is, siding with the Pope rather than the Holy Roman Emperor.
By the mid-thirteenth century, the Genoese were as well entrenched as the
Venetians in Acre and Tyre, and more active in Syria, all due to their assistance
to the Crusaders. The first war between Venice and Genoa was caused by a
series of incidents in Acre. It was won by Venice, which made good use of Crete
as a forward base of operation. Genoa made extensive use of Salonika as a base
during this war,15 which saw Venetian victories in main fleet engagements at
Acre in 1258, at Sittepozzi in 1263 and at Trapani in 1266. It also made use of
Malta for attacking Venetian convoys in the lower Adriatic and Aegean seas.
Despite losing the first naval war to Venice, Genoa greatly increased its
power in the latter part of the thirteenth century. It decisively defeated Pisa in
1284, leading to complete naval dominance of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Genoa main-
tained a large presence at Pena in the Constantinople harbor. Its base at Kaffa on
the northern shore of the Black Sea enabled penetration into the Crimea and up
the rivers of southern Russia, i.e., the Don and Dnieper. Other Genoese bases
and commercial centers were at Chios (famed for mastic) and Focea (near
modern Izmir), known for its aluminum mines.
Around 1291, the Mamluks wiped out the last remnants of the Kingdom of
Jerusalem, as Acre, Tyre and Tripoli fell to the Muslims. After that, Lajazzo
became the main Venetian base and entrepôt in Asia Minor.16
 The basing competition and galley warfare 37
In the second Venice–Genoa war in the 1290s, Venice first captured and
destroyed Genoese possessions in Cyprus. But Genoa, operating out of Pena,
completely defeated the Venetians off Lajazzo. Venetian fleets attacked Genoese
strongholds at Pera, Focea and Kaffa. Genoa also won a large naval battle in the
Adriatic off the coast of Dalmatia, near the island of Curzola. Later, Venice
attacked Genoa itself, utilizing a nearby base in Monaco. The war ended in
1299, essentially as a stalemate, further enmeshed in Guelph vs. Ghibelline
rivalries juxtaposed to those between city-states, particularly involving
internecine fighting among the Genoans.17
A third war between Venice and Genoa occurred in the 1320s. This war started
over disagreements over the use of Tana by both sides, which were driven out by
the Golden Horde. In 1328, Venice sent a big fleet into the Black Sea, interrupting
trade between Kaffa and Pera. Otherwise, there were extensive naval battles and
commerce raiding throughout the eastern Mediterranean, Aegean and Black seas.
Venice (allied with the Catalans) suffered a big defeat at Porto Longo, Genoa a
defeat at Alghero. Venice made extensive use of its base on Crete for operations
toward Constantinople. This was an example of a war between rival major naval
powers whose bases were interspersed within the same general area (what might
have been if the U.S. and USSR had ever engaged in a naval war).
Venice suffered some defeats in the mid-fourteenth century that whittled
away at its basing structure. It was pushed out of Dalmatia by the King of
Hungary, though its fleet still ruled the Adriatic. Genoa took over the Cyprus
port of Famagusta.
Venice’s naval reach also extended to Europe’s Atlantic coast. Galley fleets
went back and forth to Bruges.18 Despite the loss of Famagusta to Genoa, Venet-
ian fleets still went directly to Beirut and Alexandria; and hence, Venice con-
trolled the spice route to India via Egypt and Syria, but Genoa also competed
vigorously for trade in the Levant.
Venice and Genoa bitterly contested trade and maritime dominance to and in
and around the Black Sea. They shared access to Constantinople. They contested
over the island of Tenedos south of the Turkish Straits; Venetian occupation and
fortification of Tenedos led to war.
In the 1420s and 1430s, there was further conflict between Venice and
Genoa, in the context of a then growing threat from the Ottoman Empire. In
1424, Venice sent a fleet to Salonika, but it was later lost.19 (At this juncture,
Venice was bogged down in wars on the Italian Peninsula, mostly versus Milan.)
In 1431, Venice unsuccessfully attacked Chios, Genoa’s main base in the
Aegean. In 1453, the Turks captured Constantinople and then, feeling a Turkish
threat to Italy, in the Peace of Lodi in 1454, an alliance was formed of Venice,
Genoa, Naples, the Papal State and Milan. Venice was then still the strongest
state in Italy and still a formidable naval power in the Adriatic, Aegean and
eastern Mediterranean. But now, a larger and more formidable foe loomed. And
so ended what was a some 200-year contest for basing access, naval supremacy
and commercial dominance between Venice and Genoa. Perhaps only the later
hegemonic naval rivalry between Britain and France lasted so long.
38 The basing competition and galley warfare
In the late fifteenth century, and encouraged by the Pope, the Italian city-
states were mostly allied together against the Ottomans, though some at various
times were allied with them, so there were continuing tensions among the Italian
states. And gradually, the Turks expanded, first by land in Albania. In 1470, the
Ottomans took Negroponte, long a Venetian main base. And, Turkish cavalry
raided Dalmatia and Frioli, not far from Venice. In 1479, Venice admitted defeat
in a 16-year war, conceding Negroponte and some other Aegean islands, and
also the Albanian fortress of Scutari. Shortly thereafter, the Turks took Otranto
on the Italian heel. On the other hand, Venice was able to establish greater
control over Cyprus. But by this juncture, Venetian naval power had passed its
zenith, even as the city-state’s influence in Italy itself was maintained.
This zenith of Venetian power coincided with the onset of a whole new era of
power politics in Europe. In 1494, France invaded Italy to back up its claim on
the Kingdom of Naples. Venice organized a counter-coalition involving some
Italian states, the German emperor and the King of Spain. England, meanwhile,
was a counterbalance to France. Amidst all this, Venice tried to keep a dominant
position in Italy and to maintain naval dominance in the Mediterranean. In a
complicated set of maneuvers, Venice occupied key cities in Apulia in 1495,
helped to drive the French out of Naples, persuaded cities such as Otranto and
Brindisi to help man Venetian fleets, supported Pisa against Florence, then allied
with the new French king.
But, Venice was overstretched in trying to be both a land- and seapower. And
at this point, the Ottoman Empire launched a sustained offensive against the
Venetian maritime empire.20 In 1479, a big Ottoman fleet went into the Ionian
Sea, capturing the main Venetian strongholds in Greece, including Modon and
Coron, the “two eyes of the Republic,” which Venice had controlled since 1204,
for almost 300 years. Dalmatia and Frioli were raided. In 1503, Venice made
peace by surrendering numerous strongpoints in Greece and Albania, adding to
those lost in 1479 (Samothrace, Imbros, Lembros). But at this time, closer to
home, it acquired Trieste. But in 1509, the League of Cambrai (France, the
German emperor, the Pope, the King of Hungary, the Duke of Savoy, the King
of Spain), wanting to repel the Turks, also threatened to dismember the Venetian
empire. Venice, via alliance diplomacy, eventually regained all of its mainland
territories after a seven-year war, after the Pope and the King of Spain changed
sides and then later Venice allied with France.
But Venice was losing its long-held maritime predominance. The Ottomans
conquered Syria and Egypt in 1517, then Rhodes in 1522.21 Then, under the
leadership of the red-bearded Khaireddin, the Ottomans took over the Barbary
coast including Algiers by 1529. By that time, the Ottoman Empire had acquired
strongholds all around the Mediterranean, from Greece and Albania, to Egypt
(Suez) and Syria, and to Algeria. Cyprus would be added much later in 1591.
So, in the period between the capture of Constantinople in 1453 and the import-
ant base at Negroponte in 1470, up to 1529, the Turks became a dominant naval
power in the Mediterranean, reducing Venice to a second class seapower after a
300-year plus reign as maritime hegemon.
 The basing competition and galley warfare 39
The Ottoman Empire was actually a “two-sea” naval power, as France later
would be in the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. It had major bases at Jidda on
the Red Sea and at Aden, from around 1516, and another sometime later at
Basra at the head of the Persian Gulf. From these bases it was to contest,
however unsuccessfully, Portuguese naval expansion in the Indian Ocean.
During the time the Ottoman Empire was expanding its basing network in the
Mediterranean in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (mostly at the expense
of Venice, and with Genoa’s naval power and its bases by then nearly having
evaporated), Spain, from the other end of the Mediterranean, was beginning to
expand its basing network in the “Middle Sea.” Indeed, this occurred simultan-
eously with Spain’s development of an empire in the western hemisphere cen-
tered on the Caribbean and the South American littoral on the Pacific Coast
(Havana and Kingston, for instance, became Spanish outposts in 1511 and 1509,
respectively), and also at the same time as Portuguese expansion into the Indian
Ocean region. Spain was, of course, approaching the apogee of its hegemonic
power which, arguably, was reached later in the sixteenth century up to the
defeat of the Armada by Britain in 1588. Referring to Spain in the Mediter-
ranean during the early sixteenth century, Lane states that (relative to the
Ottoman Empire) “only through Spanish and Habsburg leadership was a naval
power of possibly countervailing strength developed in those same decades.”
Spain during this period actually used a lot of Italian ships and seamen,
particularly after it acquired Sicily. It captured Naples in 1501–1503 and took
the Apulian ports from Venice. In 1505 too, Spain’s campaign along the North
African coast netted the important strongholds of Mers El Kebir (much later a
French base), Oran, Mostaganem, Tenes, Bougie and Algiers. In 1519, the
Hapsburg who was to become Emperor Charles V inherited the Spanish throne,
so he combined the power of Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, and a claim on
Milan and other resources in Germany and the Netherlands. In 1535 his forces
attacked Tunis (Galeta) with a huge fleet and also took Malta, which was given
to the Knights of St. John, whom the Turks had driven out of Rhodes.22
Venice, in the early sixteenth century, a declining power in the Mediter-
ranean, was forced to steer a tortuous course between burgeoning Ottoman and
Spanish power. In the sixteenth century, it twice aligned with Spain and the
Hapsburgs against the Turks. In the first of those wars the Christian coalition
suffered a humiliating defeat at Prevesa. In the second in 1570–1573, the Chris-
tian coalition led by Spain’s Philip II, won a major victory (albeit with inconclu-
sive political ramifications) against the Ottomans at Lepanto. Due to fear of
Spain, Venice made a separate peace with the Turks in 1540 after Prevesa.23 At
that time, Venice lost the last of its possessions in the Aegean north of Crete.
In 1571, as noted, the Christian coalition led by the Hapsburg prince, Don
John of Austria, won a famous victory that halted the expansion of Ottoman
naval power. Venice was able to retain, as a result, its position at Zante, Corfu
and the Dalmatian coast, but it had to give up Cyprus. Venice’s naval power had
declined dramatically since the period in the 1420s of the Milanese wars and the
demise of rival Genoa. Indeed, by the time of Lepanto, what had been – as
40 The basing competition and galley warfare
measured by fleet naval power and basing structure – a naval rivalry over
Mediterranean hegemony between Venice and Genoa, had slowly transitioned
into a rivalry between the two major powers, Spain and the Ottoman Empire,
both of whose domains spread way beyond the Mediterranean. The former con-
trolled most of the western Mediterranean and the latter the eastern Mediter-
ranean, with the North African coast becoming a focus of military rivalry along
with Malta, Sicily and the lower Italian coast.
There was an additional factor here. France, rival to the Habsburgs, and
despite its Christian identity, allied for a while with the Ottomans. During the
period 1570–1573, France was granted some of the trade in the Levant. In turn,
France allowed the Ottomans to use Marseille as a base (earlier, the Ottomans
had had access to Toulon), somewhat outflanking the Venetians.24
But after the 1470s, the focus of major power naval competition moved out
of the Mediterranean to the oceanic waters of the Atlantic and Indian oceans.

Summary
The basing competition in the Mediterranean in the four centuries between 1204
and the 1570s has some obvious characteristics that bear noting, particularly in
comparison to the later imperial-colonial era and that of the Cold War. Those
characteristics include polarity (as applied to basing structures if not overall
power rankings); the degree to which basing structures are separate or, alterna-
tively, interspersed, the degree to which bases serve commercial as well as
security functions; the basis for base acquisitions in conquest and colonization
versus merely via diplomacy; the extent to which actual warfare resulted in the
altering of the basing access equation i.e., the matter of “pick-off,” and the roots
of the location, uses and number of bases in extant technologies, in this case
overwhelmingly involving traditional galley warfare.
As noted, the some 400-year-long competition for bases (and associated gar-
risons, colonies, entrepôts) in the Mediterranean from Venice’s initial expansion
to the era of Lepanto first involved a lengthy bipolar naval competition between
Venice and Genoa, then as the latter faded, a competition between the former
and the Ottoman Empire, and then what slowly evolved into a bipolar competi-
tion between the latter and Spain, with Venice a remnant fading factor. This was
a regional form of bipolarity in an era well before the development of a global
system, and where at the time of the rivalry between the two Italian city-states,
the much larger Mongol Empire (and later the Golden Horde of Tamerlane)
dominated the Eurasian landmass. At the end of this period, the bipolar competi-
tion between Spain and the Ottoman Empire more closely resembled a more
broadly based bipolarity, also at a time when France and Austria (the latter
linked by dynastic ties to Spain) were also major powers.
The maritime empires of Venice and Genoa were interspersed, cheek by jowl,
wherein periods of cooperation and co-location of colonies and commercial
zones gave rise to periodic bouts of warfare which involved a zero-sum competi-
tion for bases in the eastern Mediterranean, Aegean and Black seas. Later, the
 The basing competition and galley warfare 41
basing networks of the Ottoman Empire and Spain would mostly be concen-
trated at the opposite ends of the Mediterranean, with a zone of conflict roughly
in the middle. In both of these telescoped competitions, there was frequent
warfare resulting in base “pick-offs” for the winners, usually subject to diplo-
matic negotiations at the close of hostilities.
This was certainly an era throughout which saw the coexistence of security
and economic entrepôts functions for distant bases. Both the fleets of Genoa and
Venice combined commerce and naval firepower – much of the work of both
navies consisted of protection of convoys all over the Mediterranean and Black
seas and (in the case of Venice) to England and Flanders. Commercial colonies
were co-located with naval bases in the Levant, Cyprus, Crete, Constantinople
and in several Black Sea ports such as Tana, which abutted onto the territory of
the Golden Horde. Indeed, it was commercial advantage which was what the
naval competition was largely about (later, in the Cold War, perhaps only Marx-
ists would so interpret the U.S.–Soviet competition for basing access). The
entrepôt function of bases would, of course, also be a prominent feature of the
subsequent Portuguese, French, Dutch and British empires. However, the
competition between Spain and the Ottoman Empire seems much less subject to
an economic interpretation; rather, religious ideology and more purely security
concerns were involved. Hence, there was somewhat of a model for the much
later Cold War.
The galley warfare in the Mediterranean up to Lepanto, and its relation to
bases, involves a number of characteristics that set it apart from the later age of
oceanic empires, even aside from the small scale involved, though that is a
major point. Guillmartin in his excellent treatise, Gunpowder and Galleys,
makes the point about what he refers to as “the Mahanian Fallacy,” claiming that
Mahan’s dicta were not relevant to the earlier Mediterranean system.25 Mahan’s
emphasis was on sea control, on destroying the enemy’s fleet in battle, after
which destruction of the enemy’s seaborne commerce would follow automati-
cally. His two major emphases, hence, were seapower and control of the sea.
What the French called “guerre de course,” somewhat the weapon of the weak
(“asymmetric war” in modern parlance) was seen as a waste of resources and
effort, at best a sideline. But as Guillmartin points out, Mahan’s dogmas were
not valid in the Mediterranean system of the sixteenth century, the climax of the
era of galley warfare. According to him, galleys, by their very nature, could not
effect control of the sea. Particularly, galleys could not conduct year-round
blockades.
Galleys were very much dependent on fortified ports, on bases. Hence, as
Guillmartin says, “it would be no exaggeration to characterize the nature of six-
teenth century, Mediterranean warfare at seas as a symbiotic relationship
between the seaside fortress, more particularly the fortified port, and the war
galley.”26 But, radii of action of the galley and galley fleets were very restricted
relative to sailing ships because of their large required manpower and their
needs for space and provisions. Hence, “the size of the galley’s crew, the crucial
military importance of their health and vigor and the severe limitations on
42 The basing competition and galley warfare
storage space aboard specialized rowing vessels limit severely the galley’s
radius of action and . . . tie it tightly to its bases.”27 Oarsmen, water and provi-
sions were available only in limited quantities. The main point: the radius of
action of galley fleets was restricted by logistics factors and was an inverse func-
tion of the size of the fleet or squadron involved. Hence, all sides engaged in
“little wars” of economic attrition, guerre de course, and the seizing of strategic
bases for what was constant raiding. As noted, Spain developed a chain of bases
along the northern Mediterranean coast from Gibraltar to Messina, and in the
Balearics and Sardinia. The Venetians in their heyday, had numerous fortified
ports down the eastern coast of the Adriatic, around the Morea, in Crete, Cyprus
and around the Black Sea. The Ottomans created similar chains of bases both on
the north and south coasts of the Mediterranean.
All the major contending powers based small galley fleets forward from their
homelands. Venice had small galley fleets at Canea on Crete, and in Cyprus and
Constantinople; Spain had a considerable galley fleet in Messina.
One other point bears mention. Sustaining a large galley fleet, particularly for
a major expedition, required logistical support, manpower reserves, and critical
specialized facilities such as shipyards, arsenals, powder mills, and ovens for
baking ships’ biscuits in requisite quantities. The latter was a major logistical
consideration. These requirements for a logistical base capable of supporting a
major operation could only be satisfied by a major port city with a first-rate
harbor and a rich hinterland and a well-developed trading network to support it.
According to Guillmartin, only three cities on the Mediterranean fully accom-
modated these criteria;28 Barcelona, Venice and Constantinople, not coinciden-
tally representing the three major naval powers of the period. Alexandria and
Salonika were said not quite to qualify. Others said to be backed by lesser eco-
nomic resources or less government interest were Seville, Malaga, Marseilles,
Genoa, Toulon, Algiers, Naples, Messina and Smyrna, though they could all act
as forward bases for major expeditions. Genoa, of course, had earlier rivaled
Venice.
Seasonal factors also played a role. The Mediterranean campaigning season
was short, from mid-March to mid-October. Galley fleets could only go limited
distances before needing to get home to beat the advent of winter, and this was
particularly problematic if a lengthy siege to reduce an opponent’s seaside
fortress was desired.29 As noted by Guillmartin, “the Ottoman fleet which recap-
tured Tunis in 1574 left Istanbul on 15 May and returned in November,” with
about five weeks’ journey in both directions, leaving just over three months for
effective military action. He sees this as indicating the limits on long-range
power projection of a sixteenth century galley fleet for an operation conducted
about 1000 miles away from the home base.
The contest for forward bases closer to the foe’s center of gravity for pur-
poses of power projection was fought back and forth by Spain and the Ottomans.
Spain, on the defensive at the height of Ottoman power, had to worry about a
range of possibilities, including capture of a port in Spain itself. Malta was
particularly critical – “close enough to the Ottoman sources of naval power to
 The basing competition and galley warfare 43
permit a strong and sustained attack upon it, yet close enough to the Spanish
sphere of influence to be a serious threat to Spain in Turkish hands.” La Goleta,
the island fortress in Tunis harbor, was also a concern, and Spanish naval forces
there were enhanced. Port Mahon on Minorca in the Balearics was also a
concern, but for Spain, less worrisome because of its nearness to the homeland
(allowing for a relief operation), and so far from the Ottomans’ home base that a
siege could only be a short one. Likewise, for the same reason, there was less of
a concern about the Spaniards’ bases at Oran and Mazarquimir on the North
African coast. Meanwhile, for economic as well as security reasons, Spain based
as many galleys as possible in its Italian possessions such as Messina in Sicily.
Venice also forward-based galleys, is this case forward in the eastern
Mediterranean to protect a shrinking colonial empire, to protect its wheat sup-
plies from the Aegean islands, and to counter-threaten Ottoman bases. In the big
battle at Lepanto, Venice itself contributed 61 galleys and eight galleases,
Candia 18 galleys, Canea eight (both in Crete), Retino three, Corfu three,
Cefalonia two, Zente two, and one each from Lesina, Quero, Veglia Capo de
Istria, Cataro, Padua, Bergamo, Arbe and Brescia. Hence, by 1570, Crete, Corfu
and a couple of smaller Greek bases were all that was left of a once more
formidable forward presence.
4 Basing systems in the age of
empire and sail

The Portuguese seaborne empire and basing structure

Though both the Mongols and Ming China (also Southern Sung China and the
Arabs) projected power over long distances with sailing vessels, it was the Por-
tuguese who really inaugurated the “Age of Sail,” with the explorations along
the West African coast leading up to Vasco de Gama’s epic voyage to India,
Albuquerque’s elaboration of a maritime empire in the Indian Ocean, and the
extension of naval power to Taiwan and Japan, and also to Brazil.1 This new
capacity for long-range power projection was much closer to a truly “global
reach” than anything that had preceded it.
A number of general statements may be made at the outset regarding Portu-
gal’s basing system and its then concurrent role in the world. First, it is notewor-
thy that the nature of Portugal’s role in the world has been the subject of some
debate between contending scholars. Some, such as Modelski and Thompson,
relying not only on the facts of its elaborate basing system but also the facts of
its predominance in numbers of capital ships, i.e., large warships, have desig-
nated Portugal, despite its small population and limited territory on the fringes
of Europe, as the first of the long-cycle maritime hegemons.2 (Venice is some-
times conceded similar status in a more limited geographic theater). Wallenstein,
however, examining the skein of world systems leadership, sees the successor,
the Netherlands, as the first truly global maritime and commercial hegemon.3
Levy, examining the history of the “great powers,” denies Portugal this title on
the basis not only of its small size, but its inability to contest great power wars
and its easy takeover by Spain in the 1630s. He and others are more likely to see
Spain as the sixteenth century hegemon, basing networks and the volume of
capital ships notwithstanding.4
In contrast with Ming China, with its massive projection of maritime power
into the Indian Ocean area, Portugal achieved a more permanent presence with
bases and overseas station fleets relative to the former’s mere use of port visits
and some amphibious excursions on land. Further, extensive shipbuilding over-
seas, particularly in Goa, India, reduced the need for Portugal to transit ships
back and forth from Lisbon to the Indian Ocean, and this too amounted to a dis-
tinction with Ming China and other previous seapowers.
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 45
The basing structure erected by Portugal in the sixteenth century was not
entirely devoted to security purposes. On the contrary, both the Portuguese fleets
and its bases were deeply involved in economic activity. Many bases were also
feitoria, “factories,” trading posts and hubs for a variety of economic functions.5
Portuguese warships convoyed ships involved in commodity trade. Bases/
entrepôts in West Africa in particular served also as slaving stations, as they
would subsequently for the Dutch, French and British. In this sense,6 the mixing
of security and economic functions was similar to the Venetian and Genoese
practice, and distinct from later practice during the periods of British and U.S.
ascendancy, the matter of the protection of “sea lines of communications,” a.k.a.
oil routes, notwithstanding.
Portuguese expansion of a basing network in the Indian Ocean, the Far East,
and South America, met with little maritime competition from rival naval
powers, the early conflicts with the mostly galley-driven Ottoman navy notwith-
standing. Rather, Spain’s then contemporary erection of a basing system in the
Caribbean and on the Pacific coast of Central and South America amounted to a
form of somewhat non-rivalrous and disconnected bipolarity.
On the other hand, Portugal’s basing structure, referenced both forward and
backward in time, reflects Thompson’s concept of system leader lineage, cen-
tered particularly on the Indian Ocean rimland littoral and Southeast Asia. Portu-
gal used numerous bases in Ceylon, Arabia and East Africa earlier utilized, if
only on a temporary basis, by Zheng He’s Chinese navy. And later, much of the
Portuguese system would be superseded by that of the Netherlands, albeit with a
greater concentration in Indonesia. Much later, the U.S. and USSR would
contest for access in many of the same places.
This then new, in the sixteenth century (but beginning earlier), Portuguese
capacity for long-range power projection was, according to Glete and Padfield,
based on three developments: ship construction, navigation and gunnery.7 The
ships associated with the Portuguese expansion were mainly caravels, only 50 to
60 feet long overall, but also ships called “naos,” about 90–100 feet long, weigh-
ing perhaps 200 tons. Navigation was based on three elements: compass course,
estimated distance, and observed latitude – these were greatly developed toward
the end of the fifteenth century. And, during this period, there was the develop-
ment of the “great gun,” the weapon which, according to Padfield and Glete,
became the supreme arbiter of seapower.8 Portuguese caravels mounted “bom-
bards,” tubes formed of wrought-iron fitted over while white hot, holding the
barrel in a series of tight reinforces and lashed to a timber bed.” With these
weapons, the Portugese inaugurated a new era of sea fighting, the standoff
artillery duel fought by groups of ships in close-hauled line ahead, a develop-
ment that was later perfected by the Dutch and English in the seventeenth
century.
The Portuguese seaborne empire evolved only slowly and gradually, eman-
ating from a small population and territorial base at home. Again, this expansion
was achieved with only limited opposition from contending naval powers, the
Ottoman Empire constituting somewhat of an exception.
46 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
The first hints of colonial and maritime expansion came with the takeover of
Ceuta (Morocco) in 1415 and the island of Madeira (1419), about a century
before the main thrust of Portuguese expansion in the early sixteenth century. In
the middle and close of the fifteenth century, there was further expansion to
Tangier (1437), Arguim (Mauritania) (1445), Alcacer in North Africa (1458), the
Azores (1439), Cape Verde (1456), and Sao Tome (1510).9 The latter two would
later constitute important fleet basing points off the coast of Africa. Then, at the
beginning of the sixteenth century, propelled by the aforementioned advances in
shipbuilding and navigation, there was the expansion to Mazagan, Morocco
(1514), and in East Africa at Mombasa (1505), Zanzibar, Pate, Penda, Malindi
(1505) and Sofala, Sena, Tete, Mocambique, Oval (1505) in Mozambique.
Following, at the time of Albuquerque, a Portuguese presence was established in
Indonesia, at Timor, Solor and Flores (1520), Passim (1512), and in India at Diu
(1509) (scene of a major naval battle), Chaul (1521), Calicut (1508), Cochin
(1503), Canavore (1505), Quihan (1519), and in Bassein, Damago and Bombay
(1534), and Ceylon at Colombo in 1518. Socotra off the coast of Yemen was
taken over in 1507, and a base established at Muscat in Oman in 1515. Not long
afterwards, outposts were established in Brazil at Recife (1520) and at Pernam-
buco and Bahia in the 1530s, much later at Belem in the interior (1616), and at
Rio de Janeiro and Paraiba further south. It is to be noted that because of the pre-
vailing wind patterns, sailing ships moving from Lisbon around the African cape
to the Indian Ocean were required to go close to the Brazilian coast before
heading east to round that cape.10 In the Far East beyond Indonesia, outposts were
established in Macao (1557), and Nagasaki (1520). Meanwhile, additional posts
were established in long-bypassed Angola in 1575 at Maxima, Massagao, and
Combonde, as well as at the later more important Luanda.11
Within Europe, in the Mediterranean and along the European west coast, Por-
tugal had little access, nor was it involved in naval combat or naval diplomacy
in these areas (Spain dominated the western Mediterranean, growing British
power the area to the north). Some exceptions were the use of Antwerp and
Southampton by convoyed merchant ships, beginning around 1550, on the basis
of diplomacy rather than conquest.12
Most of the aforementioned points of access were mere fortified trading
posts, some garrisoned, used for port visits. Some were under Portuguese
control, some, such as those in East Africa and also India involved alliances of
sorts with local rulers. And, the Portuguese fleets were relatively small. Albu-
querque, in 1510, set forth from Lisbon with 23 vessels and 2000 men (a tiny
expedition relative to those of Zheng Ho) in an expedition that stopped at
Socotra Island and proceeded to Goa on India’s Malabar coast.13
The Portuguese main bases, and the backbone of its overseas maritime pres-
ence, were at Ormuz, Goa and Malacca (perhaps also Diu to a lesser degree)
providing for sea control in an arc stretching from the Persian Gulf area to the
Indonesian Straits. The Portuguese attempted but failed to capture Aden and
Jidda, the latter defended by galleys and coastal defenses.14 As noted, the build-
ing of warships at Goa (availed also by excellent hardwood for shipbuilding)
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 47
and also Malacca lessened the need for rotating ships back and forth from
Lisbon.15
The pattern of the basis for Portuguese base acquisitions, running along a
spectrum from naked colonial conquest to quid pro quo diplomacy, presents a
somewhat mixed picture, all the more so by contrast with contemporaneous
Spain, which accented the former end of the spectrum. Mostly, this had to do
with the capability for resistance on the part of what was to become the hosts of
the bases. In areas where militarily and technologically backward peoples
resided, such as in West Africa, coastal bases were taken by conquest along with
slaves and gold, often involving coastal forts and those a bit upstream from the
mouths of major rivers such as the Congo. In India, Indonesia and along both the
Malabar and Coromandel coasts of India, where there were more developed and
better armed principalities, deals often had to be struck, more symmetrical trade
relations established, or, as was the case particularly in India, a divide and
conquer strategy of alliances could be utilized. Generally speaking, by contrast
with later eras, use of arms transfers as a quid pro quo seems to have played a
limited role.16

The Spanish seaborne empire and basing structure

During the period of Portuguese maritime ascendance, Spain also developed a
vast maritime empire and a corresponding far-flung basing system.17 As noted,
some analysts contest the idea of Portuguese maritime hegemony, the numbers
of capital ships and the far-flung nature of a basing system stretching from
Recife to Nagasaki notwithstanding. Rather, they still see a fundamentally more
powerful Spain, militarily powerful on the ground in Europe as well as at sea
outside the continent, and easily able later to take over Portugal itself. Again it is
noteworthy that Spain’s basing system, geographically speaking, coincided at its
peak with Portugal’s, but was little competitive with it after Tordesillas, except-
ing some rivalry over islands in the eastern Atlantic, offshore Europe and others
in Southeast Asia along the Indonesia/Philippines faultline.
As Portugal began its expansion with Ceuta and Madeira, likewise, Spain
began in the late fifteenth century with the Canary Islands, and its harbor at Las
Palmas (1479), afterwards taking decades to subdue the local Guanche people.18
And, as noted, in the context of Mediterranean galley warfare and the Spanish-
Ottoman rivalry in the Mediterranean, and in the wake of the reconquista, Spain
in the early 1500s acquired bases along the North African coast at Melilla
(1492),19 Mers El Kebir, Oran, Mostaganem, Tenes, Algiers, Bougie (all 1505),
Tunis/Goleta (1535), Malta (1535), also in the early sixteenth century at
Messina and Naples, Italy.20 Those conquests and base acquisitions were made
against strong opposition, i.e., the Ottomans and their Muslim satraps in North
Africa.
However, after the first transatlantic voyages of discovery, Spain moved
quickly and decisively to elaborate a web of bases and colonies in the Caribbean
and Central and South America. Here, conquest against vastly inferior and
48 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
outgunned native populations was relatively simple, as witness the quick col-
lapse of the Inca, Aztec and Mayan empires under assault from vastly numeri-
cally inferior forces. And unlike Portugal, with its system of coastal outposts and
bases, Spain conquered and colonized large land masses of continental size,
again the function of limited opposition by forces vastly inferior to those faced
by Portugal in Arabia and India.21
The main strategic bases of the Spanish seaborne empire were at Santo
Domingo (1496), Vera Cruz/San Juan de Ulloa (1579), Havana (1511), Aca-
pulco (1527), Cartagena, San Juan de Puerto Rico, Manila (1540), and Nombre
de Dios and Puerto Bello (Panama, 1598). Of these, of great importance in
particular was Havana, from where warships could control the Florida Straits
and the Caribbean island passages, and where similar to the role of Goa for Por-
tugal, major shipbuilding took place (also in Acapulco) to lessen the need for
rotation of ships to and from Spain.22
Other than the aforementioned main naval bases, a number of other ports
were used as more minor bases in Latin America. Among them were Darien,
Panama (1513), Kingston, Jamaica (1509, later taken by England), Maracaibo,
Lima (1535), Santiago (1541), Tehuantepec and Yucatan in Mexico, Panama
City, Arica, in Chile, Buenos Aires, Huatulco in Nicaragua, Guayaquil in
Ecuador, Santiago de Cuba (1521), St. Augustine in Florida, and Cubagna in the
Caribbean. In addition to the main base at Manila, in Asia, there was some
access in the Moluccas. Within Europe, and in the context of the struggle for
naval supremacy with England, Spanish fleets utilized access to Lisbon around
1587 and later at Kinsale in Ireland around 1601.23 After the takeover of Portu-
gal, access was expanded in North Africa to points at Ceuta, Tangiers and San
Lucar.
As noted, small flotillas were forward-based at Havana, Acapulco and San
Juan, warships were built in the fomer two, and at Realijo in Nicaragua and
Cartagena, later also at Guayaquil.24 As a force multiplier, this was analogous to
the U.S. Navy’s later drydocking of aircraft carriers in Japan and the Philip-
pines.
According to Parry, in comparing the Portugese and Spanish “systems of
oceanic trade” (mostly Lisbon to Goa vs. Seville to various harbors in the
Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico), that of Spain “was the larger both in bulk and
value.”25 But neither was huge. In both cases, armed ships were involved, alone
or involving armed cargo ships. For Spain as well as Portugal, the “naos” had
replaced the “caravels,” the former characterized as “spare rigged merchant
ships of greater capacity and capable of carrying more formidable armament.”26
By 1560, this involved 60–65 ships on average each year westbound, somewhat
fewer eastbound.27 For the Carrera de Indies, three harbors were most import-
ant: Santo Domingo for the islands, Vera Cruz–San Juan de Ulloa for New
Spain (Mexico), and Nombre de Dios (Panama) for Peru. The last-named was
later superseded by Puerto Bello. Smaller ships plied in Peru and Chile, and for
this, ships were built at Huatulco in Nicaragua adjacent to good timber stands. In
the latter part of the sixteenth century, ships were also built at Guayaquil.28
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 49
Lengthy times were involved in fleet voyages at this time. From Acapulco to
Manila was a trade wind run of eight to ten weeks.29 The return voyage took four
to seven months (after leaving Manila, ships often struggled for two months to
move in a northeasterly direction).
In the Atlantic, in the 1550s, the galleon was developed, “a specialized fight-
ing ship, often of 500 tons or more, with finer lines than a merchant ship, and
with a heavy broadside armament.”30 These ships kept open the shipping lanes
from Seville to the Canaries to the Azores, and could escort fleets across the
Atlantic. Coming the other way, the Mexican Flota made a three to four week
journey from Vera Cruz to Havana against the trade winds, then took a few
months to get to Spain via the Florida channel and through the Bahamas.31 Each
convoy was guarded by numbers from two to eight galleons. Both the Spanish
flotas going to Panama and hence Peru, and to Mexico, wintered in the Indies.
Hence, total round-trips lasted more than a year.
Thus can one see that as in the case of Portugal, Spain’s basing network and
naval power was initially entwined with economic activity. But there were
important differences. Portugal established a network of “factories” or trading
posts in Africa and India to deal with trade in gold, ivory and slaves. And, its
fleets did function in terms of protecting trade routes and convoys. In Spain’s
case, convoying of the silver flota was the be-all and end-all of its navy’s func-
tions. That involved critically a route from Peru to Panama, overland the
isthmus, on to Havana and San Juan, and across the Atlantic with stops in the
Azores or Canaries. The trade route from Acapulco to Manila and back was also
vital. Somewhat of an analogy exists here with the U.S. Cold War concern for
oil tanker routes running from the Persian Gulf to Asia, Europe and America.

The Dutch seaborne empire and basing structure

Following that of Portugal, and still somewhat coincident with that of Spain,
was the Netherlands seaborne empire, deemed by Modelski et al. as the long
cycle hegemon of the seventeenth century, based on data for capital ships. Actu-
ally, Wallerstein et al., purveyors of international systems theory, designate the
Netherlands as the first of the major commercial/maritime empires,32 based not
only on maritime power (capital ships and basing networks), but on the role of
Amsterdam as the preeminent global commercial hub, a status claimed never to
have been held by Lisbon even at the peak of Portugal’s power. Levy, mean-
while, also grants the Netherlands the status of great power, a status conceded to
Spain but not Portugal, based on calculations of military power and the capacity
to win major wars on the ground in Europe itself.33
Most noteworthy in the case of the Netherlands is the extent to which its
global basing system largely mirrored that of its predecessor, Portugal, in sheer
geographic locational terms. Hence, the fit to Thompson’s concept of system
leader lineage, as the Netherlands largely took over Portugal’s empire, and
largely matched its geopolitical configuration all around the Eurasian rimland,
centered on the Indian Ocean, but involving also Brazil and the Far East.
50 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
The Dutch took the Portuguese empire by force, whereas the latter was built
from scratch via gradual conquest in West and East Africa, India and the East
Indies, and whereas the former later yielded mostly peacefully in the end to the
next system leader, Great Britain, via dynastic politics, after earlier having
fought with it three major naval wars.
Levy is insistent on the capacity to prevail in major wars as a determinant of
great power status.34 And it is noteworthy that Modelski, Thompson and Waller-
stein give the Netherlands the status of a century-long hegemony despite its
small land size, its loss to Britain of two out of three naval wars, and its chroni-
cally living under threat from a land attack by a much stronger continental
power, France.
The beginnings of a Dutch overseas basing structure were actually in Indone-
sia (unlike Portugal, they did not expand gradually along both coasts of Africa),
first in Amboina and Ternate (1605), Tidore (1613), then in Batavia in 1619,
later in Malacca (1641, taken from Portugal).35 Batavia (later called Jakarta) was
to become the main Asian naval base of the Dutch Empire, and to remain so up
to World War II.
Around 1634, the Dutch captured and established bases in the Caribbean at
Curacao, Bonaire, St. Martin’s, St. Eustatius, and Aruba here in competition
with the surrounding Spanish outposts (Portugal had never had a foothold in the
Caribbean).36 Beginning in 1638 with El Minya (Ghana), the Dutch began to roll
up some of the erstwhile Portuguese bases in West Africa – later, around 1663,
this was extended to Loango (Angola), elsewhere on the Gold Coast and Cape
Verde, also at Cape Town. Also in the 1630s and 1640s, the Dutch (really the
VOC company) established an outpost in India at Pulicat. Later, the Dutch had
additional outposts in India at Pondicherry (1677), Cannivore and Quilon and in
Sri Lanka at Batticola. By 1750, beyond the point of Dutch maritime supremacy,
bases were used in India at Balasore, Calcutta, Dacca, Patna and Agra, also in
Thailand near Bangkok. By that time the major Dutch bases in Indonesia were at
Batavia, Malacca, Palembang and Padang in Indonesia, and in Borus, Sadras,
Nagapatam, Cochin and Surat in India, and in Ceylon at Jaffna, Trincomalee,
Galle, Colombo, Jaffnapatam and Batticola. Access was gained also in Zee-
landia (Taiwan) in 1627, and Japan in the 1640s at Nagasaki, Deshima and
Hirada. A base at Canton in China was shared with Britain.37
Also, the Dutch attacked and replaced the Portuguese for a while in Brazil,
taking Bahia (1623), and Pernambuco (1630), both of which were shortly after
returned to Portuguese control, the latter only in 1648.38
More so than Portugal, the Netherlands was engaged in naval warfare within
Europe, and utilized a number of external bases while in conflict with Britain
and in connection with wars and shifting alliances in the Baltic. Bergen in
Norway was extensively used by the Dutch navy in the 1660s,39 in connection
with convoying merchant ships home to Holland in the face of British attacks.
Kalmar in Sweden was also a base for Dutch ships, as was Elba in the Mediter-
ranean.40 In 1664, while fighting Britain in a major naval war, Dutch warships
had access to Spanish ports: Cadiz, Malaga and Alicante, also Palermo in
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 51
Sicily and Elba.41 Later, around 1704, the Dutch navy made use of Lisbon’s
facilities.
During the period of Dutch maritime supremacy, there were only marginal
changes in power projection capability beyond that exhibited by Portugal and
Spain during their telescoped zeniths. The Dutch relied heavily on a ship called
the Fluit, first built in 1595.42 The Fluit had a length of 40 meters, a width of
only 6.5 meters and a displacement of 350–400 tons. They had 10–20 installed
guns, a crew of 60–65. They had good seafaring qualities, high speed, and a
large capacity – they were used as fighting-transport vessels, and were dominant
from the end of the sixteenth century up to the eighteenth century.
In 1644, the Dutch had some 1000 warships and 1000 armed merchant ships
(Fluits), with 150 ships deployed by the East Indies Company (VOC).43 They, like
Portugal, had only a tenuous hold on possessions, really just coastal outposts in
Africa, India, Brazil, etc. – the exception was the extensive control over Java and
the Malaccas. And naval power projection was slow. Using the “roaring forties”
trade route, the Dutch sent out to Java two fleets per year: the Christmas Fleet left
in December or January and arrived in July or August, and the Easter Fleet left in
April or May and arrived in October through December. So, the duration of
voyage in either direction was 5-and-a-half–7 months, which also served as the
parameters for communication between the Netherlands and Java
Hence, the Netherlands had something closer to a global reach than did Portu-
gal or Spain, at least as measured by basing access (Wallerstein’s granting it the
status of the first long-cycle hegemon perhaps was based more on the facts of cen-
tralized core commercial predominance). The Dutch Empire lacked somewhat the
extent of Portugal’s presence in East Africa and around the Arabian Peninsula, and
was perhaps more weakly established on the Brazilian coast. But its more exten-
sive basing access in Indonesia, Ceylon, also India, Japan and Taiwan, and much
more in the Caribbean, gave it a larger geographical spread. Indeed, its penetration
of the Caribbean, and also its penetration of what would become the east coast of
the U.S., really made for somewhat of a combination of what had been the Por-
tuguese and Spanish empires, now without the geographic restraints of Tordesilla.
Again, much of this empire was taken from or nearly succeeded that of Portugal,
especially in India, Indonesia, West Africa and Brazil. Both empires were centered
on maritime control over the Indian Ocean, the sea lanes leading to it around
Africa, the Far East littoral, and the sea lanes leading to Brazil. The Dutch
extended this to the Caribbean and the east coast of North America.
The Dutch also went further in colonizing and inland penetration in Brazil
and Indonesia. And, unlike the case of Portugal, Dutch naval power was evident
in the Baltic, in Norway (extensive access at Bergen), in the English Channel
(hotly contested by England) and in the Mediterranean.

Great Britain: seaborne empire and basing structure

The long reign of the next long-cycle hegemon, Great Britain, saw the elabora-
tion of a huge basing network, colonies, and maritime presence and power
52 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
projection to the extent that, for perhaps the first time, a near global reach was
attained. Here also, one could speak of something closer to Mahanian sea
control. Unlike in Portugal’s and Spain’s cases, there was no really bipolar mar-
itime rival, though France challenged Britain at times during the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries. And unlike in the case of the Dutch, Britain was never
really defeated at sea. With the domination over land masses such as India,
Canada, Australia and much of Africa, there was land control and inland pene-
tration way beyond the points d’appui established by Portugal. Towards the end,
after World War I, there was some extensive power projection capability by air-
craft, with associated overseas bases. And during Britain’s two-phased long-
cycle hegemony, there was the transition from sail-powered ships to those
powered first by coal and then by oil, greatly increasing the speed of power pro-
jection (also allowing for more direct seaborne operations, i.e., not requiring
routes allowed by trade winds as with the earlier Portuguese “carreira”). And
also worth noting, the British near-global system of bases developed slowly,
roughly over three centuries corresponding to the seventeenth, eighteenth, and
nineteenth centuries.44 Throughout this period, while elaborating a vast overseas
empire and winning (sometimes with allies) several crucial hegemonic wars
(1714, 1763, 1815, 1918), Britain also achieved extensive basing access within
Europe, both during periods of peace and war, in the Mediterranean and Baltic
seas and along the western coast of Europe.
Britain’s system of basing access within Europe and overseas evolved slowly
from a start in the seventeenth century, during the period of Dutch (and still
Spanish) ascendance, on up to a peak at the time of World War I and even
slightly beyond. In the seventeenth century, the initial primary focus of expan-
sion was in the Caribbean, North America and India, as well as within Europe in
the context of its ongoing military and political rivalries.
In the Caribbean and the Atlantic, initial access was established in Provi-
dence Island (1624), Kingston, Jamaica (which remained a stronghold all the
way to the 1920s), Barbados (1625), Bermuda (1609), Nevis (1628), Antigua
(1632), St. Kitts (1624) and Montserrat (1632). In North America, there was
Virginia (1616), Massachusetts (1620), Baltimore (1634), Boston (1628) and
Oswego Bay (1630s), also Acadia in Nova Scotia (1667).45 In India, early access
was established in Surat (1612–1618), Mesulatam (1611), Salamore (1623),
Madras (1639), Calcutta (1686) Bombay (1665); also in Tellichery, Cuddahore,
Belasore, Dacca, Malda, Patna and Visagapatnam, and Agra (1612), sometimes
involving joint access on the part of the British and Dutch trading companies.46
Additionally, and also alongside the Dutch, there was an early-on British access
point at Ternate in Indonesia, as far back as 1599, also in nearby Bantam and
Amboina. 47
In West Africa in 1664, Britain acquired access to the infamous slavery
center at Goree as part of its gradual takeover of the Dutch Empire, after earlier
having established a post at James Island around 1618.48 Within Europe, and in
North Africa amidst the shifting tides of alliances and warfare, Britain had
extensive access in a number of places. This actually began in the sixteenth
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 53
century, during which time the British navy utilized ports at Agadir in 1551 and
in Italy at Livorno, Civitavecchia, Zante and Cephalonia in the 1570s. Then in
the 1600s, among the ports used were Dunkirk around 1658, Tangiers in 1662
and 1697, Copenhagen in 1665, Lisbon in 1640, 1656–1657 and 1697 (after the
decline in Portugal’s own maritime dominance in the seventeenth century, it
long provided the British navy access to this critical base).49 Cork and Kinsale,
ports in Ireland, were used by the British navy in the late 1600s.50
In the early part of the eighteenth century, partly in connection with the wars
against France and Louis XIV (and Spain) that culminated in the Treaty of
Utrecht in 1714, Britain moved towards maritime dominance and the associated
elaboration of a more global network of bases. Critical here was the takeover of
Gibraltar in 1704, ever after a pillar of Britain’s basing structure at the exit from
the Mediterranean. Likewise critical for a long time after was Britain’s control
over Port Mahon on Minorca in the Balearic Islands, which was later lost to the
French from 1756 to 1763. Sardinia was a point of access for the British navy
beginning around 1708.51
During this period, points of access in South Asia were added to by those in
Ceylon, long dominated by the Dutch, particularly at Trincomalee, which
remained an important British base up to World War II.52 In Indonesia, towards
the end of the eighteenth century, as Dutch power declined, Britain established
access to Penang (1794) and Banda (1784). The base at Simonstown at the tip of
South Africa, long a Dutch base, was used by Britain as early as 1667, only later
in 1795 to fall under the full control of London.53 In West Africa, access to
Brielle was acquired in 1713. In North America, Louisburg was made a main
base after 1713, and Halifax in the 1750s.
During the 1790s, after Holland sided with France, Britain began the takeover
of some important remnants of the once august Dutch Empire: Malacca (1794),
the Moluccas (1795), Bencoolen (1794), all in Indonesia (Achin had been taken
over earlier in 1756) and Surinam in 1799.54 These eventually were returned to
the Netherlands as part of a peace settlement.
Still other points of access were acquired by Britain during its race to empire
and global maritime dominance in the eighteenth century during the Seven
Years’ War and both before and during the Napoleonic wars. Dakar in Senegal,
later a main French base, was a British base after 1758. Martinique was taken in
1758, then given back. It, Guadeloupe and St. Lucia fell in 1794, likewise such
small Caribbean outposts as the Saints, Maria Galante and Tobago, also
Grenada, Dominica and St. Vincent, all in 1793, then Trinidad in 1797.55 Sydney
in Australia began becoming part of this network in 1788, Bathurst in Gambia
earlier in the 1770s. Many of these cases were examples of “imperial pick-off,”
as Britain rolled up much of France’s overseas empire during the European
continental war on the basis of its high seas dominance. Meanwhile, during the
Napoleonic wars, access in Europe was utilized in a variety of places; the Texel
in Holland, Stralsund in the Baltic in Germany, Heligoland, Helsingfors in
Sweden. In the Texel during the Napoleonic wars, both British and Russian
fleets operated out of what long had been the most important Dutch naval base.56
54 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
After the Congress of Vienna and during the relatively long, mostly peaceful
remainder of the nineteenth century, Britain further expanded its maritime
empire, even amidst continuing colonial rivalries with France, and later
Germany in particular. In China, for instance, in the aftermath of the Opium
Wars and the concomitant “opening” of China, British trading rights and naval
access were acquired in numerous coastal points in the 1840s and 1850s: Kieng-
chow, Canton, Hong Kong, Kowloon, Swatow, Amoy, Foochow, Taiwan,
Ningpo and Shanghai.57 In the following two decades, additional points were
added, among them Tientsin, Hankow and Nanking.
During the nineteenth century, beginning with the Congress of Vienna,
Britain had acquired naval bases in important strategic islands in the Atlantic
and Indian Oceans. As a result of the Congress of Vienna in 1815 following the
defeat of Napoleonic France, naval access was established or solidified in
Ascension Island, the Seychelles, Mauritius, Trincomalee in Ceylon and in Free-
town, Sierra Leone. The Falklands became a British base in 1833, setting up a
long-term problem that would have its consequences in 1982. In Africa during
the nineteenth century, Lagos became a British base in 1851, as did Bathurst in
the Gambia and Freetown, Sierra Leone, Zanzibar, Mombasa in Kenya and
Durban in South Africa in 1847.58 In Asia, in addition to the numerous points of
access in China, there was also Tenasserim in Burma (1820s), Fiji (1874) and
Tonga (1899), and the New Hebrides (1906) in the southwest Pacific.59 Earlier,
Auckland (New Zealand) in 1841 had become part of this network. On Canada’s
west coast near Vancouver, Esquimalt was established as a British naval base
around 1870.60
In the largely peaceful nineteenth century, though which also featured a naval
race between Britain and France, the British navy made some use of facilities in
Europe, particularly at the Tagus in Portugal around 1831–1832, long a British
ally.61
More so than previous global or sub-global basing systems, Britain’s featured
an elaborate structure of army garrisons, primarily for colonial control and also
often co-located with navy bases (later, post-World War II, these garrisons were
more mobile and able to be directed at nearby threats to colonial control.) In
1848, the aggregate overseas garrisons far outnumbered deployments in Britain
itself, around 130,000 to around 40,000.62
Several points stand out. First, there were the very large garrisons required
for colonial control in Ireland and India, in the latter case numerically overshad-
owed by native troops. The significant deployments in Canada, Bermuda and the
Caribbean no doubt reflected an ongoing perceived strategic rivalry with the
U.S. that extended up to and even beyond World War I. Also noteworthy were
the various strategically well-placed garrisons along major sea lines of commu-
nication, at the Cape, Gibraltar, Malta, the Ionian Islands, St. Helena, Mauritius,
Ceylon, Bermuda and Hong Kong, once again highlighting the importance of
oceanic island bastions.
The number and locations of the elaborate British system of coaling stations,
circa 1889 (more or less at the empire’s peak) is instructive regarding the inter-
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 55
play of technological and political factors associated with basing access. By this
time, of course, sailing ships were passe, and all major navies were driven by
coal. To maintain a global coaling capability required some 157 coaling stations,
quantitatively speaking, a large number relative to the number of bases required
for a global sailing ship network, or later, for navies driven by oil and nuclear
power. That is, the advent of coal (heavy, bulky) vastly increased the basing
requirements for a global navy, even as it increased the speed and mobility of
ships no longer dependent on weather and wind patterns, able to move more
directly across oceans.
The location of British coaling stations also appears to indicate the permis-
siveness of basing access during this period. Many were, of course, the products
of colonial or neo-colonial control: China, India, Mesopotamia, Yemen, Iran,
Trinidad, Singapore, Labuan, Burma, Australia, New Zealand, Zanzibar, South
Africa, St. Helena and Ascension, Gibraltar, Egypt, various British possessions
in the Caribbean, Canada, etc. but equally noteworthy are the numerous coaling
stations in other major nations and their possessions, and in independent nations
in what we now call the Third World. There were numerous such stations in the
U.S., Mexico, Portuguese Mozambique, French Madagascar and Vietnam,
Japan, Mexico, Chile, Argentina, Siam, Dutch Indonesia and West Indies,
Spain’s Canary Islands and Cuba, etc. Indeed, there appear to be few places
where such British access was not allowed for. Presumably, the non-ideological
character of the nineteenth century major power rivalries, the relative absence of
major power warfare, and the laissez-faire nature of the arms trade all are
explanatory of a situation that is so greatly at variance with later nineteenth
century access diplomacy, whereby big-power basing access became more con-
strained and something with difficulty to be bargained over where colonial
control and/or alliances were not involved.

The French seaborne empire and basing structure

During the entirety of Britain’s long reign as long-cycle hegemon, spanning
some two centuries, France was its major hegemonic rival. And, nostrums about
undivided sea control notwithstanding, France had an extensive near-global
reach despite its requirement to maintain a large army on the European conti-
nent. Not as global as the British “reach,” it was, nonetheless, a rival to that of
earlier Portugal, Spain and the Netherlands. But, it was more concentrated on a
global basis.63
At no point was France clearly the maritime hegemon, though arguably, it
was overall, the world’s leading military power during the reign of Louis XIV
and again during phases of the rule of Napoleon Bonaparte. At various junc-
tures, particularly during the aforementioned phases of ascension, France
aspired to naval power equal to or greater than England, always thwarted by
the lack of a maritime tradition equal to that of England or the Netherlands,
and the need to divide its fleets between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean
Sea.64
Table 1 Coaling stations 1889

1 Oterranai 54 Bangkok 107 Montevideo

2 Hakodate 55 Rangoon 108 Buenos Aires
3 Akishi Bay 56 Calcutta 109 Punta Arenas
4 Yokohama 57 Madras 110 Lota and Coronel
5 Kobe 58 Trincomalee 111 Valparaiso
6 Nagasaki 59 Colombo 112 Coquimbo
7 Vladivostok 60 Point de Gaile 113 P. Taital
8 Ching Wang Tao 61 Bombay 114 P. Iquique
9 Chifu 62 Karachi 115 Callao
10 Shanghai 63 Muscat 116 Colon
11 Ningpo 64 Bushire 117 Curacao
12 Amoy 65 Basra 118 Trinidad
13 Swatow 66 Aden 119 Demarara
14 Hong Kong 67 Perim Island 120 Para
15 Haiphong 68 Jbuti 121 Maranham
16 Keelung 69 Zanzibar 122 Port Royal
17 Tourane 70 Dar-es-Salaam 123 Grenada
18 Saigon 71 Diego Suarez 124 Barbados
19 Singapore 72 Nosi Be 125 St. Lucia
20 Penang 73 Mayotte 126 St. Thomas
21 Labuan 74 St. Mary 127 Havana
22 Batavia 75 Mozambique 128 Santiago
23 Surabaya 76 Delagoa Bay 129 Sitka
24 Banjuwangi 77 Port Natal 130 Esquimault
25 Broome 78 East London 131 P. Angeles
26 Fremantle 79 Port Elizabeth 132 Seattle
27 King George Sound 80 Simon’s Bay 133 San Francisco
28 Adelaide 81 Cape Town 134 San Buenaventura
29 Melbourne 82 Port Nolloth 135 San Diego
30 Hobart 83 St. Helena 136 Mazatlan
31 Port Kembia 84 Ascension Island 137 Acapulco
32 Sydney 85 St. Paul de Loanda 138 Corinto
33 Newcastle 86 Akassa 139 Limon
34 Brisbane 87 Sierra Leone 140 Vera Cruz
35 Maryborough 88 Dakar 141 Tampico
36 Townsville 89 St. Louis 142 Nassau
37 Bay of Islands 90 Port Louis 143 Galveston
38 Whangarei 91 Mahe 144 New Orleans
39 Auckland 92 Tenerife 145 Mobile
40 Wellington 93 Las Palmas 146 Charleston
41 Nelson 94 Gibraltar 147 Quebec
42 Westport 95 Lisbon 148 St. John’s
43 Greymouth 96 Malta 149 Halifax
44 Port Lyttelton 97 Alexandria 150 Yarmouth
45 Oamaru 98 Port Said 151 Lunenburg
46 Otago Harbour 99 Suez 152 Miramichi
47 Napier 100 Massawa 153 Bermuda
48 Gavvtu 101 S. Vincent (C. De Verde) 154 Port Basque
49 Suva 102 Pernambuco 155 St. John
50 Noumea 103 Bahia 156 Azores (Fayal,
51 Padang 104 Rio de Janeiro Terceira and
52 Acheh Head 105 Santos S. Miguel)
53 Pulo Bras 106 Santa Catherina 157 Honolulu

Source: Atlas of the British Empire, p. 145.

Notes
Names used are taken from the Admiralty map “Principal coaling stations from 500 tons and more,
for shipping purposes,” dated 8 August 1889, British Library Map Collection Sec. 1 (1188).
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 57
Nor could France, by contrast to maritime hegemons Portugal, the Netherlands,
and Great Britain, be fitted into the tradition or progression of system leader
lineage. At times, it was (temporarily) able to pick off bases in the British or
Dutch empires, usually to be returned at the end of losing wars or in diplomatic
deals at peace conferences following wars. And, the geographic configuration of
its gradually acquired empire was somewhat distinct from the serial empires of
Portugal, the Netherlands and Great Britain. It was concentrated in the Mediter-
ranean in North Africa, in West Africa, in some Indian Ocean islands, in India
(in minority status), in North America (only up to 1763), and later in Southeast
Asia. But at no time did France possess a dominant rimland basing structure and
navy centered on the coasts of Africa and the Indian Ocean littoral as had the
serial maritime hegemons. And, of necessity, given France’s ceaseless wars and
vulnerable position on the European mainland, it had to somewhat concentrate
on basing and naval diplomacy within Europe, particularly in the Mediterranean,
where at various times it competed for dominance with Spain and Britain and,
earlier, the Ottoman Empire.
France, maybe more than any other case, demonstrated that not having high
seas naval dominance, in the case of a major hegemonic war, could lead to the
loss of major overseas bases. In several wars in the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries (later also under Vichy France), France lost much of its overseas
basing structure to a Britain practicing imperial “pick-off” of bases (and
colonies) that often were returned as part of peace settlements in exchange for
concessions on the European mainland. But also, some of the lost bases would
not be returned, amounting to a gradual loss of empire and the worsening of
France’s maritime position.
The building of France’s overseas basing system, which evolved fitfully over
several hundred years, began in the sixteenth century, coincident with the
zeniths of Portuguese and Spanish maritime dominance, and expanded in the
seventeenth century coincident with Dutch naval dominance. France, which was
part of the Mediterranean maritime system in the sixteenth century and which
provided a base at Marseille for the Ottomans, made some use of Greek bases
for its own ships in the interval 1499–1502.65 Later, around 1646, Porto Longone
on Elba was used by the French navy. Elements of the French navy had access
to Recife, Brazil around 1555, and early-on in Florida in the 1560s. Cayenne in
French Guyana was used as early as 1604. Goree, the slave-trading station in
West Africa, was under French control from 1701 to 1759 and again after 1763,
given back after the losing war to England.
In the seventeenth century, France established a presence in the Caribbean at
St. Christoph, Dominica, St. Martin’s, St. Lucia, St. Vincent and Tobago; later
in Grenada around 1700.66 To the north, Port Royal in Nova Scotia was estab-
lished as a French base in 1605, lost in 1627, regained in 1632, lost again in
1714, regained and lost again in 1763. Quebec was established at the same time.
Access to Haiti was established around 1697.
Also, in the seventeenth century, and again under the shadow of Dutch domi-
nance, France established some footholds in the Indian Ocean and South Asia,
58 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
some of which were to become long-term French strongholds. That pertained to
Madagascar in 1664, Surat (India) in 1668 and Pondicherry (India) in 1672.67
Bantam in Indonesia also was a point of access around 1664.
France was also active in the Mediterranean in the 1600s, an arena where the
dominant Dutch were not very active. Here, previous Spanish and Ottoman
strongholds were taken over by French and other privateers in Tunis, Tripoli,
Algiers and Sallee.68
In the late seventeenth century, as really nascent French naval power began to
challenge that of the Dutch and British, the French navy utilized access in
several places within Europe that included Cork and Kinsale in Ireland, flanking
Britain (1688–1690), Malaga in Spain in 1704 (allied with France against
Britain), and in the Portuguese-controlled Azores. During later conflicts with
Britain, the French navy utilized access to Barcelona in 1741 and again in 1756,
at Minorca in the Balearics in 1756 (held by France up to 1763) and in Corsica.69
In the late 1740s and 1750s, France, then ascendant in India, had access
points in Madras, Pondicherry, Swally, Calicut and Karikula, and at Mahe in the
Seychelles Islands.70 It also had en-route access at Cape Town, Reunion and
Mauritius, all up to the stunning loss at the end of the Napoleonic wars.
Also during the reign of the Sun King (at the end of the seventeenth century)
and preceding the defeats leading to the concessions in the Treaty of Utrecht,
France expanded its access along the West African coast and in North America.
Dakar in Senegal, later in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries a main French
naval base, was first utilized in the early 1700s. Around the same time, France
established outposts in Mobile (Alabama) and Biloxi (Mississippi), much later
passed to the USA with the Louisiana Treaty.71 Acadia (Nova Scotia) was a
point of access dating from around 1710; earlier outposts were established in
Newfoundland and Hudson Bay. Much later, there were Oswego on Lake
Ontario (1756), and tiny St. Pierre and Miquelon around 1793, later lost to
Britain during the Napoleonic wars but returned upon its conclusion. That was
also true of Reunion and Mauritius in the Indian Ocean and Cape Town on the
African Cape.72
In the nineteenth century, after the losses at the end of the Napoleonic wars,
but amidst the subsequently continuing (up to the early twentieth century) mar-
itime rivalry with Britain, France expanded its colonial empire, and, with it, its
system of naval basing access and colonial army presence. Tunis, Alexandria
and Tripoli were all points of access by the 1830s. In addition, Dakar, Bamako
and Conakry became French naval bases during the 1880s. In the Pacific, in the
1830s and 1840s, Tahiti, Marquesas Island and New Caledonia became naval
points of access; later, Hanoi and Haiphong in Vietnam.73 Ceylon, long a Dutch
and British stronghold, was temporarily occupied by France during the
Napoleonic wars, likewise the old Dutch East Indies strongholds in Batavia and
Achin, but which had to be handed back after Waterloo and the Congress of
Vienna.
In the Mediterranean, for long a vital area of contention between Britain and
France, the former’s major base at Minorca was occupied by France from 1756
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 59
to 1763,74 lost again at the time of the Treaty of Paris and after the devastating
defeat in 1759 of the French navy at Quiberon Bay.75 In Canada, the major naval
base at Louisburg, strategically located near the mouth of the St. Lawrence
River, which changed hands several times, was finally lost to Britain in 1763
along with the remainder of French Canada. French gains during this period in
India, and in Mahe in the Seychelles Islands, were also cancelled out by its
defeat in 1763.
The above illustrates a major point regarding basing diplomacy and access,
related to Mahan’s dictum regarding the indivisibility of seapower. And that is
that colonial outposts and naval bases acquired in the race for imperial posses-
sions will be lost in hegemonic wars where one side is outgunned in high seas
naval combat, subject to being traded back at wars’ ends for corresponding con-
cessions on land in Europe. France was the loser in the game of “imperial pick-
off” before 1714, before 1763, and in two phases of the Napoleonic wars that
ended in 1815. Despite that, it maintained a good part of its overseas network
from 1815 to 1940, via end-of-war diplomacy and the ability to strike deals in
connection with territories within Europe. A long time later, in the 1970s and
1980s, U.S. and Soviet strategists would conjure up scenarios along the same
lines in the case of a “protracted conventional phase” of an hypothesized World
War III, with or without a gruesome nuclear denouement.

Intra-European basing and warfare in the Baltic: 1522–1850:

a case study
Thus far in discussing the major powers’ competition for bases in the age of dis-
covery and sail – 1500s to 1800s – we have concentrated on that competition
“beyond the line” in the context of rival overseas empires. As indicated, that
involved serial periods of hegemonic, maritime dominance, long cycles and a
tendency to system leader lineage, whereby successive maritime hegemons
largely took over control of extended basing networks around the Eurasian rim,
in the Far East and the Caribbean. And, those successive maritime hegemons
coincided with mostly multipolar power structures, within Europe, where non-
hegemonic continental maritime powers – the Hapsburgs, France, later Prussia
and Russia – might excel and concentrate on military landpower.
But, the diplomacy of naval basing (and some associated “forward” basing of
land forces) was also an important part of European security affairs from the six-
teenth to nineteenth centuries. That mostly involved three interconnected sea
regions: the Mediterranean (including the Black Sea), the European Atlantic
coast including the North Sea, and the Baltic, with the Gibraltar Strait, the
Turkish Straits, the Danish Straits and the Great Belt forming the key connecting
links.
Fortunately, one major research work by R.C. Anderson, Naval Wars in the
Baltic: 1522–1850, provides a very detailed picture of basing access and diplo-
macy during this period, spilling over to some material on the Atlantic/North
Sea and Mediterranean arenas.76 Several major points stand out, however, by
60 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
way of preface to analysis of these data, and these have to do with international
system structure and the nature of the actors, prevailing maritime technology,
and the then prevailing norms of diplomacy as these factors fed into basing
diplomacy.
Earlier, we discussed the Mediterranean basing system in the age of galley
warfare, stressing first the bipolar competition between Venice and Genoa, later
the rise of Spain and the Ottoman Empire in making for a four-way competition
resulting in a more bipolar competition between the latter two empires. And, the
limits of technology and the enclosed nature of the Mediterranean theater corre-
sponded with the near-total use of galleys in naval warfare, with their short
ranges and extensive logistics requirements.
The Baltic from the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries was the scene of almost
constant warfare, peace here and there being an interlude between wars. For a
long time, rivals Denmark and Sweden – to a lesser degree Lubeck and Bran-
denburg – were the major naval powers, with the Dutch during the period of
their maritime ascendance in the seventeenth century playing a major role from
the outside. Later, Russia, beginning with the reign of Peter the Great (and the
building of his capital at St. Petersburg), and England became major, even the
major naval powers, in the Baltic. Throughout, there was a complex, bewilder-
ing pattern of shifts in alliances in a largely multipolar European system, for a
while in the seventeenth century largely dictated by religious considerations,
otherwise mostly by dynastic politics and the short-term exigencies of balance
of power politics in the context of the rise of the nation state in the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries.77
In the earlier phase of Mediterranean warfare involving Venice, Genoa, and
the Ottomans, mostly only galleys were utilized (the extensive earlier use of
large sailing ships in the Indian Ocean notwithstanding). In the Baltic warfare of
the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, mostly sailing warships were used, ranging
from large “battleships” to smaller “gunboats,” to use Anderson’s terminology.
But particularly on the part of the Russian and Swedish navies, to a lesser degree
the Danish navy, there was extensive supplementary use of galleys, sometimes
in large fleets of 50–100 ships.78 Regarding Russia and Sweden, this was
allowed for by the geography of the area between their centers of power – the
Finnish coast with its many inlets, the Aaland island chain stretching across the
Baltic, and the Stockholm archipelago and its nearby coastal area, affording
numerous stopping points for crew rest and reprovisioning. Often, the sailing
and galley fleets fought together. There was also some use of galleys in the
Danish island archipelago.79
As noted, the European international political system between the sixteenth
and nineteenth centuries was generally multipolar and with rapidly, almost
bewilderingly, constant shifts of alliances. Hence, as basing arrangements then
as well as now largely correlate with formal alliances or less formal “align-
ments,” there were few if any long-term basing arrangements such as those
obtained during the Cold War both on the U.S. and Soviet sides. One exception
was some extensive basing of Russian fleets on a longer-term basis in Livorno
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 61
and Lisbon during the 1780s.80 Mostly, the granting of basing access occurred
during wars and between allies, but sometimes involving neutrals, a murky
subject given to ad hoc arrangements and squabbles over the international
“legal” implications regarding the role of neutrals.81 Hence, in a situation of
rapidly revolving alliances in and around the Baltic Sea, external powers such as
Britain, the Netherlands and France, also Russia, acquired basing access during
wars in Denmark, Sweden and the various North German principalities (Hol-
stein, Lubeck, Pomerania, Brandenburg, etc.) depending on short-term wartime
orientations.
Another main point here, and one that provides similarities to the earlier situ-
ation in the Mediterranean regarding Venice, Genoa and Spain, is that there was
still a close nexus between trade and military activity. The major naval powers
constantly worried, whether or not directly involved in combat, about the con-
voying of fleets of merchantmen mostly carrying goods – timber, flax, etc. – out
of the Baltic region. That too impacted on the granting of basing access.
Of course, given the small size of the Baltic theater (even if including by
extension the Danish islands, Kattegat and Skagerrak, the southern Norway
coast and west Sweden), all of the region’s nations operated largely out of their
home ports, using external bases for more extended operations. Denmark’s fleets
operated continuously out of Copenhagen (a frequent host of other nations’
navies given its strategic location) and the nearby anchorage in Kjoge Bay off
the Sound to the south. Sweden’s navy over time made extensive use of Elf-
snabben on the outer edge of the Stockholm archipelago, Delaro a bit south of
there, Kalmar, shielded by Oland Island, and Karlskrona, which developed into
a major naval base during this period. On the North Sea side, Sweden’s navy
made extensive use of Gothenburg and Landskrona, the latter not far from
Copenhagen. Russia, entering the lists in the early eighteenth century, made
extensive use of Kronstadt near St. Petersburg and Reval (Tallin), later the
capital of Estonia. At various times the rival Baltic powers plus Britain and the
Netherlands used all these bases, depending upon alliances, while a number of
ports along the southern Baltic coast now part of Germany – Eckernforde, Kiel,
Lubeck/Travemunde, Wismar, Rostock/Warnemunde, Stralsund, Rugen/
Sassnitz, Pillau and Libau (the latter two now part of Poland and Lithuania,
respectively) were the constant objects of great power rivalries, as power and
conquest surged back and forth. A number of ports and anchorages along the
Finnish coast – Viborg, Helsingfors, Abo, Hango Head, Frederickshamn – were
also long-term objects of contention between Sweden and Russia. Critical was
the role of Sweden, which in the seventeenth century controlled much of the
German and Polish Baltic coast, plus Norway at times, and also Finland, but
whose power – and with it, naval basing structure – receded by the end of the
Napoleonic wars. The ebbs and flows of Swedish, Danish and Russian power
over several centuries was reminiscent of the earlier struggle over the Mediter-
ranean and its basing points by Venice, Genoa, the Ottoman Empire and Spain.
But many of these power shifts resulted from dynastic politics that in turn deter-
mined alliances and antagonisms.
62 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
One other phenomenon from that period, pertaining to basing, bears mention,
and that has to do with the “wintering of fleets.” Somewhat contrary to previous
discussion, that involved to a degree more “permanent” or longer-term basing,
albeit almost always linked to alliances, sometimes to neutral but friendly states.
The earlier Mediterranean powers also wintered fleets, as did the English navy’s
Mediterranean fleets over several centuries in places like Lisbon or Cadiz,
depending upon the prevailing state of political relations. Sailing fleets needed to
be wintered for obvious reasons, namely, their vulnerability to inclement,
stormy winter weather. Mostly, fleets fought and moved troops during the
warmer seasons. It was precarious and costly to bring an English or Dutch fleet
home from the Baltic during the winter, and leaving them at forward bases pro-
vided a springboard for action come the springtime. The Russian and Swedish
fleets in particular regularly required wintering, because their home ports were
frozen early-on in the winters.
Hence, in 1644, amidst warfare with Denmark, a Swedish fleet wintered at
Wismar. Around 1655, another Swedish fleet wintered at Stralsund,82 two years
later another at Nyborg in Denmark.83 In 1667, a Dutch fleet fighting with
Denmark against Sweden wintered in Norway at Bergen and Christiansand.84
During the Great Northern War, 1715–1719, mostly pitting Russia and Denmark
versus Sweden, Russian ships wintered in England.85 Later in the same war
Russian ships wintered at Rostock, and a couple of years later at Danzig and
Pillau.86 During the subsequent war of the Austrian Succession, Russian ships
homeported at Archangelsk spent the winter in Bergen, Norway and also in cap-
tured ports in Sweden.87
In 1788, during another war between Sweden and Russia, Denmark, neutral
for a while, refused a wintering base for the Russian fleet. In 1789, the Swedish
fleet, forward based, wintered at Helsingfors.88
In 1793, near the beginning of the Napoleonic wars, a Russian fleet wintered
in English ports and again in 1799 at Yarmouth and Shearness.89 Still another
Russian flotilla wintered at Bergen during this period. Later, in 1807, a British
fleet wintered at Gothenburg in Sweden. In 1811–1812 again, a Russian fleet
wintered at Bergen.90
In Anderson’s book on Naval Wars in the Baltic, he divides the more than
300-year long period from 1522 to 1850 into 17 time slices, representing defin-
able periods of warfare. Throughout, as noted, the context is one of inter-
minable warfare, rapidly shifting alliances, a mix of dynastic politics and those
pertaining to emerging nation-states, slow technological change in naval
warfare featuring mostly sailing ships but also some galleys, the increasing role
of powers external to the Baltic, and the increasing naval forays of Baltic
powers outside the immediate region. One can not easily do justice to the com-
plexity of basing politics, set as it was in the broader context of overall Euro-
pean rivalries and alliances, featuring numerous large-scale wars of which the
Baltic was only one part, albeit often an important one. But we can provide
numerous illustrations and data, indicating some key points, i.e., that most
granting of basing access was ad hoc and during wars, with little in the way of
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 63
more stable basing arrangements that would had to have been grounded in
stable alliances.
Bracketed by an introduction covering the period 1522–1560 and a conclu-
sion covering that of 1815–1850, Anderson provides analyses, including
information on bases for 15 discrete periods of warfare. There are some peaceful
interludes, i.e., 1645–1652, and some wars of less than a year’s duration, but the
point about interminability holds.
The early period of 1522–1560 was, of course, coincident with that of the
expansion of the Portuguese and Spanish empires.91 It featured numerous con-
flicts, in one or another combination involving Lubeck, Sweden, Denmark,
Mecklenburg, the Netherlands and “the Empire,” with Lubeck being gradually
reduced as a naval power. The period 1563–1570 saw a seven-year long conflict
mostly pitting Sweden against Denmark, with Lubeck allied with the latter and
with Sweden taking over Lubeck for a while. Russia and Finland also fought
Sweden, with the latter often using Revel as a naval base, a point of contention
with Russia.92 The war ended with the Peace of Stettin.
The period 1570–1610 saw constant warfare between Sweden and Russia and
over the Vasa succession in Sweden that joined Poland to Sweden for a while
via dynastic connections.93 Sweden also fought Lubeck and Poland at times, and
the Dutch and Danes were involved. Here at the beginning of Dutch maritime
hegemony, both Russia and Sweden interdicted Dutch commerce largely based
on Riga.
From 1611–1643, there was the Kalmar War between Denmark and Sweden,
Russia-Sweden wars, and wars of the Vasa (Swedish) succession and, of course,
a component of the 30-years’ religious wars.94 Sweden was initially allied with
Brandenburg and Saxony, during the 1611–1613 period, in which Sweden
fought Poland as well as Russia, and Denmark fought “the Empire.” Lubeck and
Hamburg were friendly to the Catholic side. The Empire blockaded Stralsund,
the Danes blockaded the Elbe, and the Poles at Wismar. Sweden made gains,
occupying Rugen, Estonia and Livonia. Regarding basing, Sweden sent a fleet to
Danzig, while the Danes, controlling the Elbe estuary, operated out of a base at
Gluckstadt.
From 1643 to 1645 was the second of five wars between Denmark and
Sweden. And, the Dutch, then near the height of their power, were on the side of
the Danes first, then that of the Swedes.95 The latter used Stralsund for reprovi-
sioning, also an anchorage at Kiel, and as noted, wintered in Wismar. At issue
here also was the Danes’ continuing effort to impose tolls on foreign ships,
mostly Dutch transiting their narrow straits.
From 1652 to 1667 after the Peace of Bronsebro, there were the wars of the
Danes and Dutch versus the Swedes and English, the latter now emerging as a
maritime rival to the Dutch.96 Here was a good example of the problem of neu-
trality intertwined with regular commerce, as the Danes closed the Sound and
the Belts to the British commercial ships, in exchange for shipbuilding subsi-
dies. But the Danes also prevented the Dutch from searching neutral shipping.
Sweden, meanwhile, was levying tolls on ships coming and going from Danzig.
64 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
The Dutch navy made extensive use of Danish ports. Sweden, also at war with
Russia and Poland, used an anchorage at Wismar, while the Danes, operating
out of Kjoge Bay, used Danzig as a base. Sweden won the first phase of the war,
gaining Skane, Halland, Bornholm and other territories, and with the future
exclusion of foreign ships from the Baltic part of the deal.
In a new phase, Swedish ships had access to Wismar, Stralsund, Danzig and
Kiel, while the Dutch were able to base a fleet at Copenhagen. Sweden was
again allied with England. Danish and Dutch ships operated out of Flensburg
and Travemunde, later out of Kiel, while Sweden made extensive use of
Wismar. Dutch warships based at Copenhagen were used to escort commercial
ships back to Holland. During this period, Bergen in Norway was used as a
neutral port, with the Danes taking money from the British for not opposing the
latter’s attack on the Dutch fleet at Bergen. This lengthy conflict ended with the
Peace of Breda in 1667.97 Noteworthy here is the extent of Dutch/Danish and
British/Swedish competition for utilization of naval bases along the north
German coast of the Baltic.
The Skane War and its antecedents from 1668 to 1679 saw initially a
British–Dutch–Swedish alliance against the rising power of Louis XIV’s
France.98 But then came a period of French–British alignment versus the Dutch.
France and Sweden became allies versus Brandenburg and the Dutch, with the
latter also allied with Spain, the Empire, and many German states. Still later, it
was the Dutch and Danes again versus Sweden. In this period, formal war decla-
rations became de rigueur, but letters of marque were also issued on behalf of
pirateering.
Prior to a major naval battle off Oland Island, the Danes and Dutch anchored
at Falsterbro near Kjoge Bay, the Swedes at Trelleborg within Sweden. But the
Dutch were able to use both Ystad in southern Sweden and Gothenburg as bases,
though later, Sweden regained control of the latter. There was a big Dutch-
Danish victory at Kjoge Bay over Sweden in 1677, after which the Dutch fleet
underwent repairs in Copenhagen. During this period, Brandenburg grew as a
naval power, conducting sieges of Swedish bases at Stralsund, Greifswald and
Stettin. During the latter phase of the war, France and Sweden were aligned
against the Dutch, with the latter mostly forced to withdraw from the Baltic. Up
to this point, only England and the Netherlands as external powers were
involved in Baltic fighting and utilization of allies’ naval bases.
Next came the antecedents to, and the first stage of, the long Great Northern
War, which eventually brought Russian and British naval power into the Baltic
in a big way. It also saw the beginning of Brandenburg’s (later Prussia’s) role as
a Baltic naval power. It used Pillau as a main base. It also began to send ships
abroad, including an expedition to the West Indies and the use of Lagos in Por-
tugal as a transit base.
In 1683 came a conflict pitting France, Denmark and Norway against the
Netherlands and Sweden.99 Here, for the first time, a French fleet entered the
Baltic, operating out of Copenhagen, just as in a reversal of the recent past, a
Dutch fleet operated out of Gothenburg.
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 65
In 1685–1686, there were major political changes. Spain, the Empire,
Sweden and various German states aligned against Louis XIV.100 And, William
of Orange became King of England, tying together the two hitherto maritime
rivals. England also aligned against France. As part of this mêlée, Denmark
transported Wurtemburg troops to England though, subsequently, the latter
attacked Danish shipping in the Baltic.
Soon, Sweden and Denmark were at war again, with the latter facing a
Dutch–British–Swedish combination that forced them out of Holstein. An
Anglo-Dutch fleet operated out of Gothenburg during this conflict.
Then, at the outset of the reign of Peter the Great in Russia in 1701, began the
long conflict between it and Sweden for supremacy in the Baltic. Sweden now
mostly used its newly built-up main base at Karlskrona, while the Russians built
St. Petersburg. Early in the eighteenth century was the war of the Spanish Suc-
cession, pitting France and Spain versus England, the Netherlands and the
Empire, as the Elector of Brandenburg became the King of Prussia.
In the second stage of the Great Northern War, 1709–1714, Sweden, after its
major defeat at Poltava, was faced off against Russia, Denmark, Poland, Saxony,
Prussia, the Netherlands and Lubeck.101 The Danish navy convoyed Russian
troops to Denmark from Danzig. The Russians drove the Swedes out of the east
Baltic, taking major bases at Viborg, Revel and Riga. The Swedes maintained
bases at Rugen and Stralsund, but Russian ships came to be anchored in Kjoge
Bay, and based at Copenhagen itself. And, a Russian galley fleet wintered in
Helsingfors. A combined Russian sailing ship and galley fleet based in Revel
defeated a large Swedish fleet at Finland’s Hango Head to end this phase of the
Great Northern War, after which the Russian galley fleet wintered in Nystad,
north of Abo. The Russians even gained a base on the Swedish mainland at
Umea, far to the north on the Gulf of Bothnia.
The third stage of the Great Northern War, 1715–1719, saw England also
aligned against beleaguered Sweden, which continued to harass neutral trade.102
There was more fighting between Denmark and Sweden, during which the
Dutch navy came to Copenhagen to escort merchant ships home, and the British
navy anchored in Kjoge Bay. A combined British–Dutch fleet made a foray to
Russian-controlled Riga; the latter plus Kronstadt and Revel were the main
Russian bases. Sweden used Usedom and Stralsund in Germany as bases with its
continued control of West Pomerania. But Prussia took over these two bases,
forcing the Swedes to rely on Wismar further west. During this period, British
ships were based at Copenhagen, while the Russian navy also stayed there and at
Kjoge Bay and ventured to Holland and England. Around 1716–1717, a large
combined English, Dutch and Russian fleet was operating out of Copenhagen.
Russian ships operated out of Rostock and Rugen, and Russian troops going to
Mecklenburg were escorted by British and Danish ships, while Dutch and
British ships convoyed merchantmen to Danzig and St. Petersburg. Britain also
used ports in Norway for its fleets en route to the Baltic. In the North Sea mean-
while, Sweden built a base at Stromstad near Norway, where there was a big
naval battle in 1717, participated in by British warships based at Copenhagen.
66 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
Danish warships during this period occupied Dutch merchantmen as far as
Skagen. A temporary peace in 1720 involved Swedish cession of Stettin and
other Pomeranian territories to Prussia and also Swedish outposts at Bremen and
Verden.
The final stage of the Great Northern War, mostly pitting Russia versus
Sweden, took place from 1719 to 1721.103 But an English fleet came to Copen-
hagen as the issues of neutral ships and contraband of war came to the fore. A
Russian fleet assembled at Hango, then in the Aaland Islands at Lemland, and
Cossacks were landed in the Stockholm Archipelago. Later, in 1719, a Russian
fleet of 70 galleys operated out of Lemland. The opposing Swedish and British
ships operated out of Dalaro in Sweden. Meanwhile, Russian ships based at
Danzig and Pillau interdicted Swedish commerce. The British fleets in Sweden
stopped at Karlskrona and Copenhagen on the way home.
In 1720, a British fleet came to Dalaro and Elfsnabben to aid Sweden, going
home via Copenhagen. Russian battleships also used the latter port, indicating
neutral Denmark’s providing access to both sides in the war. In 1721, a peace
conference at Nystad ended a war in progress since 1699, after Russian forces
wreaked havoc all along the Swedish coast. Victorious Russia got Livonia,
Ingria, part of Kurland, part of Finland and Viborg, ending up in control of the
littoral from Riga to Viborg. Russia was now the dominant naval power in the
Baltic.104
The year 1722 began the wars of the Polish and then the Austrian Succession,
with Russia now aligned with the Duke of Holstein.105 During this period, the
Russians built ships in Holland, and used Copenhagen as a transit base. In 1726,
again, an English fleet was in the Baltic. There was a Quadruple Alliance
between England, France, Holland and the Empire, with Russia and Spain on the
other side, Denmark too. British fleets (and now Britain is Europe’s leading
naval power) went to Copenhagen, Revel and Elfsnabben. It also put Gibraltar
under siege. In 1728, there was an alliance of England, France, Holland and
Spain.
In 1733, with the War of the Polish Succession, France backed one side and
Russia the other, and a French fleet went to Copenhagen, put Danzig under
siege, and fought the Russians, the latter winning. But a peace agreement gave
Lorraine to France.106
The War of the Austrian Succession pitted Russia and Austria against
Sweden and France, with the war declared in 1744. The Swedes advanced
towards Russia with a galley fleet, but lost battles at Helsingfors and Hango.
Russian ships coming from Archangelsk were based at Copenhagen. Otherwise,
there was general war in Europe pitting England, Holland and Austria against
France and Spain, and with Prussia attacking Austria. The Peace of Aix La
Chapelle gave Silesia and East Friesland to rising Prussia.107
In 1756 began the Seven Years’ War, featuring the struggle over Canada
between Britain and France.108 But it also involved a complexity of shifting
alliances and “guaranteeing” of neutrality. England and Russia allied. England
and Prussia “guaranteed” Hanover’s neutrality. Austria sided with France, and
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 67
Russia decided to back Austria. And, after the big war started in 1756, Sweden
and Denmark, long-time foes, strove to protect Baltic commerce with postures
of “armed neutrality.” But after, Russian and Sweden, long foes, fought against
Prussia, with Russia attacking Memel and using Danzig as a base. In 1757, the
Russian navy, largely based at Revel, went to Karlskrona, and a Russian galley
fleet operated out of Libau.
But in 1757, Russia switched its support to Prussia and, the Swedish navy,
operating out of Karkskrona, went to Stralsund, its long-held bastion.109 The
Swedish and Danish fleets gathered together at Flekkero in Denmark. Then, in
still another reversal, Sweden and Russia, also Denmark, acted together, operat-
ing out of Kjoge Bay.
During this period, Russian battleships were used to convoy storeships to Riga,
Pillau and Kiel. In the context of a Swedish-Russian tie, Swedish army troops were
stationed at Stralsund, along with a galley fleet, and Russian ships used Danzig,
Revel, and Karlshamn as bases. The Swedish galley fleet also went to Usedom and
controlled the approaches to Stettin. Swedish and Russsian ships went together to
attack Kolberg, but the operation was abandoned, and the Russians moved a big
naval force to Stettin. The Russians later took Kolberg, and a peace was then
obtained between Russia and Prussia after the ascension of the new Czar. Still later,
before the 1763 peace, a new Czarina took over and broke the peace with Prussia.
After 1763 there were some 25 years of relative peace in the Baltic region.
But, some basing issues were important in the region after 1763, during
which period the Russian fleet acquired a reach beyond the Baltic. In a war with
Turkey, Russian ships utilized access to Port Mahon in the Balearic Islands
(controlled by England) as well as to Portsmouth. A Danish squadron also used
Port Mahon as a base for attacking Algiers. Around 1773–1774, Russian fleets
operated out of Kjoge Bay, and both Russian and Swedish fleets made visits to
Copenhagen. A Russian fleet also had access to Dover, to the Texel in the
Netherlands, to the Tagus and Lisbon in Portugal, and to Leghorn. The Russian
fleets also had access to Cadiz and Portsmouth. The Russians forward rotated
fleets to Leghorn, one of the few examples in this period of relatively long-term
forward basing of ships outside of actual wartime. One Russian squadron stayed
at Leghorn for an entire year around 1782–1783. Denmark too had battleships
on convoy duty in the Mediterranean to protect its commerce.
In the period 1787–1789, Russia and Sweden came to blows again.110 Sweden
took advantage of conflict between Russia and Turkey that kept much of the
former’s navy in the Black Sea. England and Prussia encouraged Sweden and
strove to keep Denmark neutral. Swedish troops landed at Helsingfors and
attacked Russian ships off Revel. There was much fighting in and around the
Gulf of Finland and along the Finnish coast, with Russia using bases at Viborg,
Frederickshamn, Hango, Porkalla and Sveaborg. But the Swedes made progress
and took Porkalla.
After a time, Denmark abandoned its neutrality and the Russian navy was
able to operate out of Copenhagen. It also moved around along the English and
Scottish coasts, and off Skagen and blockaded Karlskrona. Denmark joined
68 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
Russia in the war against Sweden, sometimes leasing galleys for a while, then
got out under pressure from England, Prussia and Holland.
There were major naval battles off the southern Finnish coast, around
Porkalla, with the Russian fleet operating out of Aspo near Frederickshamn and
another off Oland Island. Despite Danish neutrality, Russian ships operated out
of Copenhagen and at Dragar, south of there, and at Kjoge Bay, and also at
Porkalla in Finland.
At one point Sweden got ready to attack St. Petersburg, basing at Hango
Head, and conducted a surprise attack on Ragor Vik. But, the outnumbered Rus-
sians won a big victory.
Seventy Swedish galleys based at Sveaborg attacked the Russian base at
Frederickshamn in southern Sweden. And, other Swedish galleys were based at
Pitkopas, half-way between Frederickshamn and Viborg Bay. The Russians also
used galleys. Swedish gunboats were based at Bjorko Sund, also operated out of
the long-time Russian stronghold at Revel.
In a swirling series of battles near the end of the war, Sweden used a number
of bases: Stralsund, Bjorko Sund, Koivisto, Viborg. Russia’s ships also operated
at times out of Viborg, Frederickshamn and Lilla Svartan. The Peace of Werela
more or less restored the status quo. But the Swedish navy was wrecked and
Russia then became the leading naval power in the Baltic until the rise of
Prussia.
The first stage of the Napoleonic Wars in the Baltic, 1791–1802, took place
amidst a complex overall pattern of European wars and alliances.111 In 1792,
with the Peace of Jassy, Russia got a lot of Turkish territory and now controlled
the Black Sea. Russia was also faced off against Britain and Prussia. In 1793
came the second Partition of Poland, with Russia invading Poland. At this time
the Russian navy anchored south of Copenhagen, while Sweden and Denmark
collaborated to protect commerce in the Baltic with a Swedish fleet in Copen-
hagen. The Netherlands sided with France, and a Russian fleet cooperated with
its English counterpart to blockade Dutch ports, cruising off the Texel and win-
tering in British ports, after being based at Copenhagen. Meanwhile, Danish
warships were doing convoy work as far afield as St. Helena.
The wide-ranging Russian navy made use of Kjoge Bay and Lubeck, and
particularly the British port of Yarmouth. In another turn of the wheel in
1798–1799, Russia aligned with Turkey, and sent a fleet to the Mediterranean,
occupying Corfu and other Ionian Islands, and attacking Ancona, which was
under French control. A Russian fleet also visited Naples and Genoa en route to
the Black Sea.
A still newer phase brought hostility between Britain on the one hand, and
Russia and Denmark on the other. Napoleon was at this time allied with Russia
and tried to present it with Malta, but which was preempted by the British. In the
Baltic, Britain, now the leading maritime power, objected to the armed neutrality
claimed by Prussia, Denmark, Sweden and Russia, insisting on the “right of
search,” an ambiguous area of international law. It sent a fleet past Helsingor
that anchored near Hven. They forced Denmark to agree not to allow Russian
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 69
and Swedish ships to reprovision in Danish ports. The Danish fleet was
destroyed, and Britain fought Sweden and Russia. The British fleet traversing
the Baltic reprovisioned at Rostock, Danzig and Kjoge Bay. Basically, the
British put an end to armed neutrality in the Baltic and then withdrew.
After the Peace of Amiens plus a one-year pause, war again erupted between
Britain and France. Russia was allied with England, and its fleet cruised the
North Sea, using Copenhagen and Portsmouth as bases.112 Its fleet also went to
the Mediterranean, all the way to Corfu, and helped land Swedish troops at
Rugen. Russian and Swedish forces were co-located at Stralsund, while British
ships helped in the defense of Danzig.
In a new phase of the overall war, Russia fought Turkey, and it and Prussia
allied for a while with France. Britain landed troops at Stralsund, but Sweden
eventually evacuated the latter and Rugen, its last positions in Europe south of
the Baltic. Britain also withdrew from Rugen.
Denmark joined the coalition against England and Sweden, while the British
sent a fleet to Gothenburg. A British fleet put in at Vedback between Helsingor
and Copenhagen, and a British army landed at Kjoge Bay and invaded Sjaelland.
Denmark finally surrendered, left with only a few ships based in Norway.
In 1807, a British fleet wintered at Gothenburg to prevent French ships from
entering the Baltic. There were later British ships at Helsingborg. Denmark, minus
its main fleet, used small gunships to fight England and Sweden. During this period,
British warships accompanied the merchantmen home from Malmo. In 1808, a
British fleet was again at Gothenburg, and one of its battleships at Karlskrona. Also
in 1808, Russia and France were allied against Sweden, with Russian and French
troops together at Libau. Swedish and British ships were jointly based at Oro Roads,
and then at Karlskrona, while Russian ships operated out of Ragor Vik and Abo.
During this period of Russian–British conflict, a Russian Mediterranean fleet
operated at times out of Corfu, Lisbon, Venice and Toulon. Some Russian ships
were captured in the Tagus in Portugal. Meanwhile, Danish crews manned
Dutch ships in the Scheldt estuary.113
In 1809, a British fleet based at Gothenburg headed out to combat the Rus-
sians. The British captured the Danish Island of Anholt and held it until 1814.
An English fleet also transited the Great Belt, provisioning at one of its islands.
But in 1809 there was peace between Denmark and Sweden, but the latter again
joined England to fight Russia. British ships again operated out of Gothenburg
and Karlskrona, and also used a number of ports in Finland: Nargen, Aspo,
Porkalla, Torseri and Osel. Sweden was defeated and, with the Treaty of Freder-
ickshamn, gave up Finland and the Aaland Islands, i.e., all territories east of the
Gulf of Bothnia, reducing Sweden to its present form. A British fleet remained
for a while in Nargen in Finland.
Then came peace between Sweden and France, and the initiation of some
hostilities between Sweden and England, because Sweden refused access to
British ships under French pressure. By 1810, Britain was faced off against
Denmark, Sweden and Russia. A British fleet was forced to operate offshore
from Gothenburg to prevent French and Dutch ships from entering the Baltic,
70 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail
but allowed passage of Swedish ships. There was fighting around 1809–1810
between Britain and Denmark.
By 1812, France was fighting Russia, and the latter and England were again
allied. England was fighting Denmark and Norway was aligned with Sweden,
and its fleet was again operating out of Gothenburg. France, meanwhile, was
using Danzig as a base. A Russian fleet went to Gothenburg, also to England,
and Russian ships were repaired at Gothenburg.
Pomerania was again in Swedish hands from 1810, and was invaded by
France. Sweden fought France and Denmark, and the latter’s ships fought
against English ships in the North Sea. At the end of the long Napoleonic Wars,
Russian battleships based in England were engaged off the Dutch coast.
Denmark ceded Norway to Sweden, but the latter had to fight to keep its hold in
Norway.
After the Napoleonic wars, there was relative peace in the Baltic, and its
major naval powers had little need for external basing.114 In 1827, a Russian fleet
went to the Mediterranean and took part in the battle of Navarino, as Russia and
Turkey fought again. The Russian navy became the dominant power in the
Baltic, up to and even beyond the defeat in the Crimean War. By that time, the
great sailing ships were giving way to steam and iron.
Of course, throughout the period under discussion here, there was a diplo-
macy of basing access in Europe outside the Baltic, sometimes involving Baltic
powers as users, oftentime other powers as users. Portugal during the period of
its ascendance had access to Antwerp and Southampton, mostly involving pro-
tection of commerce. The Dutch, during their period of maritime ascendance uti-
lized bases at Cadiz, Malaga and Alicante, in the 1660s, and as noted, at Bergen
and Kalmar, among other places. Spain used bases at Messina and Naples in the
early sixteenth century, at Malta in 1535, at Lisbon in 1581 and Kinsale in
Ireland in 1601. Britain used Cork and Kinsale in the 1680s, Malaga in 1704,
Barcelona in 1741 and 1756, Minorca and Corsica during the Seven Years’ War,
and Porto Longone and Elba in Italy around 1646, plus others during the
Napoleonic Wars.

Summary
We have discussed here the major features of naval basing in the Baltic from the
sixteenth to early nineteenth century. The political context featured endemic
warfare, bewildering and rapid shifts of alliances based on a mix of dynastic and
balance of power considerations, involving nascent nation states. (Lubeck, Hol-
stein and Brandenburg gave way to Prussia, France and Great Britain were con-
solidated.) On the technological side, there was only slow development over
time regarding ship design, gunnery and navigation (the latter not as important
in a small, closed sea as in vast oceans), so that the navies of 1800 were not all
that different from those of 1600, save for a much larger number of ships more
effectively produced in numbers. And, as noted, galleys were still in use right up
to the late eighteenth century.
 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail 71
Again, basing diplomacy was largely defined by rapidly shifting alliances
driving wars. With a few exceptions such as Russia’s access in Italy, there was
little “permanent” basing during peacetime intervals, which were usually brief.
The military and commercial functions of basing were intertwined, as they had
been earlier in the Mediterranean, but there was a much clearer separation
between warships and armed merchantmen. There were international “laws”
purporting to regulate basing access granted by neutrals, but these appear often
to have been honored in the breach, and where basic power considerations dic-
tated accordingly. That is, there were only weakly established “legal norms.”
This is a grey area for analysis. Of course, also, basing diplomacy in the Baltic
was shaped by basic geographic factors, i.e., the Danish chokepoints at the
Danish Straits and the Great Belt, the island bridge of the Aaland Islands, the
numerous fjords and ports in southern Finland, and also in Pomerania and
Mecklenburg. The weather too played a large role, with long winters (ice and
heavy seas), persistent storms all year round in the Baltic and the relatively short
season for naval campaigning.
5 The interwar period
A transitional era

The period between the two world wars, 1919–1939, constitutes somewhat of an
interim or transition period as concerns rival basing networks. On the one hand,
and even despite the shifts in power balances caused by the war, the period con-
stituted mostly an extension of the nineteenth century, in that basing networks
largely were functions of, or correlates of, colonial control; indeed, their primary
purpose was that of imperial defense. Likewise, as had been the case between
1815 and 1914, there was little “permanent” (or other than ad hoc) granting of
basing access between sovereign states. These facts were, further, correlates of a
largely multipolar system devoid (at least immediately after 1919) of an ideo-
logical basis for enmity and absent of the kind of structural long-term alliances
that would become the hallmarks of post-World War II diplomacy.1
As it happens, the very nature or the structure of the international system
during that period is difficult to define, even in retrospect. Indeed, that 20-year
period may need to be disaggregated into two time segments, with the period
1931–1932 a watershed ushering in the time of Japanese aggression in Asia and
the beginnings of the rise of Nazi Germany. After 1932, it might be argued there
was a period of implicit tripolarity featuring the West, the Fascist powers and
the USSR as poles, the absence of cohesion among the first two blocs notwith-
standing. But then, others have chosen to see the period either as one of continu-
ing British hegemony or burgeoning U.S. hegemony, the latter already reflected
in GNP data. And, after 1932, increasingly, lines of enmity and friendship ran
according to ideological lines.2
The denouement of World War I did bring some changes as regards basing
structures. Germany lost all of its overseas bases. Japan, among the victors,
acquired important new bases in the Central Pacific, seeming League of Nations
restrictions notwithstanding. Britain and France enlarged their empires via
League mandates in Africa and the Near East, but the former, weakened
economically to the point it no longer so easily could maintain a global empire,
began retrenching its basing structure in the Far East and the western hemi-
sphere. At the end of the period, the U.S., on the basis of the Lend-Lease Agree-
ment with Britain, began the construction of a more elaborate external basing
structure, one that would be greatly expanded during and after World War II.
Technological change emerging out of World War I produced significant
 The interwar period 73
changes in basing requirements and uses, allowing major powers much longer
and quicker “reach.”3 The combat aircraft, in its infancy in World War I, became
a major arm of combat, and the quest for overseas air bases came to rival that for
naval bases (indeed, they came to be co-located in many places). Air transport
staging and the ferrying of aircraft came to constitute long-range major basing
requirements. And, there was the emerging importance of basing for “technical
facilities” (later called C3I or ISR), i.e. those for communications relays, com-
munications intercepts, underwater communications cables and, in the era of
World War II, newly developed radars.4
The advent of longer-range aircraft vastly increased the “reach” of major
powers, and cut the time required for power projection. Forward bases could
present a long-range threat to distant nations via aerial bombardment. By the late
1930s, the U.S. came to fear the possibility of German aircraft based in West
Africa or the Canary Islands attacking the Atlantic sea lanes or even the U.S.
east coast. In the Far East, Japanese planes based on Formosa and Hainan came
to threaten the Philippines, Vietnam and Malaya.5
The basis for basing in the interwar period remained pretty much as it had
been before World War I, i.e., mostly on colonization or conquest. There were
few alliances or client relationships that resulted in forward basing, some excep-
tions being Soviet air bases in Czechoslovakia in the 1930s, Japanese air bases
in Siam, and German submarines’ access to Spanish bases in the Balearic and
Canary Islands during the period of Nazi support for the Franco side of the
Spanish Civil War. As of even the late 1930s, generally speaking, arms transfers
had not yet become a major instrument for the acquisition of bases, as would
later be the case after World War II. Indeed, arms transfers were then still in the
realm of “private” or commercial transactions largely removed from politics and
diplomacy.6

Interwar basing systems and strategies

In the following sections, the basing systems of the various relevant major
powers are discussed in tandem. A table in the appendix summarizes the data
covered in these analyses, enumerating the major facilities extant toward the
close of the period before the outbreak of World War II, their functions, and the
basis for their availability to users, be it colonial control, conquest or agreement
with sovereign host nations.

British interwar basing systems

At the close of World War I, Britain’s empire and far-flung network of bases
remained intact; indeed, it had been supplemented in the Middle East, at a time
the future importance of that region’s oil was first becoming apparent. Other-
wise, of course, the massive costs of the war had caused a permanent weakening
of Britain’s global power, though in retrospect, Britain’s imperial and naval
decline (currently described as a “climacteric”) is now dated from the decades
74 The interwar period
preceding that war, which saw the rise of competing and eventually superior
industrial and military power centers in the U.S., Germany and Russia. For a
long time, Britain had relied and insisted upon virtual global sea supremacy and
on its fleet being superior to any possible combination of two other navies.7
During the World War I, however, the dispersion of its global responsibilities
and necessity for allocating enormous resources to bolstering the French land-
war effort on the western front, had resulted in a de facto parceling out of naval
spheres of influence to the U.S. and Japan, respectively in the western hemi-
sphere and in the Far East. But, because its primary rival in World War I had, as
had France earlier during the Napoleonic Wars, abjured an open fight for sea
supremacy and had relied instead on a guerre de course of commerce raiding
(surface and submarine), none of its strategic assets had been threatened.8 But,
Britain emerged from that struggle facing enormous internal pressures to cut
back on its overseas positions which were about to come under much greater
pressure – from rising Japan and from the beginnings of the global anti-colonial
reversal of the long expanding imperial tide.
Still, the elaborate basing system remained intact, and a huge navy was main-
tained. And the old habit of perceiving all other naval powers as potential threats
remained, so that perhaps curiously, British diplomacy during the 1920s was
seriously concerned about French naval strength in the Mediterranean,9 and the
rise of U.S. naval power and the related question of retention of British naval
bases in the Caribbean and in the western Atlantic and eastern Pacific areas.
Efforts were thus directed at restraining the growth of French influence in the
Near East, and strenuous internal debates were conducted over the wisdom of
cutting back on the British naval presence in Bermuda, Nova Scotia, Jamaica
and British Columbia.10
Some changes in military technology which emerged from World War I also
had an impact. Britain, and other major powers, now had to worry about the
threat of land-based aircraft against naval concentrations (and hence about its
own air as well as naval bases to cope with that), about strategic bombing and
deterrence – with its implications for base acquisition and retention – and about
submarine strategy. Further, during the interwar period, new developments in
communications (and later radar), and long-range flying boats and dirigibles, all
produced newly perceived requirements for strategic access, some of which
obviously were to be already outdated by the beginning of World War II.11
Overall, of course, Britain faced one major generalizable dilemma, in that
while its plethora of overseas assets provided advantages for dispatch of forces
to trouble spots, far-flung perimeter defense of its empire and forward positions
from which to project power, they also constituted very vulnerable liabilities –
and potential traps – to the extent the system was overextended and exposed.
The emphasis then became one of concentration on a number of key, fortified
positions, which were to become the main bases for overseas fleets and air
squadrons, supplemented by a vast network of fueling points, secondary bases
(often weakly garrisoned) and contingency bases where fortifications and gar-
risons might quickly be expanded.
 The interwar period 75
The system of British overseas facilities, which existed at the beginning of
the interwar period, and which was added to in some areas and downgraded in
others as the period progressed, can be described geographically, according to:

1 the Far East-South Asia-Pacific region;

2 the basing network stretching across the Mediterranean through the Suez
and on to India
3 West Africa and the South Atlantic;
4 North America and the Caribbean.

At the close of World War I, with Germany’s preexisting position in the Far
East demolished and with the U.S. still deploying only limited naval forces to
forward positions, Britain’s basing network there and in the Pacific quickly
became recognized as highly important in relation to growing Japanese expan-
sionist aims. These had been underscored by threats against China (the famous
“21 demands”) and acquisition of the previously German-held island chains in
the Marianas, Carolines and Marshalls.
Britain’s geostrategic position in the Far East, which was supposed to be kept
unfortified in line with the League of Nations mandate at the outset of the
period, was hinged on colonial possessions or Commonwealth ties in Australia,
New Zealand, Singapore, Malaya, North Borneo, Hong Kong, Burma, the
Andaman and Nicobar Islands, numerous island possessions in the South
Pacific, and a few toeholds on mainland China. And, although some small army
units were deployed during this period (backed up by the capability for deploy-
ment of Australian, New Zealand and Indian forces in the case of crises), basic
reliance was on the deployment of a large and fairly well dispersed group of
naval squadrons, increasingly bolstered by aircraft as the period progressed.
With the construction of greatly enhanced fortifications and repair facilities
between about 1927 and 1935, the great naval and air base at Singapore became
the linchpin of the British Far Eastern basing system, flanked in all directions by
major naval facilities at Hong Kong, Sydney, Trincomalee and Bombay, and
others in Australia and India.
The main base at Singapore attracted much attention during the 1920s and
1930s, partly because it was openly declared a provocation by Japan (a matter
which entered into the naval arms control discussions surrounding and preceding
the Washington and London naval agreements), and because the cost, utility and
defensibility of the base were continuous subjects of rancorous political debate
within Britain throughout the period. Indeed, in 1929, at the peak of post-World
War I optimism about “permanent” peace and disarmament amid the strange
euphoria surrounding the Kellogg–Briand Pact, the British actually slowed down
base construction at Singapore, pending the outcome of the then ongoing five-
power naval disarmament talks.
Later, driven by the Japanese aggression in Manchuria, expansion of the Sin-
gapore base was completed around 1935, and became the home of Britain’s Far
East squadron, which consisted of some 14 warships. It had extensive wharves,
76 The interwar period
repair dockyards, and fortifications directed against possible seaborne attack,
and flying boats were also based there. Nearby were several RAF bases deploy-
ing torpedo bombers and reconnaissance and pursuit planes. Slightly further out
along the base’s periphery were several RAF and Royal Navy aircraft based in
Malaya intended to provide for protection of Singapore.12
Britain’s Hong Kong base, home of its China squadron which also made fre-
quent visits to major Chinese ports up to the late 1930s, virtually rivaled Singa-
pore in importance. By 1939, it was the home base for a squadron consisting of
an aircraft carrier, six cruisers, 13 destroyers, 17 submarines and 24 gunboats
and torpedo boats, along with support vessels, and several squadrons of torpedo
bombers and other aircraft.13 Other major Pacific bases at Sydney and Auckland
deployed a total of seven cruisers, seven destroyers and escort vessels, in addi-
tion to 11 to 12 squadrons of Commonwealth aircraft.14 As World War II
approached, Darwin was built up as an important Royal Navy and RAF fueling
station in northern Australia, with docks capable of handling up to cruiser-size
ships.15 Trincomalee in Ceylon, centuries earlier the hinge of the British navy’s
strategic system directed against Holland and France, was upgraded during the
1930s and became the home port of the East Indies Squadron.16 It acted as a
permanent base for a heavy cruiser, three light cruisers and six escort vessels.
Colombo and Bombay served as secondary regional naval bases.
Aside from questions about the match of British naval and air forces to the
ominously growing Japanese threat, Britain’s Achilles heel – almost unavoid-
able for a thinly stretched imperial power with a population base of only 50
million – was the small size of its army garrisons in the area. Though there was
a sizeable mixed British and colonial force in India, and the considerable mobil-
ization potential of the Australian and New Zealand armies, the main bases of
the Far East, East Indies and China naval squadrons were only thinly garrisoned.
There were only 7000 troops in Singapore in the late 1930s (mostly artillery,
anti-aircraft and signal units) along with a small Straits Settlement Volunteer
Force; some 6000 troops dispersed among garrisons in China and some addi-
tional but nugatory force elements in North Borneo and British New Guinea.17
Against the onslaught which was to take place in 1941, these were clearly
merely token forces; later, the fortified bastions at Hong Kong and Singapore
were exposed as merely highly vulnerable traps, useful primarily as symbolic
presences and “trip-wires.”
The close of World War I saw Britain’s extensive network of bases and
access points en route to India via the Mediterranean–Suez–Red Sea route
remain intact. Strongholds were maintained at Gibraltar, Malta, Cyprus, in
Egypt and in Palestine. Malta became the primary naval base, homeporting a
flotilla primarily fielding destroyers and, like Singapore, designed for defense by
large air formations.18 Cyprus was built up as a major air and naval base in the
1930s to counter nearby Italian deployments at Rhodes and Leros; Haifa and
Alexandria were auxiliary naval bases; and a complex of air bases was built in
Egypt.19 Close relations with the Greek Air Force provided additional access on
Crete and on the Greek mainland.20
 The interwar period 77
Between Egypt and India, the Royal Navy maintained bases at Aqaba and
Aden, and was provided additional access at Port Sudan, Basra, Berbera and in
the Seychelles and Maldives Islands. This region remained a virtually fully con-
trolled British naval bailiwick, to be challenged only in the late 1930s by some –
ultimately futile – Italian naval and air deployments in Eritrea and Italian Soma-
liland.
In the vast area encompassing the North Atlantic and the Caribbean, Britain
continued to deploy naval forces throughout the interwar period, torn between
abandoning the area to hoped-for friendly U.S. control, and enduring the sym-
bolic decline of fully global naval pretensions inherent in withdrawal. For long,
British naval power in the area had been based on ship and (more recently) air
deployments in Halifax, Bermuda and Kingston.21 But in 1929, the newly
elected British Labour Party considered virtual abandonment of all of these
facilities as a gesture of goodwill to presumed isolationist America, but then
merely downgraded them de facto, presaging the relinquishing of primary
responsibility for naval and air control of the area to the U.S. in the 1940s.22
There were, oddly in retrospect, debates in the British Parliament at the time
about maintaining naval strength at Kingston because of its proximity to the
Panama Canal, reflective of a traditional all-contingencies strategic mentality.
On the other side of North America, Britain retained, well into the interwar
period, a naval facility at Esquimalt, British Columbia, which was also a termi-
nal for its Pacific communications cable system. This too was later downgraded
to appease American sensibilities.23
Not perceived until just before World War II was the vital importance of a
chain of facilities on a west-to-east axis running from the Caribbean to the east
coast of South America, across the south Atlantic to Africa, and across the latter
to Sudan and Egypt. At the outset of the war, they would become vital for ferry-
ing aircraft and other badly needed matériel to the beleaguered British forces in
North Africa. The chain began with the Bahamas and various British-owned
islands in the West Indies, and continued on through British Guyana, Ascension
Island, and a number of access points in West and Central Africa, most notably
in Takoradi (now in Ghana), Lagos and Kano, and on to Khartoum and Cairo.
British strategists also foresaw, well before World War II, the importance of
north-south staging networks along both the east and west coasts of Africa.
Freetown and Bathurst were developed as major air bases in West Africa, while
Khartoum, Juba (in Sudan), and a string of staging facilities in Kenya, Tan-
ganyika, and Rhodesia were built to afford a Cairo-to-Cape Town air staging
route.24 Around the African littoral, Freetown, Lagos, Simonstown, Durban,
Mombasa, and also Mauritius, were the principal British naval bases, with only
Simonstown possessing major repair facilities.
At the outset of the war, Britain rapidly added to its strategic basing network
a number of outposts previously controlled by defeated or still neutral European
nations, in effect, repeating the strategy used earlier of utilizing preemptively its
sea control to pick off desired new positions. Prior agreements with Portugal
were acted upon, and in combination with the U.S., the Azores Islands were
78 The interwar period
occupied and an air base (later to become Lajes) was built.25 Madeira and the
Cape Verde Islands, and a Portuguese base in Portuguese Guinea, were “com-
mandeered.”26 Iceland and Greenland were similarly occupied, as were the
Dutch possessions in the West Indies and South America and various French
overseas possessions.27 Regarding the latter, there were some problems in over-
coming resistance from Vichy French collaborators with the Germans, occasion-
ing some combat in Syria and the sinking of French warships in West Africa.

The French interwar basing system

Despite its defeats in wars against Britain in the eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries, in which it lost the race for naval supremacy, France had built an
extensive overseas empire in the remainder of the nineteenth century. Corre-
spondingly, it possessed as of 1914 the second most extensive naval basing in
the Far East and the Pacific, Africa and in the western hemisphere. France’s
navy, though, was far smaller than Britain’s, had no pretensions to dominant
sea-control capability overseas, and was of necessity concentrated in proximity
to its home Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts. This was an inevitable corollary
to its concentration of budget resources on land armies, to deter the ever-present
German threat.
Yet despite the failure of its guerre de course naval strategy during the
Napoleonic Wars, France had never quite abandoned its aspirations for challeng-
ing British naval supremacy; indeed, it had engaged Britain in at least two futile
naval races during the nineteenth century.28 Before World War I, of course, the
joint Entente naval policy had dictated French concentration of naval forces in
the Mediterranean. After, there still remained a strong remnant of traditional
Anglo-French naval rivalry, particularly in the Mediterranean.
France’s colonial system emerged, even at its zenith, a smaller and geograph-
ically more concentrated one than Britain’s, and this lent a significantly different
character to its basing network and overseas troop deployments. Large French
army garrisons were concentrated in North and West Africa, and in Vietnam, in
both cases buttressed by native colonial army units. To a great extent, France’s
basing system was primarily intended for local defense of colonial possessions,
with little potential for projection of power into contiguous areas. In areas far
from France, there were only weak lines of communication tying the system
together.
In the Far East, French naval and air forces were concentrated in Indochina,
where, after a gradual build-up, accelerated to face the Japanese threat in the
1930s, France had major naval bases at Haiphong and Saigon, and was planning
at the war’s outset an expanded submarine base at a then obscure place called
Camranh Bay.29
Saigon harbored some 11 surface ships in 1934, mostly gunboats, and some
submarines in addition. There were also eight or nine major air bases, but France
deployed only some 29,000 men in its Indochina forces in 1939, clearly insuffi-
cient to meet a major Japanese threat.30 All of the French air and naval bases
 The interwar period 79
were taken over by Japan from Vichy France in 1941, and were subsequently
utilized as springboards for attacks on Singapore, the Dutch East Indies and the
Philippines.31
Elsewhere in Asia, France (along with Britain) deployed a small fleet in
China, with 11 ships, including two cruisers, operating out of Shanghai until its
fall.32 There was an additional small garrison further south in New Caledonia,
which like French possessions elsewhere, was preemptively occupied by the
Western allies at the Pacific war’s outset, after the fall of France.
France had lost most of its possessions in the western hemisphere a century
or more before World War I, and afterward possessed only minor basing facili-
ties there. There was a small garrison in French Guyana, and others (totaling
only some 1100 troops) in the West Indies island possessions. Right before the
war, the French had planned to enlarge a small and fortified base on Martinique,
and to build another on Guadeloupe, but these plans were aborted by France’s
collapse. 33
The most important French overseas bases were, of course, in its various
African possessions: in its vast North, West and Central African empire; in
French Somaliland; and in Madagascar and Reunion. These gave it important
naval and air bases which could be used to contest for supremacy in the Mediter-
ranean with Italy and Britain, some capability for reconnaissance and interdic-
tion of shipping in the Atlantic off the African coast, a north–south air logistics
network stretching from France itself to Gabon and Congo, and a naval refueling
chain running around the Cape en route to Asia.
The main French overseas naval bases were at Bizerte (upgraded during the
1920s), Oran, Dakar, Djibouti and Diego Suarez; there were also numerous air
bases in North and West Africa.34 There was also a vastly proliferated network
of military airstrips and emergency landing fields throughout the region, provid-
ing for staging networks on several axes along the Atlantic coast, south through
the Sahara, and eastward from Dakar.35 Off the east coast of Africa, France
deployed combat aircraft on Madagascar.
The remaining points of concentration for French bases were in Syria and
Lebanon, which were under French League of Nations mandates during this
period. Here, France had air bases, some of which were handed over to the
Germans by Vichy forces in 1940, and which menaced British positions at Suez
until they were quickly overrun by British forces.36
Similar to Britain and other major powers of the period, France had few if
any bases outside of its colonial possessions. With Britain, it occupied a couple
of air bases in Turkey for several years after World War I.
In summary, France’s interwar basing network provided somewhat for logis-
tical and combat support in defense of its colonial possessions, but only where
forward operations against potential big power antagonists were not really
required. The bases later proved irrelevant to its defense against Germany and
retained significance only as brief focal points of conflict between British and
German forces at the war’s outset, when Vichy forces sometimes were pressured
to allow the latter access. France’s Asia possessions, not dissimilarly to some of
80 The interwar period
Britain’s and the U.S.’s, proved merely vulnerable and exposed hostages,
quickly overrun.

The Dutch overseas basing system

Actually, to refer to a Dutch basing “system” by 1919 would be somewhat exag-
gerated, as Holland’s once ambitious empire consisted by then merely of the
mineral-rich Dutch East Indies, plus Surinam and the Dutch West Indies in the
Caribbean area. The latter were weakly garrisoned at the outset of World War II
and were occupied by U.S. forces and held in trust for the war’s duration.37
The East Indies were another story. There, the Dutch erected an impressive
network of bases and fortifications, all the while recognizing the need for U.S. or
British assistance if they were to be invaded by Japan. At a late hour, there were
some halting attempts at coordinating defense strategy with British forces in
Singapore, Malaya and North Borneo.38
As early as 1923, the Dutch built several air bases, a large seaplane base, and
even additional “secret” air bases and repair facilities in remote areas.39 This
network was later extended to some 20 airfields – on Java, Sumatra, Borneo, the
Celebes, Timor and New Guinea – which deployed some 200-plus combat air-
craft, a motley mixture of U.S. Martin bombers, Curtiss-Wright and Brewster
fighters, and ironically, German Dornier bombers.40 The Dutch army on the
islands consisted of some 75,000 troops, concentrated on Java, but with gar-
risons on Borneo, the Celebes and Sumatra. The Dutch navy, with its main base
at Soerabaya (which had some of the most extensive dockyard facilities in Asia),
regularly deployed by 1940 three cruisers, seven destroyers, 13 submarines and
40 auxiliary ships.
More so than France, the Netherland’s concentrated overseas bases existed
solely for local defense. That too, of course, was to prove inadequate after the
fall of the homeland and amid the general collapse of allied forces in the early
stages of World War II.

The U.S. interwar basing system

The United States got into the race for overseas empire only very late, with an
often noted though much argued reluctance related to its national political
origins, and the absence of some of the underlying forces which propelled Euro-
pean imperialism (such as need for raw materials and outlets for surplus popu-
lation). Overseas expansionism began – and in a sheer territorial sense, more or
less ended – only with the Spanish–American War of 1898, which saw the
Hawaiian Islands, Guam, Puerto Rico and the Philippines fall under U.S.
control, along with – temporarily – Cuba. Alaska and the Aleutian Islands had
previously been purchased from Russia, and the Virgin Islands were later bought
from Denmark. American control of the Panama Canal Zone was achieved after
1900. These several possessions came to incorporate what was to become the
rather insignificant overseas basing system available to the United States at the
 The interwar period 81
close of World War I and on up to 1940, by which time the United States was
already clearly the world’s premier potential military power, by any standard of
measurement.
The United States had, of course, long eschewed forward peacetime overseas
deployment of military forces, excepting some debt-collecting and some military
expeditions to the Caribbean and Central America, and far earlier expeditions to
combat Barbary Coast pirates. Britain’s navy had long allowed for relatively
secure U.S. isolationism, and the United States had, despite periodic flurries of
concerns, long made its vaunted Monroe Doctrine stick with respect to European
penetration of Latin America. Its conquests of 1898 had provided it with a sem-
blance of geopolitical perimeter defense in the Pacific and naval dominance of
the Caribbean. Afterward, with the lessons of the initial setbacks of World War
II in mind (including those of the “Battle of the Atlantic” with German sub-
marines), American geopolitical theorists were retrospectively to rue the
country’s laxity in not providing for a more comprehensive system of access
around both of the major oceans.41 The regrets were to inspire the much more
aggressive American policy of base acquisition evidenced immediately after
World War II.
Concerning access problems, perhaps the most salient legacy of the war was
the near-paranoid fear in 1918 about the activities of German submarines,
alleged in some intelligence reports to have operated clandestinely out of
Mexico, the Gulf of Fonseca in Central America, Colombia, Venezuela and
Cuba.42 When another world war began to loom in the late 1930s, fears of a
repeat of what was alleged in 1918 were to produce a flurry of diplomatic activ-
ity by the United States all over Latin America.
Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, amid very significant changes in military
technology – submarines, aircraft, aircraft carriers – the United States did very
little to upgrade its overseas facilities or to prepare for the logistical contingen-
cies which would arise at the outset of World War II. Only a handful of overseas
bases were fortified or beefed up with deployed naval or air units.
In the Atlantic, the United States continued to rely on British naval power. In
the late 1920s, moreover, as noted, Britain downgraded its facilities at Halifax
and Kingston, and Jamaica was traded for an at least implicit U.S. signal not to
push ahead with a surface fleet which would outpace the Royal Navy.43 The
United States, for its part, in line with an overall strategy basically stressing
hemispheric defense, maintained skeletal forces and facilities in the Virgin
Islands and at Guantanamo. The major exception was the basing of the “Special
Service Squadron” in the Canal Zone at Balboa, consisting of a flagship and
some eight cruisers and gunboats, which was used to show the flag and to collect
intelligence information throughout Latin America.44 Designed for rapid deploy-
ment, its units were periodically deployed off Mexico, Honduras and Nicaragua
in times of political tension, though the United States appears to have wished to
avoid the frictions associated with keeping squadrons in foreign ports for long
periods. Some submarines were deployed at Coco Solo in the Canal Zone during
this period, for major war contingencies.
82 The interwar period
There were no U.S. forces or bases in Europe, Africa or the Middle East
during this period, but in Asia there was a “station fleet” at Shanghai, which was
larger than the one in the Canal Zone.45 In 1932 the U.S. Asiatic Fleet consisted
of a cruiser, 19 destroyers, 12 submarines, and nine river gunboats, an assem-
blage exceeded only by Britain’s; some of these units were rotated back and
forth to Manila. Originally, these forces were for protection of U.S. lives and
business from the chaos of Chinese civilian conflict.
In the Pacific, the United States did carry out a major expansion of its facili-
ties in Hawaii, which became the hinge of the U.S. forward though defensive
deployment in the Pacific, supplemented by outlying garrisons at Wake,
Midway, Guam, Dutch Harbor, American Samoa and Howland Island. In addi-
tion, there were the fairly extensive though minimally garrisoned facilities in the
Philippines, geared primarily to colonial control and reliant upon extensive
recruitment of Filipino forces. The main ones were the naval bases at Cavite and
Subic Bay, the air base at Clark Field, and the army garrison at Corregidor at the
entrance to Manila Bay.46 As Japan’s expansionist aims became more worrisome
during the 1930s, these deployments were perceived as a “presence” to deter
Japanese aggression, for potential bolstering of British and Dutch forces in the
region, and for shadowing the ominous “clandestine” Japanese military build-up
in the mandated Pacific islands.
On the eve of World War II, in 1939 and 1940, American anxieties about an
impending conflict resulted in a hasty though determined effort at bolstering
strategic assets in and en route to both potential theaters of conflict. Primarily,
this involved simultaneous efforts at first, taking over British bases in the
Atlantic and Caribbean, to allow for British concentration of effort in Europe
and the eastern Atlantic, and to deter possible German penetration in the western
hemisphere; second, strenuous preemptive diplomacy throughout Latin America
to warn off numerous quasi-fascist governments from permitting Axis air and
naval access, and to ensure U.S. access in the event of American entry into the
war; and third, last-minute upgrading of U.S. facilities in the Pacific to cope with
the looming Japanese threat to the mainland United States or at least to its
Pacific possessions.
The Lend-Lease Agreement with Britain in 1940 provided for significant
U.S. force deployments to a number of British bases in the Atlantic–Caribbean
area, and as the base takeovers were later extended beyond World War II, they
resulted in the long-term acquisition of important strategic assets. In 1940 and
1941, U.S. forces moved into Bermuda, the Bahamas, Jamaica, Antigua, St.
Lucia, Trinidad, British Guyana, Newfoundland and Labrador, occasioning
hasty expansion of existing facilities and construction of new ones.47
Bermuda became a U.S. naval base in 1940, with 3000 personnel deployed,
and air units were sent to the Bahamas in 1941.48 Air and naval bases in Jamaica
were occupied by some 1800 American personnel in 1941. St. Lucia in the same
year became a base for U.S. patrol aircraft exercising surveillance over the
Caribbean and a staging point for short-range aircraft ferrying from Puerto Rico
to Trinidad (later part of a longer staging route to Africa).49 Port of Spain in
 The interwar period 83
Trinidad became a major U.S. air facility, hosting some 15,000 personnel, while
British Guyana was then also surveyed for staging points en route to eastern
Brazil.50
Also in 1941, 5000 U.S. personnel were deployed to the St. Johns, Argentia
and Stapleville air bases in Newfoundland, and plans were made for use of still
others as well as in Nova Scotia.51 The United States began making use of com-
munications facilities in Newfoundland and began planning for similar facilities
on Baffin Island, and also Greenland, where British and German forces were
already skirmishing over meteorological installations. Of particular importance
was the formation of a staging network for ferrying short-range aircraft to
Britain, utilizing bases in Newfoundland, Labrador, Greenland, Iceland and the
Faeroe Islands, the latter two occupied by the U.K. after the outbreak of war.52
Greenland, though not provided as a base to the United States by the 1940
Lend-Lease Agreement, quickly became a focal point in view of its location
astride the U.S.–U.K. air communications network and its importance to hemi-
spheric defense. It became crucial for ferrying short-range aircraft to Britain. In
1941, with the Germans by then driven out, the United States set up there a prin-
cipal staging airfield at Julianhaab along with radio transmitters and receivers, a
meteorological station, and an HF/DF (high frequency direction finder).53 Else-
where in the Atlantic, and in collaboration with the U.K. before the formal U.S.
entry into the war, the United States set up a general headquarters and air force
reconnaissance base in the Azores and began constructing other bases there.54
Presaging the later importance of “technical” facilities in the electronics age,
in 1941, the United States set up SCR-70 Ground Control Interceptors (an early
radar system) on Newfoundland, Bermuda, the Bahamas, Jamaica, Antigua,
Trinidad and British Guyana, which in addition to similar installations along the
U.S. east coast mainland, provided for a rather comprehensive early-warning
network directed against a possible German air assault.55
As World War II approached, and particularly during and after Hitler’s
onslaught upon Western Europe in 1940–1941, hemispheric security became a
paramount American concern. There were the memories of German submarine
activities in the Caribbean and near the Panama Canal in 1918. Further, the
United States was faced with the fact that crypto-fascist regimes and pro-Axis
sympathies had become widespread throughout Latin America during the late
1930s. Without exception, all of the South American nations – and a couple in
Central America as well – were receiving half or more of their arms supplies
from Germany and Italy during this period (Panama and Peru were believed to
have acquired Japanese small arms as well), and some were acquiring modern
German aircraft.56
Further, a number of Latin American countries – Brazil, Colombia, Peru,
Chile, Uruguay, Paraguay, El Salvador – by then had large German and Italian
immigrant populations, many of whom were prominent in commerce and poli-
tics. In Brazil, among other places, whole regions were dominated by expatriate
Germans, giving rise to fears about “secret” basing facilities and extensive espi-
onage operations and sabotage.57
84 The interwar period
The U.S. military intelligence files from the late 1930s are crammed with
(seemingly unsubstantiated) reports about German, Italian or Japanese purchases
of large plantations or jungle tracts along coasts, near key strategic points; in
particular, in areas near the Panama Canal and in northern Mexico.58 These
worried about the possibilities of clandestine refueling facilities (using “jer-
rycans”) for Axis submarines, and the sudden and secret deployment of German
bombers which might knock out the Panama Canal locks, Pearl Harbor style.
These fears resulted in a strenuous U.S. diplomatic effort, involving both
inducements and threats, throughout Latin America, to forestall military connec-
tions with the Axis. Demarches were launched in a number of Latin American
capitals concerning Axis political penetration, alleged or real; the granting of
military basing rights and the possible grey area military implications of the
dominance of Axis-controlled commercial airline and shipping firms.59 (Some
such firms actually owned airports, one of which alone serviced entirely the stra-
tegic Galapagos Islands in the Pacific Ocean.)60 Hurried and determined U.S.
military intelligence operations were also launched throughout Latin America,
some utilizing clandestine surveillance from commercial aircraft of potential
harbors for submarines.61
U.S. activities in Latin America during this period were not relegated merely
to base denial and political neutralization, though these were important, particu-
larly in view of the possibility of German air bases on the eastern Brazilian
coastline which might allow for domination (particularly if combined with
German access to West African bases) of large stretches of the Atlantic. The
United States was then also involved in acquiring contingency rights for air
staging and naval refueling stations all over Latin America (particularly on the
northern coast of South America) to prepare a staging network to and then
across Africa, to ease arms supply of embattled British forces in North Africa
and the Middle East.
Under some pressure, almost all of the Latin American nations complied with
U.S. requests, though in some cases not without serious internal political strug-
gles, and in most only in exchange for weapons supplies to supplant those which
would no longer be forthcoming from Germany and Italy. This presented a
particularly thorny problem for the United States at a time it was already strug-
gling to arm its own growing forces, not to mention those of Britain.62
The American prewar diplomacy in Latin America was successful, in part no
doubt because of the stick that might have been invoked if the carrot had failed.
Haiti in 1941 revoked a concession for a Vichy France broadcasting station, and
then granted the United States unrestricted use of its airfields as well as permis-
sion to build a large navy base (Haiti’s largest airfield was already controlled by
Panair).63 The Dominican Republic granted the United States access to its two
major airports for emergency and “maneuver” landings.64 Mexico, on poor terms
with the United States after the 1938 expropriation of American oil assets, and
then under not inconsiderable Axis influence, first granted the United States
staging rights for ferrying P-40 fighters to the Canal Zone, and then apparently
made a secret arrangement for American use during the war of several ports.65
 The interwar period 85
Ecuador – under considerable prewar Italian influence – bargained with the
United States over basing rights in the Galapagos Islands, deemed important for
controlling the western exit lanes from the Panama Canal, which were eventu-
ally granted in 1942.66
The main U.S. concern, however, was about acquiring a staging network via
Brazil to Africa, to supplement already controlled facilities in Puerto Rico,
Trinidad and British Guyana. Negotiations with Brazil resulted in the use of a
number of airfields and ports in its northeastern promontory – most notably at
Natal, Fortaleza, San Luis de Maranhao and Belem – after U.S. surveying activ-
ities had assured the availability of necessary infrastructure, runway lengths and
repair and refueling facilities.67 Paramaribo in Dutch Guyana was also then com-
mandeered for a U.S. base, to be held in trust for the defeated Dutch.68
By the time of the U.S. entry into the war in late 1941, it had thus achieved
agreements with numerous Latin American countries for basing and overflight
rights. Many agreements (with Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Dominican Republic,
Cuba, Costa Rica, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti,
Honduras, Nicaragua, Paraguay, Peru, Uruguay, Venezuela) provided for open-
ended aircraft landings with 24-hour notices, and for naval port staging of up to
one division of troops with naval escorts.69 Although access could have been uti-
lized in numerous places, the main U.S. bases and staging points in Latin
America during the crucial period 1941–1943 were at Acapulco, the Galapagos
Islands, Guantanamo and Santiago in Cuba, Barbados, Antigua, Martinique, St.
Lucia, Trinidad, Puerto Cabello (Venezuela), Georgetown, Paramaribo, Cayenne
and in Brazil.
Related to U.S. diplomacy in Brazil, American military teams were also
active in surveying staging areas in Liberia for aircraft to transit the South
Atlantic en route to the Middle East. Particular attention was paid to a flying-
boat base under construction at Jui (Liberia) and to landing fields and seaplane
anchorages in the one African nation long under predominant U.S. influence.70
Monrovia later became one stopping point on the staging route from Brazil
which continued on to Egypt via the British-controlled airfields at Takoradi,
Lagos, Kano and Khartoum.
Otherwise, the United States also made efforts at upgrading its Pacific bases
on the eve of Pearl Harbor, but which did not provide the basis for an aerial
counterstrike against Japan proper.71 Further naval bases were planned but never
completed in the Philippines, particularly in the south at Malempang.72 Gar-
risons and air and naval deployments were increased at Guam, Wake, Midway,
Howland, Palmyra, Jarvis and Baker Islands, in Samoa, and in the northern
Pacific, at Dutch Harbor, Unalask Island and in the Rat and Pribilof Islands.73
By 1941, then, the United States had significantly expanded its long weak
overseas basing network, though its deployments still bespoke a primarily
defensive orientation for hemispheric defense.
86 The interwar period
Italy’s interwar basing system
Renascent Italy came late to the race for empire, having been left far behind by
rival European powers while consolidating its new-found national status during
the last half of the nineteenth century. Its forces were defeated ignominiously by
Ethiopia in 1896, when they attempted to expand its small East African empire
beyond the enclaves in Eritrea and Somaliland. Over a decade later, Libya was
wrenched from the crumbling Ottoman Empire along with the strategic Aegean
Dodecanese Islands. These possessions were to form the basis for Italy’s over-
seas basing system before and after World War I.
Italy emerged from that war a frustrated but ambitious revisionist power,
feeling that it deserved more extensive spoils as a reward for having weighed in
on the winning side, even if belatedly. A few years later, the rise of fascism was
accompanied and given impetus by strivings for a more prominent “place in the
sun,” by dreams of a recrudescent “Roman” empire which might dominate the
Mediterranean.74
Concerning bases, Italian efforts during the interwar period – particularly
toward its close – were devoted to projecting air and naval power throughout the
Mediterranean, protecting East African holdings and maintaining an imperial
lifeline to the latter despite British control over the interposing, blocking Suez
bottleneck.
In the Mediterranean, Italy devoted considerable resources to strengthening
outposts on Rhodes and the Leros Islands in the Dodecanese group. Naval sta-
tions were established in 1919, a first air base in 1923, and there was extensive
construction of underground shelters for ammunition, weapons and personnel.75
The clear intent was to construct an Italian equivalent to Malta further east,
which might threaten the Suez area, the Levant, Cyprus and the exit from the
Turkish Straits.76 Later, the Dodecanese bases would be used to attack British
bases in Egypt at the outset of World War II and to interdict British shipping in
the Mediterranean.
Throughout the period, Italy gradually established a virtual protectorate over
Albania; indeed, the latter was eventually bludgeoned into a rather unreciprocal
formal defense pact. One result was the establishing of Italian air bases in
Albania, including some on the strategic island of Sasseno, which could be used
in combination with those on the Italian mainland to dominate the entrance to
the Adriatric Sea.77 To Italy’s west, favorable strategic positions were provided
by control over Sicily and Sardinia, while in the narrow chokepoint between
Sicily and Tunisia, traditional British naval control from Malta was menaced by
Italian facilities on the small island of Pantelleria, which were strengthened
beginning in 1937.
Libya, of course, was the jewel of the small Italian overseas empire. Begin-
ning in 1926, as conflict with Britain and/or France loomed, there was a rapid
build-up of military airfields and seaplane bases, greatly accelerated in the mid-
1930s. A central air base at Castel Benito near Tripoli was supplemented by
several others, and as early as 1939, plans were made for deployment of German
 The interwar period 87
aircraft at Libyan air bases to aid the expected onslaught on British positions in
Egypt.78 This was one of only a few examples from this period of basing access
being related to formal security alliances.
At the outset of the invasion of Ethiopia in 1935, Italy had several usable air-
fields and military garrisons in contiguous Somaliland and Eritrea, which formed
the basis for its two-pronged assault. Massawa in Eritrea had been developed as a
major naval base and port, which, along with Mogadiscio, provided entry points
for shipments of war matériel and troops.79 Britain actually declined to interrupt
the Italian logistics line through Suez throughout the war.80
During and after the Ethiopian War, Italy greatly expanded its air base network
in East Africa, so that by 1939 it comprised some 20 military airfields plus some
additional emergency fields.81 Although these bases (and Italy’s deployed army
units) flanked British positions in Egypt and Sudan and also threatened nearby
Aden, they quickly fell at the outset of World War II, being immediately and com-
pletely cut off from sources of supply from Italy.82 Here again, British sea control
and military preponderance overseas led inevitably to quick collapse of an antago-
nist’s overseas positions which proved merely vulnerable hostages.
Otherwise, and in partnership with its German ally, Italy sought access to
bases before World War II, in Latin America and in areas flanking the Gibraltar
Straits. Heavy arms sales throughout Latin America produced rumors about
“secret” submarine and air bases and about long-range logistics networks to
potentially friendly Brazil and Argentina, but naught was to come of it.83 Closer
to home, Italian aircraft operated out of the Balearic Islands during the Spanish
Civil War, and some quiet access there may have been maintained during the
early phases of World War II.84
The same was true for Spanish possessions in and offshore from North
Africa; in the Canary Islands, Spanish Morocco and Rio de Oro (in particular,
during 1939–1940, Italian aircraft apparently utilized the Spanish base at Gando
on Gran Canary Island).85 British naval control over the region shortly negated
these assets, and the Axis air forces quickly were driven from the area.
Concerning the nexus between arms transfers, alliances and base acquisitions,
it is noteworthy that Axis support of Franco Spain was an almost anomalous (in
that interwar context) example of a big power translating military aid into stra-
tegic access, where a colonial relationship did not exist.

Germany’s interwar basing network

After its defeat in World War I, Germany was stripped of its few overseas pos-
sessions in Africa and the Pacific, and with them went its limited system of
overseas strategic access. During World War I, Admiral Spee’s squadron had
made some use of Germany’s Pacific Island possessions, but British naval pre-
dominance had precluded significant German surface naval operations based
upon overseas possessions.86 After the war, Germany’s previous begrudged
sense of having been left behind in the race for overseas possessions and a
global basing system was magnified, further fueling a vengeful irredentism.
88 The interwar period
Despite Tirpitz’s vaunted, hurried ambitions for building a German surface
fleet to challenge the Royal Navy, German naval strategy during World War I
had been constrained to hit-and-run submarine and surface interdiction activ-
ities; that is, to a form of naval “guerilla warfare.”87 Though bereft of an over-
seas basing network to bolster its submarine capabilities, Germany did,
however, make some apparent use of refueling points in Latin America, and also
in Spain (allegedly using the Spanish submarine base at Mazarran).88 Hence, it is
not surprising that in the diplomacy preceding World War II (and with the com-
parative strength of the German surface fleet vis-à-vis Britain not substantially
altered since 1918), Germany again concentrated on acquiring overseas bases or
at least refueling facilities for its submarines and surface raiders89 or interrupting
lines of communication in the Atlantic.
The geographic realities of the distances between the major antagonists in
Europe would not have produced extensive requirements for air bases outside of
Germany (conquests at the beginning of the conflict did, however, provide addi-
tional forward bases for launching air assaults on Britain and the USSR).90
Otherwise, German basing strategy seems to have been concentrated on acquir-
ing air bases from which to control the Gibraltar Straits, for possible assaults
upon the Panama Canal, and for long-range bombing and reconnaissance mis-
sions in the Atlantic to the north of the line running from West Africa to Brazil.
Germany, collaborating with Italy, gave decisive military support to the
Nationalist side during the Spanish Civil War, in the forms of arms supplies,
advisors and small units of troops and aircraft.91 Not surprisingly, a quid pro quo
was expected, virtually demanded. Franco eventually declined to enter the war
on the Axis side, which, among other things, forestalled an enhanced German
threat to Gibraltar and an improved logistical line to Rommel’s army in North
Africa. Nonetheless, during 1939–1940, Western intelligence reported German
use of Spanish submarine facilities in an arc around the Gibraltar narrows at
Passages, El Ferrol, Vigo, Marin, Rio de Oro, in the Canary Islands and also at
Portuguese-controlled Bissagos Island off the West African coast.92 Further,
German personnel were said to have upgraded the fortifications of Spanish mili-
tary bases at Melilla, Ceuta and Malaga, and to have installed artillery in
Spanish Morocco covering the Gibraltar Straits.93
We have previously noted the penetration of Axis arms into South America
during the late 1930s, in connection with waxing fascist political influence. During
this period Germany supplied first-line combat aircraft to Brazil, Argentina, Chile,
Uruguay and other nations in the region. Also during the period which saw little
outright military grant aid, Berlin offered generous terms on arms sales, often
government-to-government barter arrangements involving raw materials.
These growing connections, later thwarted by preemptive U.S. diplomacy,
gave rise to reports of impending military access, particularly in Brazil. German
commercial air and shipping lines were active there, and as early as 1934, a Zep-
pelin terminal was installed.94 At least one German naval surface raider was
reported operating out of Recife and Natal, and there were rumors of secret sub-
marine bases.95
 The interwar period 89
At the then state of the art in bomber technology in the late 1930s, German
and Italian aircraft (Heinkel-111, Junkers-88, Savoia-79, Breda 20) possessed
ranges of around 2000 miles with full bomb loads and up to 3000 miles without
bombs. These ranges were expected imminently to be extended by newer air-
craft developments.96 Although the ranges would not have allowed for combat
operations in Brazil from West Africa or the Azores, they would have provided
air coverage of a line from Newfoundland to French Guyana, across the narrow-
est part of the Atlantic which runs along a NW–SE axis. The specter was tem-
porarily a real one for Western defense planners, who feared a German air
assault on Atlantic shipping to supplement its submarine warfare, and a possible
Axis military expedition to Brazil.
Western fears about German access to Spanish, Portuguese and French facili-
ties later proved greatly exaggerated, of course. Besides, the Axis did not then
have the naval power to protect a line of communications to Latin America.
Also, much of Germany’s air strength had to be concentrated on the Russian
front during the early part of the war, not to mention the Battle of Britain,
leaving little to be allocated to missions further afield.97 The threat, nevertheless,
prodded the Americans and the British into efforts to control the Natal–
Pernambuco area in Brazil, as well as to take preemptive control from Portugal
of the Azores, Madeira and Bissagos.98
Prewar German diplomacy did achieve some additional points of strategic
military access. Alliances with Hungary, Bulgaria and Romania allowed for
some forward eastern deployments of aircraft vis-à-vis the USSR.99 That with
Italy allowed Germany to launch aerial assaults on British Middle Eastern posi-
tions from Libya and the Dodecanese Islands. German submarines reportedly
operated sporadically out of Spanish bases at Las Palmas and Tenerife.100 But
attempts at extending the network of German bases failed.

Japan’s interwar basing system

Like Italy, late to empire, Japan emerged from World War I in a greatly
strengthened position, having taken advantage of the power vacuum in the Far
East created by the diversion of British attention, China’s then seemingly
endemic weakness and fragmentation, and Germany’s inability to protect its
distant Pacific empire. It had also flexed some long-range muscle in providing
ships for the allied Western Mediterranean fleet and in its postwar incursions
into Siberia.
Japan’s possession of Korea, Sakhalin, Formosa, the Bonins, Marcus Island
and Port Arthur had already provided some outlying points of access. To this was
now added – at least potentially – the sprawling League of Nations-mandated
island groups: in the Marshalls, Carolines and Marianas. The League mandate for
these islands prohibited military bases and fortifications; these prohibitions were
supposedly formally reinforced by the 1922 Washington Naval Agreement.
Throughout the interwar period, Japan steadily increased its outlying system
of bases; variously, by conquest, build-ups in already controlled areas, and by
90 The interwar period
gradual, stealthy fortification of the mandated islands. This expansionist thrust
was omni-directional, providing for both offensive and defensive contingencies
in relation to the USSR, China, Southeast Asia, Australia and the U.S. Hawaiian
Islands.
In China, the Japanese gradually expanded their access to strategic facilities,
even during the 1920s amid the incredible confusion of China’s multisided civil
wars, well before the invasion of Manchuria.101 Tsingtao was taken over from
Germany in 1918, but was considered too near Japan to be immediately useful
as a naval base. Port Arthur was treated likewise, and only in 1933 was it
reestablished as a naval base. During the 1920s, Japan was, however, able to
establish a communications net from Port Arthur to Korea through then
Chinese-held Manchuria.102 Some years later, use of the ports of Amoy and
Swatow further south was achieved, in the case of the latter involving major
drydock facilities. At a time China was a highly vulnerable and “penetrated”
nation, there was also extensive multilateral naval access to port and repair facil-
ities, particularly at Shanghai, which had French and British-owned dockyards,
but where Japanese and Soviet vessels were also stationed, repaired and
replenished.103
During the 1930s, of course, Japan’s conquest first of Manchuria and then of
large parts of China proper, provided the springboards for later operations
further afield in China, Burma, Indochina and against the USSR in the unher-
alded but sizeable conflict in 1937–1939 along the Manchuria–Siberian frontier.
In connection with the latter, the Japanese by 1941 deployed some 500 combat
aircraft at several bases in Manchuria.104
With future operations directed against Southeast Asia (including the Philip-
pines) in mind, the Japanese made extensive efforts during the late 1930s at
building air and naval facilities on Formosa and the Pescadores Islands, and
then, after they were conquered in early 1941, on Hainan Island and the Spratly
Islands in the South China Sea.
On Formosa, taken from China in 1893, Japan as early as 1921 possessed a
major naval base, radio station and large army garrisons. By 1941 there were
some 17 military air bases, emergency landing fields and seaplane bases, provid-
ing a major springboard for subsequent operations against Indochina and the
Philippines.105 Likewise, on the nearby Pescadores Islands, there were drydocks,
coal yards and a submarine mine depot, all geared to establishing control over
the Formosa Straits.106 Hainan, after its conquest, provided major naval ports, a
base for eight submarines at Yu-Lin-Kong, anchorages, garrisons and some ten
air bases and seaplane facilities. It became the major springboard for operations
against Indochina.107
In 1941, preparatory to the final assault on Singapore, Malaya and the Dutch
East Indies, Japan easily captured French-Indochina, then temporarily controlled
by Vichy forces after the fall of France. After some negotiating with Vichy, and
in the face of U.S. and British warnings and economic reprisals, the Japanese
immediately deployed naval and air forces to the former French bases there.
There were several main air bases and seaplane stations, and the naval bases at
 The interwar period 91
Haiphong, Camranh Bay and Saigon.108 At Camranh in early 1941, Japan
deployed seaplanes, flying boats, a battleship and several gunboats and destroy-
ers. Offshore, menacing the Philippines, a seaplane base and communications
facilities were constructed on the main Spratly Island.109
Japanese basing diplomacy was also active during this period in Siam, where
a pro-Japanese government had for years purchased large amounts of Japanese
arms. There were reports as early as 1934 of Japanese use of Siam’s naval bases.
Later reduced to a virtual puppet state, it then availed the Japanese Air Force of
bases in islands off its Indian Ocean coast, which would later be used for opera-
tions against Burma and the British-controlled Andaman Islands.110
In the Pacific, there were rumors as early as around 1921 of Japanese viola-
tions of the mandate provisions proscribing fortifications in the Marianas, Caro-
lines, and Marshalls.111 Later, by around 1933 (and with access to foreigners
strictly limited and overhead intelligence very difficult), there were reported
unmistakable warlike preparations, involving submarine bases, extensive port
visits by large surface ships and army garrisons.112 There were also vague U.S.
intelligence reports about “midget submarine” bases in the Marshalls and about
plans to tow the submarines great distances with “tankers.”113
By 1941, before the outbreak of World War II, Japan had constructed an
elaborate system of Pacific bases. At Pelelieu in the Palaus, which flanked the
Philippines, there was a 10,000-man garrison, advanced seaplane facilities, and a
naval base capable of accommodating aircraft carriers.114 There was an advanced
submarine base at Truk (a fleet headquarters), and various air and naval facilities
on Yap, Ponape, Jaluit, Bikini, Kusaie, Ulithi and Saipan.115 Wireless stations
were established on at least seven islands.
Hence, by 1941, Japan had a very extensive network of strategic facilities
extending in a vast arc through the Pacific, Southeast Asia, and along the East
China coast, as well as in Korea and Manchuria. These facilities provided
forward positions from which to launch sudden air and naval strikes against
Hawaii, Wake, Guam, the Philippines, Singapore and the Dutch East Indies;
conversely, for extended defense-in-depth and surveillance-and-warning capa-
bility in all directions.
The oft-maligned Japanese preventive war strategy embodying the attack on
Pearl Harbor seems to have been predicated on achieving an eventual standoff
by maintaining defensive naval superiority within the web of Japanese island
facilities in the Pacific, thus presenting the United States with the prospect of an
unacceptably long and costly attrition war.116 The strategy, of course, failed.

The Soviet interwar basing network

Russia acquired a vast, contiguous empire during the nineteenth century, but
was virtually absent from the overseas race for empire. Its earlier possession of
Alaska and the efforts of Russian explorers along the U.S. Pacific Coast did not
finally prove to be enduring. Russian expansionist drives, in the absence of a
first-class navy, were directed at colonizing and consolidating control over
92 The interwar period
Siberia, Muslim Central Asia and long-contested Turkic areas around the Black
and Caspian seas.
What few points of strategic access the USSR achieved before World War II
tended to be the result of diplomacy rather than conquest, in contrast to other
major powers. Soviet merchant ships, along with others, used repair facilities at
British-owned dockyards in Shanghai throughout most of the 1930s.117 In 1936
there were reports of Soviet aircraft deployed in Czechoslovakia (causing con-
siderable concern in neighboring Hungary), which were apparently later
removed after the USSR was unable to organize a joint effort with France and
the U.K. to preserve Czechoslovakia’s independence.118 In 1940 the Soviets
were said to be using three forward airfields in Bulgaria, at a time still others
there were apparently being used by the Germans.119
Further north, Soviet occupation of the three Baltic states after the Hitler-
Stalin Pact resulted in the establishment there of army garrisons and forward
naval and air bases, most notably with the occupation of naval and air bases on
the Baltic islands of Estonia.120 Soviet forward positions in Eastern Europe were,
of course, quickly overrun by the German Operation Barbarossa in 1941.
In Asia, the USSR made use of numerous land and air bases in Mongolia
(then, as later, virtually a Soviet puppet state) during its war with Japan in
1937–1939, as well as in its related, then concurrent, support to the Chinese
Communists.121 But some limited arms sales to Turkey, Afghanistan and China
were not associated with facility acquisitions, as such sales later would be after
1955 in many places.122 At any rate, Soviet defense needs at that time (most cru-
cially with respect to repelling German or Japanese invasions) did not require
overseas bases.

Conclusions
It has been emphasized that the interwar system (1919–1940) was one of trans-
ition between the earlier “age of empires” and the post-World War II bipolar
Cold War, based on ideological rivalry. Mostly, the basing structures of this
period were highly correlated to the still largely intact colonial empires dating
back centuries, that were just beginning to be delegitimized and unraveled, a
process that was greatly accelerated in the period 1945–1970.
The most elaborate global basing structures were those of Britain and France,
the most powerful nations overall in the nineteenth century, but now (in actual-
ity or potentially) to be overshadowed by the United States, the Soviet Union,
Germany (whose power was revived in the 1930s) and Japan. The latter four
nations all had limited basing structures in this period. Hence, there was a low
correlation between national power and basing networks, though Britain’s case
illustrated a significant remaining correlation with maritime power alone, if not
overall industrial leadership.
Hence, basing remained largely based on conquest and colonial control. Only
in the late 1930s did security assistance (the Lend-Lease Agreement as an
example) begin to become a vital instrument of diplomacy, related to basing
 The interwar period 93
access, with Germany’s access in the Balearic and Canary Islands and Japan’s
access to bases in Siam being additional examples. There was a dearth of long-
term structural alliances during this period, hence, also, only limited provision of
basing access between sovereign states, particularly within Europe. Even on the
eve of World War II, there was little inter-national provision of permanent
basing access among the powers, large and medium, in Europe. This resulted
largely from the lack of ideological cement to inter-nation alignments.
Of course, as had been the case before World War I, most of what we now
call the Third World was under colonial control, excepting much of Latin
America and a few cases such as Iran, Afghanistan, Siam and Saudi Arabia.
Hence, there was little room for basing diplomacy involving the major powers
and (arms dependent) smaller nations. As it happens, there was no provision of
bases to major powers in Latin America. Sensitivity to issues of sovereignty
ruled out U.S. bases, and the U.S.’s continued enforcement of the old Monroe
Doctrine made it unlikely European powers or Japan could obtain access there,
the periodic rumors of impending German access to air bases in Brazil notwith-
standing. (Brazil received arms during this period both from the U.S. and
Germany and Italy.)
Again, technological change provided the impetus for new types of basing
access. The advent of combat aircraft and long-range staging of transport air-
craft, the advent of the submarine as a major weapons platform and the advent
of new communications and intelligence technologies all brought the require-
ments for new forms of basing access.
6 Bases during the Cold War
The bipolar base race

Before 1940, the U.S. basing structure had been restricted to a small number of
colonial possessions and satraps, in Puerto Rico, Cuba, the Philippines, Hawaii,
Wake Island and the Panama Canal Zone. The Lend-Lease Act added a string of
bases in British and Canadian territories along the U.S. Atlantic littoral, in
Labrador, Newfoundland, Bermuda, the Bahamas, Antigua, Trinidad and British
Guyana. Then at the start of World War II, the U.S. established forward access
in Greenland, Iceland, the Azores, Mexico (Acapulco) and Ecuador (the Galapa-
gos Islands). By the end of the conflict the U.S. had access to a near-global
network of facilities in Europe, Asia and the Middle East.
The Soviet Union, by contrast, had basing access only within its contiguous
Eurasian empire, added to by the war’s end by access all over Eastern Europe
and in Mongolia. Britain, France and the Netherlands – also to a lesser degree
World War II neutrals Spain and Portugal – regained control over colonial
empires and related basing access after the war, only to see them gradually
wither with the decolonization process between 1945 and around 1970. Japan
and Germany lost everything they had.
By the late 1940s, the U.S. and the USSR were fully engaged in what would
become a global struggle for influence and access, in which access to bases was
to play a pivotal role, given the expectation of an inevitable “World War III.”
That competition accelerated after 1955, outside the bounds of the contiguous
Soviet empire and, importantly, had several features, but which were altered
across several identifiable, if not neatly bounded, phases of this competition.
They were:

• The importance of Western, mostly British, colonial possessions for U.S.

basing access in the early Cold War period, gradually fading in importance
over time up to around 1970.
• The increasing importance of alliances, ideological ties and security assis-
tance in determining the patterns of U.S. and Soviet basing access.
• The spatial configuration of “heartland” vs. “rimland” as depictive of the
U.S.–Soviet “base race,” with the U.S. establishing a ring of bases around
the Sino-Soviet Eurasian heartland, and the Soviets gradually leapfrogging
the rimland via ideological client states and arms transfers. The configuration
 Bases during the Cold War 95
was gradually altered towards a more inter-penetrated basis, with rivals’
bases in proximity in various regions.
• The increasing importance in the “base race” of technical or C3I or “ISR”
facilities, as supplementary to “traditional” naval and air bases: communica-
tions, space-related, ballistic missile defense, maritime detection, nuclear
detection, signals and photoreconnaissance intelligence etc.
• A reduction in the number of bases required by superpowers as a result of
technological development, i.e., longer-range aircraft, tanker refueling, the
increased amount of firepower packed into planes and ships, nuclear ship
propulsion etc.
• Towards the end of the Cold War and previewing the new world after 1991,
a newer geopolitical focus on the Persian Gulf and the “arc of crisis”
running from the East African Horn to Central and South Asia.
• A two-layered situation in which the bipolar rivals required basing access
for nuclear deterrence and for conventional power projection, but with these
functions often being combined in given basing facilities.

In the period immediately following the end of World War II, the U.S. was
faced with decisions about how far down to draw the enormous basing network
it had developed during World War II. At least one major article in Foreign
Affairs during this period pointed out the history of American weakness in this
area before World War II, and advocated that in line with its new powers and
responsibilities that the U.S. should retain a global basing structure after the
war.1 Of course, not all the countries that had hosted U.S. bases during the
war were willing to continue to do so; Brazil, for instance, insisted on U.S.
withdrawal in consonance with the altered conditions.
During the immediate postwar period, however, before the main thrust of
decolonization acquired full force, the U.S. was able to rely on the bases pro-
vided primarily by the British, but also the French, Dutch and Portuguese
empires.2 These empires unraveled only gradually over a 25-year or so period.
This provided the U.S. access to a plethora of air and naval bases: Gibraltar,
Malta, Cyprus, the Suez Canal Zone, Aden, Libya (Wheelus Air Force Base),
Gan in the Maldives Islands, Mombasa, Simonstown in South Africa, Freetown,
Singapore, Hong Kong, etc., added to by access to other facilities in Canada and
Australia. France’s remnant empire allowed for some U.S. access as well,
particularly important in the 1950s, regarding bomber bases and communica-
tions facilities in Morocco. During the period after 1945, of course, the U.S.
occupied Germany and Japan, and had free access to bases all over occupied
Europe, in France, the Netherlands, Belgium, Italy, Greece and Turkey. In the
Central Pacific, the U.S. took over the former Japanese League of Nations man-
dates in the Caroline, Mariana and Marshall Islands, with few restrictions on
their use for bases.
In the early 1950s there was the full onset of the Cold War, the Korean War,
and NSC-68 as the formalization of the containment policy. Importantly, there
was also the construction by the U.S. of a network of formal alliances, both
96 Bases during the Cold War
multilateral and bilateral, that formed a physical barrier around what had come
to be called the Sino-Soviet bloc after 1949, a barrier extending around Eurasia
from Ireland and Norway around to Japan. There was NATO, CENTO (the
Baghdad Pact) and SEATO, the first two hinged on Turkey, the latter two on
Pakistan, abetted by ANZUS and the bilateral defense pacts with Japan, South
Korea (after 1950) and Taiwan (after 1950).3 Arms transfers and other forms of
security and economic assistance underpinned all of these alliances, and with
them went a very permissive and comprehensive basing structure for the U.S., in
effect in exchange for security against the perceived menace of Soviet and
Chinese expansionism, both in terms of possible military attack and internal sub-
version. The physical structure of this basing network was neatly reflective of a
rimland defense posture around Eurasia à la the geopolitical formulations of
Mahan and Spykman.

Functions of the U.S. Cold War basing system

As the Cold War evolved in the 1950s and 1960s, the functions of the U.S.
global basing structure came to be divided along the lines of nuclear deterrence
and conventional deterrence and power projection. The latter category further
subsumed the use of bases for direct military interventions, arms resupply during
conflict, coercive diplomacy (“gunboat diplomacy”) and “presence” (showing
the flag).4
The initial use of forward bases came with the stationing of B-29 bombers in
the U.K. in the late 1940s. Following that was the stationing, in the 1950s, of B-
47 “Reflex Force” bombers in the U.K., Spain and Morocco.5 Shortly after that,
the B-52 bombers were introduced as the backbone of SAC, and they were all
based along the northern rim of the continental U.S., in Maine, New Hampshire,
upstate New York and Michigan. But, they required tanker refueling, bases for
which were established in Greenland (Thule), Canada (Gander), Iceland
(Keflavik) and in the U.K. Additionally, numerous bases in Europe and else-
where were designated as recovery bases for the bombers should they exit the
USSR after a bombing raid.
Later in the Gulf War, forward based tactical aircraft (FBS) – F-4s, F-16s,
and F-15s – were configured for nuclear weapons, based mostly in Germany, but
able to mount missions from other bases in Europe, in Iceland, the Netherlands,
Italy and Turkey.6 Additionally, F-111E bombers based in the U.K. were
deployed as nuclear attack aircraft that could reach into the Soviet Union.
Nuclear armed attack aircraft were also based in South Korea and the Philip-
pines, capable of reaching the USSR and China. Tanker aircraft based on Guam,
Okinawa, Japan and the Philippines could also serve in relation to nuclear-armed
aircraft.
In the late 1950s, in response to the “missile scare,” i.e., the looming threat of
Soviet ICBM deployments ahead of similar U.S. deployments, the U.S. based
medium-range ballistic missiles, Thor and Jupiter, in the U.K., Italy and Turkey.
In Asia, Matador and Mace land-based missiles were deployed in Okinawa and
 Bases during the Cold War 97
Taiwan as a deterrent vis-à-vis China and the Soviet Far East.7 And then, in the
1980s, the U.S. forward deployed Pershing II and ground-launched cruise mis-
siles (GLCMs) in several Western European states – Germany, Belgium, the
Netherlands, Italy, U.K. – to counter the menace of Soviet SS-20s being targeted
on Western Europe, which deployments were drawn down after the signing of
the INF Treaty with the USSR.
Nuclear-armed U.S. naval forces also made extensive use of overseas facili-
ties. American “boomers,” submarines mounting long-range SLBMs, were long
based at Holy Loch, Scotland and Rota, Spain, in addition to Guam. These
forward deployments allowed the U.S. to negotiate a SALT II Treaty with the
USSR that gave the latter a larger number of SSBNs, somewhat balanced out by
the U.S. having those overseas facilities that allowed for keeping relatively more
SSBNs “on station” at a given time. Finally, nuclear armed SSNs, attack sub-
marines, whose main intended function was to hunt Soviet SSBNs, were based
overseas at Faslane, Scotland, La Maddalena on Italy’s Sardinia and Sasebo in
Japan in proximity to known major transit routes for Soviet submarines. And,
lastly, U.S. carriers (CVNs) with nuclear armed aircraft and other surface ships
carrying nuclear weapons made frequent stops for replenishing at numerous
overseas ports, though that was sometimes a political problem in nuclear-phobic
Japan. U.S. nuclear-armed CVNs operated out of Yokosuka in Japan, Subic Bay
in the Philippines and Naples, Italy.
Electronic intelligence aircraft prowled along the Soviet borders and coasts to
“tickle” Soviet radars and to plan possible routes for U.S. bombers. U-2 and SR-
71 surveillance aircraft were used, particularly in the case of the former up to
1960, to monitor Soviet construction of ICBM missile silos and nuclear test
sites. The U-2s earlier were based at Mildenhall in the U.K., Bodo in Norway,
Wiesbaden in West Germany, Incirlik in Turkey, Peshawar in Pakistan and
Atsugi in Japan; the SR-71s mostly in the U.K., but deployable to other bases.8
Some other air and naval basing functions also related to nuclear deterrence.
The U.S. had an elaborate network of P-3 Orion naval air bases in relation both to
surface and sub-surface detection of Soviet ships, with a focus on ASW.9 Around
the Indian Ocean littoral, P-3s were flown out of Masirah in Oman, for instance,
Mogadishu in Somalia (after 1978), Singapore and Australia’s west coast.
Sigonella in Sicily was used as a major P-3 base for monitoring the movements of
Soviet submarines in the Mediterranean. Other P-3 bases have been Embelzebil/
Nairobi (Kenya), Tahkli (Thailand), Djibouti, earlier in the Seychelles and Bandar
Abbas in Iran during the Shah’s reign, Misawa and Iwakuni in Japan, Cubi Point
in the Philippines and Dakar in Senegal. Then, TACAMO aircraft based in, among
other places, Bermuda, were utilized to trawl communications wires through the
ocean to communicate with U.S. nuclear submarines.10
Regarding conventional power projection capability, the U.S. also utilized a
massive network of overseas bases, again for purposes of conventional deter-
rence (tripwires), arms resupply, coercive diplomacy and presence. Sometimes
but not always, these deployments involved co-location at bases utilized in rela-
tion to nuclear deterrence.
98 Bases during the Cold War
First and foremost was the long-term, stable deployment of ground forces in
Europe and Asia, primarily in Germany, South Korea and Japan, but also in Italy
and Belgium. That involved barracks, training grounds, maintenance depots,
hospitals, etc., in relation to large-unit deployments of corps and divisions; like-
wise, the deployment of protective surface-to-air missiles to defend these instal-
lations. The largest was with the Seventh Army in Germany, amounting at its
peak to some 330,000 troops, mostly in Bavaria, Hesse, Baden Wurtemberg and
Rhineland Pfaltz, reduced to below 100,000 after the end of the Cold War. In
Italy, a combat brigade was long deployed near Vicenza to bolster the Italian
army and in relation to a possible Soviet thrust through Austria into Italy.
In the Far East, the U.S., after the end of the Korean War, long deployed
around 40,000 troops in South Korea, mostly along the DMZ and around the
capital city, Seoul. There was a threat by the Carter Administration to reduce or
eliminate these deployments, which did not eventuate, in response to the
growing disparity in economic might between the two Koreas. In Japan, more
than 40,000 troops were long deployed, mostly Army and Marine units on the
island of Okinawa, co-located with extensive deployment of combat aircraft,
tankers and transports. Later, after the end of the Cold War, this deployment
became a hot issue within Japan, and consideration was given to moving the
troops to the Japanese mainland.

U.S. Navy surface fleet bases11

The U.S. Navy, throughout the Cold War, utilized a number of major and minor
bases for its surface fleets, most importantly, for aircraft carrier battlegroups.
Several British ports were regularly used. Before France’s withdrawal from
NATO’s military structure in the 1960s, Villefranche was a frequent port of call
for U.S. ships, as were Barcelona, Livorno, Rota, Piraeus, Souda Bay on Crete
and Izmir in Turkey, the latter a regional naval headquarters. Naples and nearby
Gaeta provided a homeport and headquarters for the U.S. Sixth Fleet in the
Mediterranean Sea.
In the Persian Gulf, even well before the Iran–Iraq and Desert Storm con-
flicts, the U.S. homeported a small flotilla and had a headquarters for its
MIDEASTFOR in Bahrain. Naval deployments in and around the Persian Gulf
were upgraded in the late 1980s. Mombasa in Kenya and Djibouti then became
ports used frequently by the U.S. Navy.
In the Far East, Yokosuka in the Tokyo Bay was long a hub of the U.S.
Seventh Fleet, with its extensive drydocking capacity that could handle large
nuclear-powered carriers. Sasebo on the Sea of Japan also hosted USN surface
vessels as well as attack submarines. And up to the end of the Cold War, Subic
Bay in the Philippines was another U.S. Navy main base, which was used to
support operations in Vietnam and elsewhere in Southeast Asia. Then, during
the 1980s, the Philippines began to eliminate U.S. use of its long-held naval and
air bases. The U.S. considered replacement bases variously at Guam, Taiwan,
Thailand and Australia, finally settling on extensive utilization of Singapore’s
 Bases during the Cold War 99
Table 2 Main and secondary surface-ship and submarine operating bases of the U.S.
Navy, as of late 1980s

Host nation and base Description

For surface ships

Japan
Yokosuka Major navy base, HQ for U.S. Naval Forces
Japan and homeport for aircraft carrier Midway
and about ten other 7th Fleet ships, available for
contingencies in West Pacific; also used by
nuclear attack submarines; extensive dock
facilities, naval munitions maintenance and
storage, naval hospital, ship repairs including
largest USN drydock west of CONUS; supply
depot.
Sasebo Base used jointly with Japan; naval ordnance
facility, docking storage facilities for 7th Fleet;
homeport for a nuclear attack submarine, drydock
capacity for aircraft carriers, large-scale naval
fuel storage, munitions storage for USMC.
White Beach (Okinawa) Berthing and storage for 7th Fleet ships,
occasional use by SSNs.
Taiwan
Kaohsiung Occasional port use by U.S. ships.
Guam (U.S. overseas possession)
Apra Major naval base; ship repairs, logistics wharf,
explosives and fuel storage; formerly Polaris
homeport for eight SSBNs; patrol boats and mine
flotilla based here.
Philippines
Subic Bay Major USN base, HQ for U.S. Naval Forces,
Philippines, major ship repair facility with four
floating drydocks which can accommodate all but
largest aircraft carriers; piers and other support
facilities – support 7th Fleet operations
throughout West Pacific and Indian Ocean; 60
percent of all 7th Fleet repairs performed here.
Australia
Cockburn Sound Australian base, can accommodate four
submarines and four destroyers; possible
expansion to accommodate carriers; U.S.
considered homeporting a destroyer here; mostly
potential U.S. base, offered earlier as such by
hosts; port calls at Hobart, Melbourne, Sydney,
Brisbane, Darwin.
Thailand
Sattahip Military port constructed by U.S.; major port of
entry for military supplies to U.S. bases in
Thailand; peaked at end of Vietnam War.
Hong Kong Periodic port calls.
Singapore
Sembawang Some overhauls, reprovisioning for USN ships,
potential for expanded use.
100 Bases during the Cold War
Table 2 continued

Host nation and base Description

Sri Lanka
Colombo Alleged use by U.S. for R&R.
Trincomalee Port calls.
Djibouti Port calls by U.S. Indian Ocean task force;
refueling and reprovisioning, no shore leave; U.S.
leases fuel storage for own use.
Reunion Port calls.
Somalia
Berbera Some use by U.S. Indian Ocean task force;
possible storage of matériel for rapid deployment
force.
Mogadiscio U.S. improved facilities, port visits; possible
storage of equipment and supplies for Central
Command.
Oman
Muscat
(Mina Qaboos) Restricted USN use by Indian Ocean task force;
contingent use for Central Command in Persian
Gulf crisis.
Mina Raysutt Restricted U.S. use.
Masirah Port calls.
Bahrain
Al Jufair U.S. took over British facilities in 1949; now
homeport for “Mideast Force” of four destroyers,
communications, storage, barracks, berth,
hangars, co-use of adjacent airfield; resupply of
Indian Ocean task force; low-key use because of
political problems; quiet access for greatly
expanded U.S. presence in 1987.
Kenya
Mombasa U.S. port visits; possible pre-positioning of
matériel for use in Southwest Asia.
Diego Garcia U.S. naval support facilities; berths Central
Command’s matériel storage ships; lagoon
dredged to create sufficient anchorage for a
carrier battle group.
Mauritius Rumored USN port visits; R&R and
reprovisioning.
Azores (Portugal)
Ponta Delgada Fuel storage; breakwaters; frequent visits by
NATO warships.
Spain
Rota Major naval base; also airfield and
communications station; major repair
capabilities; can berth aircraft carriers; former
Polaris SSBN base; fuel depot; weather station;
naval hospital.
 Bases during the Cold War 101
Table 2 continued

Host nation and base Description

Italy
Naples Major support complex for U.S. 6th feet; HQ for
attack submarines; homeport for destroyer tender,
communications centre.
Gaeta Main base; homeport for flagship of U.S. 6th
fleet, refueling facilities.
Greece
Souda Bay NATO naval base; anchorage large enough for
entire 6th fleet; extensive underground fuel and
munitions storage.
Athens//Piraeus U.S. use of commercial port facilities
increasingly in jeopardy during Papandreou
regime.
Turkey
Istanbul USN port visits.
Izmir USN port visits.
Antalya USN port visits.
Portugal
Lisbon USN port visits.
Israel
Haifa Periodic USN port visits.
Tunisia
Tunis USN port visits.
Egypt
Alexandria USN port visits, periodically.
Sudan
Port Sudan USN port visits.
Cuba
Guantanamo Bay USN port visits, training and exercises; naval air
station, drydock, sheltered anchorage; naval
hospital; in reality mostly a political bargaining
chip.
Panama
Rodman Naval Station Fleet support, logistics, small craft training
facility.
Balboa Naval ship repair facility.
For submarines
United Kingdom
Holy Loch SSBN forward base, homeport for ten
Poseidon’s; submarine tender permanently
berthed; large floating drydock.
Japan
Yokosuka, Sasebo (See previous mention.)
Italy
La Maddalena Homeport for submarine tender; base for patrols
by SSNs in Mediterranean.

Source: Compiled from SIPRI data and the many references cited for this chapter.
102 Bases during the Cold War
Sembawang facility, which provided the U.S. Navy with extensive drydocking
capability as well as a good location in relation to possible flashpoints both in
East Asia and the Persian Gulf area. Elsewhere in Asia, during the bulk of the
Cold War, the U.S. Navy made use of Australian ports on both coasts, visited
ports in Indonesia and (earlier on) Taiwan, and made extensive use of the Thai
port at Sattahip during the Vietnam War, during which the South Vietnamese
port of DaNang was frequently used. The accompanying table details the USN’s
basing net as of the mid-to-late 1980s.

U.S. Air Force bases12

In relation to possible theaters of combat, throughout the bulk of the Cold War,
the U.S. Air Force (USAF) made extensive use of a network of permanent and
standby bases, most of them in Western Europe and the Far East in proximity to
major ground force deployments.
In Germany, that long involved the major air bases at Bitburg, Ramstein,
Spangdahlem, Zweibrucken, Sembach et al., at which were deployed the USAFs
frontline fighters, earlier on the F-4s, later on the F-15s and F-16s. Additionally
in Europe there were the major air bases at Keflavik in Iceland, Sosterberg in the
Netherlands, Aviano in Italy, Torrejon, Zaragoza and Moron in Spain, and Incir-
lik in Turkey. Additionally, the USAF had deployed during the latter part of the
Cold War some 290 combat aircraft in the U.K. In addition to the 150 F111E/Fs
deployed as a nuclear strike force, that involved EF-111 Raven electronic
warfare aircraft, A-10s, RF-46 reconnaissance aircraft at several sites: Laken-
heath, Alconbury, Upper Heyford, Woodbridge and Bentwaters. Finally, tactical
aircraft were routinely rotated forward to bases in Italy and Turkey, while a host
of other bases in NATO were designated as co-located host bases available for
crises, coercive diplomacy or outright war – there were several of these in
eastern Turkey in proximity to Middle Eastern danger zones.
In Asia, the USAF had forward fighter bases in Japan, the Philippines and
South Korea. F-15s, F-16s and RF-4Cs were based at main bases at Yokota and
Misawa, Marine Corps Harriers at Iwakuni. There were F-4 E/G deployments at
Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines. In South Korea, F-4Es, RF-43s, F-16s
and A-10s were stationed at the major air bases at Osan, Kunsan and Taegu.
In relation to conventional as well as nuclear scenarios, the USAF permanently
stationed KC-135 A/Q and KC-10A tankers in a number of places to deal with
interventions or arms resupply operations: in the U.K. (Mildenhall, Fairford),
Spain (Zaragoza), the Philippines (Clark AFB), Okinawa (Kadena), Diego Garcia,
Iceland (Keflavik) and Guam. Thule in Greenland and Goose Bay and Harmon in
Canada were used for similar purposes. Still earlier, up to 1963, SAC’s KC-97s
were based in Canada at Namao, Churchill, Cold Lake and Frobischer – some of
these later were designated for dispersal and refueling operations.
The USAF has also made extensive use of overseas bases for transport air-
craft, often times ad hoc in relation either to routine staging of personnel or
matériel or to crises.
 Bases during the Cold War 103
Most of the primary U.S. aircraft for long-range lift operations – C-141s, C-
5A/B, more latterly C-17s – have been based in the U.S., though they way be
dispersed for contingencies. But the USAF also long had numerous squadrons of
C-130s designated for tactical purposes (i.e., with shorter ranges and able to
utilize shorter runways). Some were based overseas at Rhein-Main (West
Germany), Howard AFB (Panama), Mildenhall (U.K.), Clark AFB (the Philip-
pines), Yokota (Japan) and Kadena (Okinawa). Sometimes these aircraft may
have used overseas facilities for tactical purposes – the Iran hostage raid was
conducted by C-130s based in Egypt.
In 1973, U.S. transport aircraft engaged in the arms resupply effort on behalf
of Israel made critical use of the Lajes air base in the Portuguese-owned Azores
Islands. In 1990–1991, USAF transport aircraft had extensive access to airfields
along routes to the Middle East both via the Atlantic and Europe, and via the
Pacific and Southeast Asia, where that access became domestic political issues
in Thailand and India. In the post-9/11 conflict in Afghanistan, U.S. transport
aircraft were staged via Eastern Europe and utilized bases in the former Soviet
Central Asian states of Uzbekistan, Tadzhikistan and Kyrghizstan. We shall
return to the link here with aircraft overflight rights.
During the latter part of the Cold War, the U.S. utilized some overseas bases
for its Airborne Warning and Control Systems (AWACS), a battle management
aircraft often used for coercive diplomacy as a modern form of “gunboat diplo-
macy.” Earlier in the Cold War, indeed, it had deployed overseas other elec-
tronic warfare aircraft (ECM and ECCM), for instance, RC-135 CONVENT/
ELINT aircraft for monitoring radars and telemetry had been based at RAF
Mildenhall, Hellenikon in Greece and Kadena in Okinawa. The EC-135, a modi-
fied KC-135 Stratotanker, was used as a radio and telemetry intercept aircraft,
and four of these “Silk Purse” planes were based at Mildenhall. In the latter part
of the Cold War, USAF EF-111 Ravens were based in Spain and Turkey
(Diyarbakir).
The AWACS themselves were home-based well back from potential lines of
confrontation, so as to mitigate the chances of preemptive strike. Some were
based at Keflavik in Iceland in relation to the crucial G-I-UK Gap, others at
Geilenkirchen in Germany, and several in Japan. Also used as forward AWACS
operating bases were Trapani in Italy, Konya in Turkey and Oerland in Norway.
A NATO command center at Maisieres in Belgium controlled NATO AWACS
and British Nimrod early warning systems. Still other AWACS were sold to
Saudi Arabia but operated there with U.S. crews.

Aircraft overflights13
One of the less visible forms of foreign military presence, also one which
involves movable and transitory presences, is that of aircraft overflight privi-
leges. It is a form of external access.
This occasionally crucial matter of aircraft overflight privileges involves a
complex range of practices and traditions, some of which were, in an overall
104 Bases during the Cold War
sense, altered by time in an era of increasingly “total” warfare, diplomacy and
ideological rivalries. In parallel with – and closely bound up with – what has
been wrought by nations’ increasing insistence upon extension of sovereign
control further outward from coastlines (now more or less institutionalized by
200-mile Exclusive Economic Zones – EEZs), the trend here during the Cold
War was towards tightened restrictions on overflights.
In the past – and in some cases continuing to the present – some nations have
allowed others more or less full, unhindered and continuous overflight rights
(perhaps involving only pro forma short-term notices, i.e., filing of flight plans).
In other cases, however, where political relations are weaker or not based on
alliances, ad hoc, formal applications for permission to overfly must be made
well ahead of time, which may or may not be granted depending upon the
purpose and situation, be it routine or crisis.
It is to be stressed that the day-to-day diplomacy of overflight rights is a very
closed and obscure matter, albeit of often crucial importance. We have little data
– the subject periodically emerges to prominence during crises such as the 1986
U.S. raid on Libya. Of course, it is precisely when urgent military operations are
involved that the subject acquires the most importance.
Nowadays, of course, well past the introduction of radar and its widespread
global distribution, few overflights can be made on a covert basis, as was
common before World War II, when detection depended primarily on visual
observation from the ground. Not only “host nation” radar, but now also the
superpowers’ satellite reconnaissance makes such “covert” activities almost
impossible, particularly if a small nation has access to information from one of
the superpowers, be it on a regular or ad hoc basis. This in turn may have had
important ramifications for intra-Third World rivalries, specifically, regarding
the balance of diplomatic leverage involved. Nations inclined, for instance, to
provide overflight rights in connection with a U.S. airlift to Israel knew that
Soviet satellite reconnaissance would provide information about that to Arab
governments. That was a powerful deterrent.
Some overflights were made without permission (as with the respective use
by the United States and the USSR of U-2 and MiG-25 reconnaissance flights),
overtly or with a tacit or resigned wink by the overflown nation. Often a nation
whose airspace is violated will not openly complain for fear of international or
domestic embarrassment over its impotence, or untoward diplomatic repercus-
sions with a strong power. Hence, the USSR is thought to have overflown Egypt
and Sudan, among others, without permission in supplying arms to Ethiopia
during the 1977–1978 Horn War, earlier, its MiG-25 and Tu-95 reconnaissance
aircraft apparently flew with impunity over Iran’s airspace. The United States is
thought to have threatened overflights in some places for future arms resupply of
Israel, if it should be utterly necessary.
More recently during the Gulf War, and the Afghan and Iraq wars, this
became a big issue in numerous places. During the Gulf War, the U.S. and its
allies were allowed overhead access almost everywhere, including ex-Warsaw
Pact states in Eastern Europe. In the Afghan war, the U.S. had good overhead
 Bases during the Cold War 105
access all over Europe, in the Caucasus and Central Asia and in and around the
Persian Gulf excepting, of course, Iraq and Iran. Pakistan, politically cross-
pressured, allowed U.S. overflights by bombers coming from Diego Garcia and
from aircraft carriers stationed in the Arabian Sea. During the Iraq war,
however, the U.S. did have some problems with Switzerland, Syria and Iran.

Nuclear-related bases14
The utilization of overseas facilities in connection with the superpowers’ nuclear
competition began immediately after the close of World War II. During the late
1940s, prior to the Soviet Union’s development of a deployed nuclear military
capability, the U.S. forward-based some nuclear-armed B-29 aircraft in the U.K.
in an effort to deter feared Soviet advances in Europe. By 1950, B-29s were
based at Brize Norton, Upper Heyford, Mildenhall, Lakenheath, Fairford,
Chelveston and Sculthorpe. There were also reserve B-29 bases at other British
bases. There were related depots at Burtonwood and Alconbury, and also related
LORAN navigational facilities at Angle, Pembrokeshire and in the Hebrides.
That provided a clear first-strike deterrent capability for the U.S. well into the
1950s.
During the 1950s, the B-47 bombers became the backbone of SAC, and while
their effective ranges were greatly extended by the aerial-refueling techniques
then emerging, the U.S. then determined on forward deployment to enhance its
chances for penetration and to lessen its vulnerability to a Soviet first-strike.
This so-called “reflex force” rotated between U.S. home bases and those in the
U.K. (Fairford, Upper Heyford), Morocco (Sidi Slimane, Benguerir, Ben
Slimane, Nouasseur), Spain (Torrejon, Zaragoza, Moron de la Frontera), Green-
land (Thule) and Goose Bay, Labrador. (F-84 fighters used as bomber escorts
were also based at Nouasseur until U.S. access to Morocco was lost in 1963.)
Related U.S. tankers (then mostly KC-97s) were based primarily at Thule,
Greenland and Goose Bay, Labrador, and also at several other Canadian bases:
Namao, Churchill, Harmon, Cold Lake and Frobischer. Though the subse-
quently deployed B-52s which began entering inventories in 1955 did not
require forward main basing, they too utilized trans-Arctic tanker facilities
(including one at Sondestrom in Greenland) as well as contingency recovery
bases in Spain and elsewhere.
The Soviet Union did not utilize forward strategic-bomber facilities during
this period. Indeed, early Soviet bombers, such as the 4500-km range Tu-4,
could only reach the U.S. Pacific northwest from Siberia and, even then, by con-
ceding several hours’ warning time because of U.S. radar coverage in Alaska.
During this period, and for a long time thereafter, the U.S. also relied on
foreign access for strategic defense, primarily in Canada, Greenland and Iceland
– that involved the DEW Line, Mid-Canada and Pinetree Line strings of elec-
tronic listening posts, all under the U.S. Air Defense Command, which worked
closely with SAC. In addition, some U.S. interceptor aircraft were deployed at
Canadian bases such as Goose Bay, and at bases in Greenland and Iceland, for
106 Bases during the Cold War
perimeter early defense, well forward of the large-scale interceptor deployments
around major U.S. urban areas.
By the late-1950s, Soviet missile developments had rendered somewhat
obsolete the three-layered radar early-warning system across the Canadian
Arctic, which had been constructed to provide several hours’ warning of bomber
attacks. To cope with the missile threat, the U.S. built, beginning around 1958,
the Ballistic Missile Early Warning System (BMEWS), the three hinges of
which were in Fairbanks (Alaska), Thule (Greenland) and Fylingdales Moor
(Yorkshire, U.K.).
In the mid- to late-1950s, the U.S. underwent its famed “missile-gap scare,”
following the Soviet Union’s initial testing of IRBMs and ICBMs, and the
launching of the first “Sputnik” satellite. Coming before the deployments of
Atlas, Titan and Minuteman ICBMs and Polaris SLBMs, this created a per-
ceived “window of vulnerability” which, in turn, impelled the short-term solu-
tion of U.S. installation of IRBMs in Europe adjacent to the Soviet Union.
Specifically, this involved emplacements in 1958 of 60 2400-km range Thor
missiles in the U.K. at 20 bases, with headquarters at Great Driffield, North
Luffenham, Hemswell and Feltwell, 30 Jupiter missiles in Italy (at Gioia del
Colle) and 15 Jupiters in Turkey, installed in 1961 at Cigli Air Base (these were
removed as part of the deal in which the USSR removed IRBMs and also IL-28
aircraft from Cuba, after the Cuban Missile Crisis of October 1962 – though the
orders for their removal had apparently been given earlier).
Late in 1960 the U.S. deployed its first Polaris submarines and then its long-
range, counter-value Atlas and Titan ICBMs, thus quickly defusing the missile-
gap scare – though the forward-based IRBMs were to remain in place for an
additional two to three years.
Complementary to BMEWS, the U.S. developed early warning satellites
under the MIDAS satellite program. This involved combined use of infrared
sensors and telephoto lenses for immediate detection of missile-launching tracks
and transmission of this information to U.S. decision-makers. Launched by
Atlas/Agena D missiles, advanced MIDAS satellites deployed in 1969 could be
“parked” in synchronous orbits, allowing for continuous coverage of the western
USSR and the China-Siberia region as well as areas where Soviet submarines
lurked in firing positions. This involved the critical data down-link in Australia
at Nurrungar, a related control facility in Guam and an underwater cable termi-
nal near Vancouver in Canada.
One other key element of the strategic deterrence system came to depend
upon overseas access: long-distance and protracted deployment of the Polaris
nuclear-submarine force. The Polaris submarines were initially deployed early in
the Kennedy Administration. The proportion of that fleet which the U.S. was
able to deploy at any given time was enhanced by replenishment and repair
facilities at Holy Loch, Scotland; Rota, Spain and at Guam. Indeed, the asymme-
tries which these facilities created vis-à-vis subsequent Soviet SSBN deploy-
ment allowed the U.S. to negotiate that part of the SALT I Treaty which gave
the USSR a 62 to 44 advantage in strategic submarines, but which was claimed
 Bases during the Cold War 107
to be counterbalanced by the efficiencies accruing to the U.S. from its overseas
replenishment facilities.
In the early 1960s, after the brief U.S. missile-gap scare, the Soviet Union
underwent a scare period of its own, as several U.S. strategic programs were
phased in. To compensate, Moscow gambled with the introduction in 1962 of
some 40 MRBMs into Cuba at several installations, precipitating the Cuban
Missile Crisis. (One recent report claims that these missiles were not accompan-
ied by nuclear warheads.) The history of that crisis bears no repeating here, but
it is worth noting that only by the early 1960s did the Cuban revolution avail the
USSR of its first valuable overseas assets applicable to the strategic nuclear
equation. Henceforth, Cuba would become a very valuable Soviet base, its prox-
imity to the U.S. providing irreplaceable assets related to intelligence, communi-
cations, naval replenishment and so on, along with contingent bomber recovery
bases in the event of a major war.
During the early postwar period, the U.S. made use of numerous nuclear-
related intelligence and communications facilities around the Eurasian periphery
– directed against the USSR, China and North Korea – mostly in the SIGINT
(ELINT and COMINT) categories. Earlier, both U-2 and other aircraft such as
the RB-47 were flown from bases in Europe and Asia to “tickle” Soviet early-
warning radars and, in the case of the U-2s, to test radars well inside the USSR
which might be of different types than the peripheral early-warning systems. By
so doing, U.S. planners might ascertain weaknesses and ranges, and scan pat-
terns in the Soviet radar network which could be valuable for planning the pene-
tration routes for a nuclear-bomber attack.
These exercises in low-level brinkmanship – apparently involving some
mock raids mounted by U.S. units in Turkey and elsewhere – resulted in some
serious incidents in which U.S. ferret aircraft were shot down and their crews
killed or captured. Some flights originating at Brize Norton in the U.K. appar-
ently traversed the entire Soviet Arctic coastline, emerging at the Barents Sea.
The area between the Caspian Sea and the Sea of Azov was also apparently a
focal point of U.S. surveillance missions utilizing Turkish and Iranian airspace,
some staged originally from West Germany and Cyprus.
U.S. use of ground-based SIGINT stations, obviously crucial to various
aspects of nuclear deterrence, dates well back into the postwar period. One
source reported that this had earlier involved some 40 stations in at least 14
countries, ranging from small, mobile field units to sprawling complexes such as
the Air Force Security Headquarters in West Germany. These were said to have
involved some 30,000 personnel, with a minimum of 4000 radio-interception
consoles operated in such varied locales as northern Japan, the Khyber Pass in
Pakistan and an island in the Yellow Sea off the coast of Korea.
Further, these COMINT land stations had to be supplemented by numerous
airborne and seaborne radio-interception facilities, particularly after Soviet and
aligned nations’ military forces switched to VHF radios during the 1950s, after
which adequate coverage demanded getting closer to transmitters and overcom-
ing terrain features such as mountains. At any time, several dozen airborne
108 Bases during the Cold War
listening posts were said to have been in intermittent operation, flying out of
such bases as Kimpo Airfield in Korea, Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines,
and many others. Added to these were some 12 to 15 spy ships, such as the ill-
fated Pueblo and Liberty, which also presumably required access to foreign
ports for replenishment.

Strategic nuclear forces: missile launchers and platforms15

Generally speaking, the late Cold War period saw the U.S. and the USSR left
with only minimal dependence on foreign facilities – Soviet dependence was
relatively less for their strategic nuclear launchers, involving the familiar triad of
ICBMs, SLBMs and long-range bombers. Of course, this is not to ignore the
fact, particularly as it pertained to U.S. forces, that some launchers designated as
theater weapons could serve strategic purposes in that their warheads could have
been delivered into the Soviet Union.
All of the U.S. ICBMs (450 Minuteman IIs, 550 Minuteman IIIs and a few
remnant Titan IIs which were phased out as the new MX-Peacekeeper was
phased in) were housed in silos within the continental U.S. – they represented
over 2100 accurate warheads. Similarly, the Soviet ICBM forces (448 SS-11s,
60 SS-13s, 150 SS-17s, 308 SS-18s, 360 SS-19s, 72 SS-25s), of some 1398
ICBMs with some 6354 warheads, were sited entirely within the USSR.
The Soviet SSBN forces (983 SLBMs in 77 submarines, of which 944
SLBMs and 62 submarines were under the SALT Treaty; and 39 SLBMs on 15
submarines were outside it) were based entirely at Soviet homeland bases, in the
Kola Peninsula area at Polyarny and Severomorsk, and at Petropavlovsk and
Vladivostok in the Far East. No foreign bases were used for refueling, mainte-
nance or crew changes. By contrast to the U.S. only some 15–20 Soviet sub-
marines were normally away from their bases; perhaps 10–12 on station at any
given time.
The U.S. SSBN force, which earlier made extensive use of facilities at Holy
Loch (Scotland), Rota (Spain) and at U.S.-owned Guam, utilized only the first-
named of these, with its other three main bases in the continental U.S. at Kings
Bay (Georgia), Bangor (Washington) and Charleston (South Carolina). The
development of the longer-range Poseidon and Trident missiles (with ranges of
4000 miles) allowed for utilization of firing stations nearer U.S. bases and
further from the USSR, hence reducing requirements for firing stations in the
western Pacific (Guam) and in the Mediterranean (Rota).
Little was publicly known about where these submarines patrolled, but they
are thought to have transited to firing stations in the Arctic, North Atlantic and
North Pacific oceans and in the Mediterranean Sea, with about 30 percent of the
force on station on day-to-day alert, and a roughly equal proportion in transit or
on training missions. The use of Holy Loch as a forward base (for submarines
homeported at Groton, Connecticut) allowed more to be on station than other-
wise would have been feasible, and it is also to be noted that 400 Poseidon war-
heads deployed on submarines operating out of Holy Loch were designated for
 Bases during the Cold War 109
NATO targeting, presumably either for theater targeting or for battlefield use
along the Forward Line of Troops (FLOT) in central Germany.
At the strategic level, the U.S. deployed some 260 long-range bombers (some
20 B-1Bs and some 240 B-52G/Hs) and some 55 medium-range FB-111A
bombers. Most of the B-52s carried up to 20 ALCMs; others carried a similar
number of short-range attack missiles (SRAMs); and some, armed with Harpoon
missiles, were operational in a conventional mode.
This bomber force, which carried over 5000 nuclear warheads, was main-
based at 19 air bases in 13 states and at Andersen AFB in Guam, but numerous
dispersal (pre-attack or crisis) and recovery (post-attack) bases, or forward oper-
ating bases were involved. Some of these were outside the U.S., for instance in
Canada at Cold Lake (Alberta), Goose Bay (Labrador), Namao (Alberta) and
Whitehorse (Yukon); in Greenland at Sondestrom; in the U.K. at Brize Norton,
Marham and Fairford; in Spain at Moron and Zaragoza. But numerous others, on
the basis of ad hoc contingency planning could have been used in connection
with numerous tanker bases – or their dispersal bases – at some of the above-
mentioned Canadian bases at Namao and Goose Bay; at Mildenhall and Fairford
in the U.K.; Zaragoza in Spain; Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines; Kadena
in Okinawa; Diego Garcia; Keflavik (Iceland); Guam; Thule (Greenland) and
so on.
The U.S. forward-based some 156 of the nuclear-armed F-111E/Fs in the
U.K., which were actually tactical fighter bombers designated for missions in
Central Europe. These were stationed at Upper Heyford and Lakenheath, which
hosted some 72 and 84 aircraft respectively, involving in each case the storage
of some 300 nuclear bombs.
By comparison, the Soviet Union made little use of external facilities for its
long-range strategic bomber force, which consisted of some 160 aircraft: 140
Tu-95 Bear A/B/C/G/Hs armed either with ALCMs or air-to-surface missiles,
and 20 Mya-4 Bisons (these were superseded by the Blackjack strategic
bomber). The same was true of the some 230 Backfire, Badger and Blinder
Bombers – some of the former were assigned to Soviet long-range aviation.
These strategic bombers utilized five northern staging and dispersal bases within
the USSR from which attacks could be mounted on the U.S.
Regarding forward emplacement of U.S. nuclear weapons, primarily in
Europe, there were several distinct types of circumstance in which they were
based, involving the issues of dual control or the two-key system, and the poli-
tics of nuclear basing on other nations’ soil. First, there was the actual forward
basing of U.S. aircraft, missiles or artillery – fully manned by U.S. personnel
involving organic U.S. military units but based on foreign soil and in circum-
stances in which ad hoc permission for actual combat would have been required.
Next, there were the numerous circumstances in which other nations – West
Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Italy, Turkey, Greece etc. – deployed
nuclear weapons on aircraft, missiles, howitzers and so on, but where the stric-
tures of the nuclear non-proliferation regime dictated a U.S. custodial presence
and the use of a two-key system, further implying a veto on actual use by either
110 Bases during the Cold War
the U.S. or its nuclear partner. Some of these situations involved Allied nuclear
systems based within the host nations’ borders as, for example, in Turkey or
Germany, as with Belgium or Dutch nuclear-armed artillery. Some nations, such
as Norway and Denmark, did not allow nuclear weapons or foreign military
bases on their soil during peacetime. Others, such as Iceland, did not allow
nuclear weapons on their soil, but had contingency provisions for forward-
basing of nuclear weapons for “wartime ASW operations.”
The primary land-based U.S. theater weapons were the Pershing II and
ground-launched cruise missiles later eliminated in connection with the INF
Treaty. These were, of course, all foreign-based, involving the 108 Pershing
(plus 12 spares) at several sites in West Germany (Heilbronn, Waldeide,
Neckars-Ulm, Schwabisch-Gmund), and the already deployed and planned
GLCMs there (at Woescheim), and in the U.K. (Greenham Common,
Molesworth), Belgium (Florennes), the Netherlands (Woendsrecht) and Sicily
(Comiso). Additionally, launcher repair facilities were identified at EMC
Hansen, Frankfurt (West Germany) and at SABCA, Gossens, Belgium, and a
missile storage site at Weilerbach in West Germany. Originally, this called for
464 GLCMs overall, based on 116 launchers, with perhaps nearly double that
number of warheads, though by the time of the 1987 INF Treaty only some 309
missiles and 109 launchers had been deployed. The Pershing missiles with
ranges capable of reaching well into the USSR, indeed, as far as Moscow, may
have been perceived as having “strategic” implications, albeit based outside the
U.S. Additionally, there were the remnant German Pershings under U.S. custo-
dian control (with two warheads per launcher), with shorter reaches well short of
being able to target the USSR proper (these too were eliminated under the INF
accord).
Otherwise, the U.S. based a considerable number of nuclear-capable aircraft
forward in Western Europe, that is, those manned directly by USAF personnel,
which involved the forward deployment of some 1700 nuclear bombs. These
were, obviously, usable for tactical purposes along or directly behind the FLOT,
but – particularly with the aid of aerial refueling – also capable of deep interdic-
tion missions throughout Eastern Europe and well into the Soviet Union proper.
Some 72 F-16 fighter-attack aircraft and some 140 nuclear bombs were stored at
both Hahn and Ramstein air bases; at Spangdahlem, a similar number of F-16s
with some 140 weapons were stored. At Aviano in Italy, some 200 weapons
were said to have been stored in connection with nuclear-capable F-16s, previ-
ously rotated forward from Spain but later based in Italy. In Turkey, the base at
Incirlik supported some 36 nuclear capable F-4s or F-16s which could be loaded
with the weapons on quick-reaction alert after being rotated forward, while
another base at Cigli, Izmir acted as a dispersal base for nuclear-capable aircraft.
Of course, land-based aircraft were not the only forward-based U.S. nuclear-
armed aircraft. There were also U.S. aircraft carriers in the Mediterranean Sea
and the Atlantic Ocean. Typically, there were two carriers on station in the
Mediterranean – utilizing ports such as Naples, Souda Bay, Rota – which could
launch A-6E, A-7 and F/A-18 aircraft carrying nuclear weapons, with
 Bases during the Cold War 111
respective ranges of 3200, 2800 and 1000 km. With the capability to strike the
Soviet homeland if within range, each carrier deployed over 100 nuclear
bombs.
As well as nuclear-armed aircraft, there were the numerous U.S. and other
NATO nations’ ASW aircraft, involving the U.S. P-3C Orions and the British
Nimrods. In a conflict, these would have been vital to NATO efforts at securing
North Atlantic SLOCs against interdiction by Soviet attack submarines. U.S.
and Dutch P-3Cs and British Nimrods were based at or staged through British
bases at St. Mawgan and Machrihanish (the latter in the Strathclyde area of
Scotland) – some 63 U.S. nuclear depth bombs were stored at each base. Addi-
tional U.S.-manned and operated P-3Cs with forward-stored nuclear depth
charges were based at Keflavik, Iceland (48 bombs), Sigonella on Sicily (63
bombs) and Rota, Spain (32 bombs). Other U.S. P-3Cs were rotated through
Andaya and Bodo in Norway, Souda Bay on Crete and Montigo, Portugal, while
some 32 nuclear depth bombs were stored at Lajes in the Azores for wartime
operations.

Soviet forward-based nuclear-capable aircraft16

According to the IISS, the USSR had several types of land-based strike aircraft
capable of being configured with nuclear weapons, each of which could carry
two nuclear bombs. These were the Su-7 Fitter A (80), the MiG-21 Fishbed L
(135), the MiG-27 Flogger D/J (810), the Su-17 Fitter D/H (900) and the Su-24
Fencer (700) – a total of 2625 such aircraft. Of the 700 Fencers, 450 fell under
the control of Strategic Aviation. Over 1000 Soviet tactical fighter aircraft were
forward-based at a large number of facilities in the GDR, Czechoslovakia,
Poland and Hungary.
Nuclear-capable Su-24 Fencers were stationed at Szprotawa AB and Zagan
AB in Poland, at Debrecen in Hungary and at Brand-Briesen AB in the GDR, in
each case involving associated nuclear storage sites (the latter base was said to
have been converted from Su-7s in 1982). In the GDR, nuclear-capable MiG-27
Flogger D/J regiments and nuclear-bomb storage sites were at Finsterwalde AB
and Mirow-Rechlin Larz AB; Su-17 Fitter D regiments were located at Grossen-
hain AB, Neuruppin AB and Templin-Gross Dolln AB.
Several of the non-Soviet WTO nations also forward deployed nuclear-
capable aircraft, perhaps involving something like a two-key system, under
Soviet custodianship. Czechoslovakia (50) and Poland (40) had Su-7 Fitters;
Poland (40) Su-20 Fitter Cs and Bulgaria (45), Czechoslovakia (40) and the
GDR (24) MiG-23 Flogger F/As. The IISS noted that the total actually available
as nuclear-strike aircraft may have been lower than the figures shown. It is pos-
sible that the Soviet air force could itself have used these aircraft in a nuclear
mode if war erupted.
Outside the WTO area, the USSR also deployed some 16 Tu-16 Badger
bombers in Vietnam, which were capable of nuclear missions, perhaps against
China or the U.S. basing structure in the Philippines.
112 Bases during the Cold War
The USSR also utilized several external bases for nuclear-capable ASW air-
craft. Bear-F aircraft, for instance, utilized Cuban bases at San Antonio de los
Banos and Havana’s Jose Marti airport. Nuclear-capable IL-38 May ASW air-
craft regularly operated out of Aden and Al Anad in South Yemen, Asmara in
Ethiopia, Okba ben Nafi in Libya and Tiyas in Syria.

Overseas “technical” facilities: intelligence, space and

communications17
In a relative sense, and increasingly, the U.S.-Soviet global competition for
basing access was centered on a variety of what, for want of a better term might
be characterized as “technical” facilities, that is, those outside the traditional cat-
egories of air and naval bases and land-army garrisons and encampments. Most
of these facilities may be subsumed under the broad headings of communica-
tions, intelligence and space-related activities. They include such disparate func-
tions as satellite tracking, command and control; signals interception of rivals’
communications, radar signals, missile telemetry, and so on; underwater detec-
tion of submarines, accurate positioning of missile-firing submarines; space-
based ocean surveillance; nuclear-explosion detection; and a bewildering variety
of functionally specific communications systems running along the entire spec-
trum from extra-low to ultra-high frequencies. The increasing importance of all
these systems paralleled the extension of contemporary military activity to an
increasingly integrated, three-dimensional game involving outer space, land and
sea surfaces and the global undersea realms – submarines communicate via
satellite with land-based headquarters; satellites and land-based SIGINT stations
locate surface fleets by intercepting their radar emissions; satellite early warning
is transmitted, variously, by ground terminals, underwater cables, via other satel-
lites and so on.
This advent of the importance of technical facilities gradually picked up
speed before and after World War I. Before World War I, Britain developed an
elaborate and unrivalled global network of underseas telegraph cables – by far
the most important early precursor to modern “tech” facilities. At that time all of
the key British overseas possessions were linked together by that network, pro-
viding advantages in early warning and command and control of naval forces,
and in the ability to control and influence news broadcasting, an earlier form of
“public diplomacy” used as an instrument of competition.
Britain was not, of course, alone in constructing an elaborate underseas cable
network, nor in its efforts at securing the required access points. According to
one source, the United States in 1898 annexed Guam and Midway for the spe-
cific purpose of providing cable stations en route to the Philippines, decades
before those islands would become important U.S. air bases.18 France and
Germany also made efforts towards building global systems, but before World
War I the latter came to rely more on wireless systems, despite the vulnerability
of their communications to interception if decoded. By 1914 the Germans had
wireless stations in Togoland, southwest Africa, Tanganyika, Kiung-chow, Yap,
 Bases during the Cold War 113
Rabaul, Nauru and Samoa, to abet what they knew would be a very vulnerable
cable network should war break out.19
At the outset of World War I, Britain was able rapidly to sever all of the
German underseas cables, while losing only a couple of its own cable stations
temporarily, at Cocos and Fanning Islands.20 The redundancy built into Britain’s
global system, abetted in 1914 by that of France, provided a strong strategic
advantage throughout World War I, still one more result of “invisible” global
naval superiority. Later, in 1919, the German cables were divided as war spoils
among the allies as part of the Versailles settlement.
Beyond World War I and up to World War II, increased importance was
attached to technical facilities. Long-range radio communications developed
apace and with them came the development by major powers of networks of
transmitters, receivers, relay stations and so on. With that came the early devel-
opment of radio interception facilities – before World War II, the U.S. worried
about German acquisition of interception facilities in the politically unstable
Caribbean area, for instance, in Haiti or Colombia.21 The U.S. breaking of the
Japanese code before World War II (which provided what should have been a
decisive, timely early warning about Pearl Harbor) serves as an additional pre-
cursor of subsequent intelligence activities, now far more institutionalized in
organizations such as the U.S. National Security Agency (NSA). Japan, mean-
while, in violation of the Washington Naval Agreement, built covert communi-
cations facilities on some of its Central Pacific, League of Nations Mandate
islands, providing an early problem of arms control verification.22 On the eve of
World War II, the U.S. was beginning to install early warning radars in some of
the bases acquired from the U.K. as part of the Lend-Lease Agreement.23 Gradu-
ally, one could see movement towards the central importance of C3I today –
towards quick if not real-time communications and early warning, and the
diminishing of human intelligence (HUMINT) as the core of intelligence
collection.

U.S. communications24
The U.S. used a variety of communications systems and modes, stretching
across the frequency spectrum from extremely-low frequency (ELF) to super-
high frequency (SHF); these variously utilized satellites, ground terminals,
shipboard and submarine terminals and so on.25 These various frequencies
involved trade-offs among a number of variables related to rate of data trans-
mission, vulnerability to jamming, size of transmitter, distance capability, etc.,
and tended to be broadly specific for certain functions, that is, land-based tac-
tical communications, those with submerged submarines, etc. The utilization
of various communications modes changed constantly in response to new
technological developments; correspondingly, the requirements for FMP
access also changed.
As ably outlined by Arkin and Fieldhouse, “In the field of electronic commu-
nications, each medium and frequency has advantages and disadvantages.”
114 Bases during the Cold War
Varying by wavelength and hence frequency, a number of different paths for the
four lowest frequency bands travel what are called “groundwaves” and they are
useful for communications with ships far from land. Extremely-low frequency
(ELF) waves (below 300 hertz) can penetrate water to hundreds of feet (perfect
for submarine communications), while extremely-high frequencies (EHF)
(above 30 gigahertz) have difficulty penetrating even a heavy rainstorm.26
Other than the medium (i.e., water or air), still other conditions determine the
most suitable frequency to use. Size of transmitter is important – “for frequen-
cies below the HF band, antennas are too large for ships or aircraft” – the ELF
antennas or transmitters considered for emplacement in the northern U.S. were
many miles long.27 Then, the higher the frequency the higher the data rate. The
amount of power required also varies with frequency. For these reasons ELF is
not suitable for large-volume commercial communications. There is another
variable – reliability – in connection with possible interference, jamming or
fasing.28
High frequency (HF) is widely used by the military – it is long-range, cheap,
low-power, small and portable, but requires constant adjustments in specific fre-
quencies to deal with atmospheric conditions,29 that is, shifting in the ionos-
pheric layers and natural events such as solar flares. This can vary by day,
season, location and so on, so that frequencies must be chosen to best suit the
prevailing conditions. For these reasons and others – reliability, “crowding” of
the frequency spectrum and the advent of computers and satellites (which
operate at higher frequencies and data rates) – recent decades have seen a shift
away from HF for military purposes. But, the vulnerability of satellites has led
to renewed interest, particularly in connection with new technology, that is,
“sounders,” solid-state transmitters and microprocessors which can allow for
shifting frequencies in response to environmental changes. That interest is
underscored by the fact that HF uses the ionosphere for transmission, a medium
difficult to permanently interrupt. Finally, in the context of military anxieties
about nuclear “black-out” caused by nuclear blasts during war, mobile or prolif-
erated HF systems are considered one of the more robust types of communica-
tions.30 Among the HF systems used during the Cold War were SAC’s Giant
Talk/Scope Signal III for strategic bombers, the air/ground/air Global Command
and Control System network, the Mystic Star Presidential/VIP network and the
Defense Communications System (DCS) “entry sites.”
Very-low frequency (VLF) and low frequency (LF) are also considered relat-
ively reliable in a nuclear environment and can penetrate sea water as well.31
Hence, for the U.S., a key system was GWEN (Ground Wave Emergency
System), a grid of unmanned relay stations with LF transmitters and receivers
hardened to withstand electromagnetic pulse (EMP).32 When fully proliferated, it
used a system of “automatic diverse routing” so as to maximize imperviousness
to interference even by a full-scale nuclear attack. Yet another robust system
was “meteor burst communications,” using billions of ionized meteor trails to
reflect very-high frequency (VHF) signals.33 This system would apparently
benefit from the increased ionization caused by nuclear war.
 Bases during the Cold War 115
As an example of what was involved, we may look at some of the earlier
global networks utilized by the U.S. for communicating with underwater sub-
marines.
Throughout most of the 1970s, the U.S. had eight Omega VLF facilities
located overseas. Some of these were phased out beginning in the late 1970s and
some were retained, despite their obsolescence, as backup systems. They were
located at: Reunion (Mafate), operated by the French Navy; Trinidad and
Tobago; Liberia (Paynesword); Australia (Woodside); Argentina (Golfo Nuevo,
Trelev): Japan (Tsushima Island); and Norway (Bratland).34
Then there was the far larger global network of LORAN-D/C radio-
navigation systems, which were also utilized in connection with aircraft naviga-
tion. And as a sub-set, this further involved the Clarinet Pilgrim system in the
Pacific, a shore-to-submarine network (four sites in Japan and one on Yap
Island) that worked by superimposing data on the waves transmitted by
LORAN-C. Some of these were operated by the U.S. Coast Guard, to a degree
reflective of the mixed civilian and military navigation aid functions of the
LORAN network (still earlier there were some systems designated as LORAN-
A). And, as in the case of Omega, some were jointly operated with host-nation
personnel. Among the numerous LORAN-C/D transmitters and monitoring sta-
tions overseas (there were many others in the U.S., including Alaska and
Hawaii) were those shown in the table.
In the latter part of the Cold War, as a replacement for Omega and LORAN-
C, the U.S. installed its new satellite-based NAVSTAR global positioning
system for submarines, which among other things, apparently involved the capa-
bility to provide SLBMs with corrective guidance after they surfaced.
NAVSTAR’s control segment consisted of five monitor stations to “track
passively all satellites in view and accumulate ranging data from the navigation
signals.” That information was transmitted to the NAVSTAR Master Control
Station at Vandenberg Air Force Base, California. The other stations used for
tracking, telemetry, control and passive monitoring were at Ascension, Diego
Garcia, Kwajalein and Guam, notably all islands controlled by the U.S. or
the U.K.
Whereas most communications with submarines are conducted along the LF
spectrum, combatants will usually use HF (the corresponding intelligence inter-
ception facilities are HF direction finders, that is HF/DF). The U.S. had a con-
siderable number of naval HF transmitters and receivers scattered about the
globe, most of them near major naval facilities or near bodies of water heavily
traversed by U.S. fleet units. They included those shown in Table 4.
Regarding SAC “fail-safe” systems, involving “positive control,” meaning
the bombers went ahead in a crisis only if given “executive instructions,” there
was a global system of HF communications called “Giant Talk/Scope Signal
III,” 14 stations giving flexible approach routes towards the USSR by B-52s or
other aircraft with standoff ALCMs. These are shown in Table 5.
The Air Force also had its AFSATCOM UHF network devoted particularly to
strategic nuclear-related purposes. That utilized several foreign facilities, at
116 Bases during the Cold War
Table 3 Location of known Loran-C/D transmitters and monitoring stations overseas

Country Location

Bermuda Witney’s Bay

Canada Cape Race (Newfoundland), Fox Harbor
(Labrador), Montagu (Prince Edward Island), Port
Handy (British Columbia), St. Anthony (New
Brunswick), Sandspit (British Columbia),
Williams Lake (British Columbia)
Denmark Ejde (Faeroe Islands)
Greenland Angissoq
Iceland Keflavik, Sandur
Italy Crotone, Lampedusa, Sellia Marina
Japan Gesaski (Okinawa), Iwo Jima, Marcus Island,
Tokachibuto (Hokkaido), Yokota AFB
Johnson Atoll (U.S. owned)
Norway Jan Mayen Island
South Korea Changsan
Spain Estartit
Turkey Kargabarun
U.K. Sullum Voe (Shetland Islands)
FR Germany Sylt
Micronesia Yap Island
Guam (U.S. owned) Anderson AFB

Source: SIPRI data, Harkavy, Bases Abroad, p. 161.

Table 4 U.S. overseas HF receivers and transmitters

Country Location

Bermuda South Hampton

Diego Garcia
Greece Nea Makri and Kato Souli
Guam Barrigada and Finnegayan
Iceland Grindavik and Sandgerdhi
Italy Naples (a master station) and Licola
Japan Iruma, Kamiseya, and Totsuka
Panama Summit
Philippines Capas Tarlac and St. Miguel
Portugal (Azores) Cinco Pincos (Terceira) and Vila Nova
Puerto Rico Sebana Seca, Isabella, and Aguada
Spain Guardemar del Segura and Rota
U.K. Edzell and Thurso

Source: SIPRI Data.

 Bases during the Cold War 117
Table 5 Giant Talk/Scope Signal III stations

Country Location

Ascension
Azores Lajes, Cinco Pincos
Greenland Thule
Guam Anderson AFB, Barrigada, Nimitz Hill
Japan Owada, Tokorozawa, Yokota
Okinawa Kadena
Panama Howard and Albrook AFBs
Philippines Clark AFB, Cubi Point, Camp O’Donnell
Spain Torrejon
Turkey Incirlik
U.K. RAF Croughton, Mildenhall, Barford St. John

Source: SIPRI data, Harkavy, Bases Abroad, p. 164.

Landstuhl in Germany, Clark AFB in the Philippines, on Guam and at Bagnoli

in Italy and Diego Garcia. The Navajo FLTSATCOM system consisted of seven
satellites parked in geosynchronous orbit all around the equator and provided
worldwide coverage, except in the polar regions. These provided mostly for the
U.S. Navy, communications by digitalized voice, teleprinter and other tech-
niques, and operated at UHF. These satellites were also important hosts for
AFSATCOM transponders. Indeed, according to one report, each host for
AFSATCOM satellites had 23 channels, ten of which were allotted to the Navy
for command of its air, ground and sea force, 12 to AFSATCOM for nuclear-
related communications, and one reserved for the National Command
Authorities.35
One particularly important function for FLTSATCOM – along with the
DSC’s satellites – was the relaying of data from SOSUS and SURTASS (sur-
veillance towed array) hydrophone systems to the Central Shore Station or
Acoustic Research Center at Moffett Field, California, “where it is integrated
with data from other sources and processed by the ILLIAC 4 computer complex
to provide a real-time submarine monitoring capability.”36 There is also real-
time transmission of data and displays from ocean-surveillance satellites pro-
vided to U.S. surface and submarine fleets.
FLTSATCOM utilized control or receiver sites. There were several in the
U.S. at Norfolk, Wahiawa (Hawaii), Stockton, California and another at
Finnegayan in Guam. Overseas, there were additional stations at Bagnoli, Italy
and at Diego Garcia and an AN/MSC-61 system located at Exmouth, Northwest
Cape, Australia.37
According to the U.S. Defense Communications Agency, the European AU-
TOSEVOCOM system consisted of about 225 wideband subscriber terminals
homed on four AN/FTC-31 switches and 16 SECORDS providing secure voice
service. Another 85 subscribers were provided worldwide secure voice access
118 Bases during the Cold War
Table 6 Location of the main switching centers for the AUTOVON network

Country Location

Japan Fuchu, AS, Camp Drake (moved to Yokota)

Okinawa Grass Mountain or Ft Buckner
Philippines Clark AFB
Panama Corozal
Spain Humosa
U.K. Martlesham Heath, Hilingdon, RAF Croughton
FDR Germany Schoenfield; Fieldberg, Donnersberg, Pirmasens,
Langerkopf
Italy Coltano, Mt. Vergine
Guam Finnegayan

Source: Defense Communications Agency, “Defense Communications System/European Communi-

cation Systems: Interoperability Baseline,” Washington, DC, 1 February 1981; and Jane’s Military
Communications (Macdonald: London, 1981).

through 10 AUTOVON switches.38 Locations of the main switching center for

the AUTOVON network are listed in Table 6.
One of the major U.S. uses of overseas theater communications was that
involved in the highly proliferated microwave/troposcatter systems used to link
U.S. and other allied forces within the European and Pacific theaters. This in
turn involved a number of sub-systems, perhaps the best known of which was
the NATO ACE HIGH system within Europe. According to Jane’s:

ACE HIGH is an 80-voice-channel trophospheric scatter/microwave link

system which dates back to 1956 when SHAPE developed a plan for an
exclusive communications system which would comprise the minimum
essential circuits of early warning and alert and implementation of the trip-
wire retaliation strike plan. The network extends from northern Norway and
through Central Europe to Eastern Turkey.39

All of the U.S. NATO allies hosted numerous troposcatter relay links – there
were some 40 in West Germany, six in Belgium, eight in Greece, 16 in Italy, 15
in Turkey, and so on. (Earlier there were some 30 such links in France.)40 These
types of link also ran from the continental U.S. via Greenland, Iceland, the
Faeroes and the U.K. to Europe; indeed, they were originally designed as one
link in the Ballistic Missile Early Warning System (BMEWs). In Iceland, it is
reported that each such North Atlantic Relay System (NARS) installation con-
sisted of four large “billboard” troposcatter antennas.41 Parts of the troposcatter
network were modernized as the Digital European Backbone System (DEBS).
The transmission, relay and reception of strictly military and diplomatic mes-
sages does not exhaust the uses to which overseas facilities were put within the
broad domain of communications. Basing diplomacy also entered the news in
connection with broadcast communications. This took any of several forms, for
instance, the major powers’ use of foreign territories for clandestine radio
 Bases during the Cold War 119
Table 7 Interconnections between ACE HIGH and DCS

DCS ACE HIGH

Mormond Hill (U.K.) Mormond Hill (U.K.)

Cold Blow Lane (U.K.) Maidstone (U.K.)
SHAPE (Belgium) Costeau (Belgium)
Bonn (FRG) Kindsbach (FRG)
Aviano (Italy) Aviano (Italy)
Naples (Bagnoli, Italy) Bagnoli (Italy)
Izmir (Turkey Izmir (Turkey)
Incirlik (Turkey) Adana (Turkey)

Sources: Defense Communications Agency, “Defense Communications System/European Commu-

nication Systems; Interoperability Baseline,” Washington, DC, 1 February 1981; and Jane’s Military
Communications (Macdonald: London, 1981).

transmitters, particularly adjacent to rivals’ territories or those where civil wars

were in progress. (In the 1987 U.S. Congressional Iran/“Contragate” hearings,
information emerged about the CIA-run clandestine transmitters in Central
America and in the Caribbean directed against Nicaragua and Cuba.) On a more
overt basis, this involved, at least as pertained to the U.S. side, the global trans-
mission network of the government’s Voice of America (VOA). There were
Soviet, French and British counterparts.
Access for VOA transmitters, even despite the absence of obvious military
implications, was not always a simple matter. Soviet and other nations’ sensitiv-
ities to radio-broadcast intrusion were such that a nation hosting a VOA facility
risked a degree of displeasure.42
For its short-wave broadcasts, the VOA had six main 500-kilowatt transmitters;
additionally, a variety of some 100 antennas and relay stations in Asia, Africa and
Central America. The VOA had overseas radio stations in Antigua, Thailand,
Botswana, Greece (two), West Germany, the Philippines (two), Costa Rica, Sri
Lanka, Morocco, Belize and the U.K. (and later in Israel). In 1984–1985, as the
Central American crisis intensified, it was reported that Costa Rica and Belize had
agreed to host VOA broadcast relay stations – in addition, VOA had obtained
agreements to construct relay stations in Sri Lanka, Israel, Morocco and Thailand.

Intelligence43
During the Cold War the U.S. relied on a variety of technical methods for intelli-
gence collection (i.e., other than HUMINT) which involved the use of overseas
facilities. These involved the domains of imaging or photographic reconnais-
sance, signals intelligence, ocean surveillance, space surveillance and nuclear
detonation and monitoring.44 Variously, cutting across these categories, this
involved fixed land-based facilities, air bases and naval facilities. In some cases,
the utilization of foreign facilities for specific purposes was well-known, as
for instance in the cases of large strategic radars or air bases used to stage
120 Bases during the Cold War
photoreconnaissance flights. In others, however, data were more limited – this
was particularly true regarding the relay of data from satellites to major head-
quarters in the U.S. homeland.
The U.S., during the Cold War and beyond, made important use of reconnais-
sance satellites which conducted area surveillance, close-look and real-time sur-
veillance. Crucially, this involved the Keyhole series, KH-9 (Big Bird) devoted
to area-surveillance and KH-8 (Close Look), later superseded (in 1976) by the
KH-11 and later by the KH-12 (Ikon). Mostly, these satellites appear to have
functioned without the help of overseas downlinks.
The U-2 and SR-71 strategic reconnaissance aircraft were usable for a variety
of nuclear and non-nuclear related missions. The latter can fly at a speed of Mach
4 (about 4160 km per hour), at a height of over 25,000 meters, can track SAM mis-
siles, has radar detectors, a variety of ECMs, and a synthetic-aperture radar for
high altitude night imaging. Some 15–19 SR-71s were utilized, co-located at some
of the same bases as the U-2s, at Mildenhall in the U.K., Kadena on Okinawa and
Akrotiri on Cyprus (the U-2s also utilized Incirlik, Peshawar, Clark AFB, Atsugi
and Wiesbaden). The still newer TR-1A reconnaissance aircraft, of which some 14
were deployed, also utilized some of these bases.
Other satellites and also land-based facilities were used for SIGINT, an
acronym that subsumes several categories of intelligence collection, i.e.,
COMINT (communications intelligence), ELINT (electronic intelligence),
TELINT (telemetry intelligence) and FISINT (foreign instrumentation signals
intelligence). The major Cold War SIGINT satellite systems–Chalet, Rhyolite
(targeted against telemetry, radar, communications, extending across the VHF,
UHF and microwave frequencies), Ferret, Magnum/Aquacade (low orbiting
ferret satellites used to map Soviet and Chinese radars) apparently made little
use of overseas downlinks.
But, the U.S. long made use of a plethora of ground-based SIGINT stations,
as identified in Table 8.
Although there were diverse types and mixes of these facilities, a few widely
deployed types were notable. One involved a combination of AN/FLR-9 HF and
VHF interception and direction-finding system (DF) with CDAA (Circularly
Disposed Antenna Array) known as an “elephant cage.” Another involved
telemetry interception capability with combined VHF-UHF-SHF receivers, used
to monitor missile launches.45 Then there were FPS-17 detection radars and
FPS-79 tracking radars also used in connection with missile launches. There
were also a considerable number of AN/FLR-15 antennas.46
The identifiable land-based SIGINT facilities included those shown in the
accompanying table. In some of these cases – Canada, the U.K., Turkey and
perhaps Japan – SIGINT stations were jointly operated with host personnel, and
the data intake shared to one degree or another, no doubt negotiated on a case-
by-case basis and subject to periodic renewal; hence, a function of the state of
political relationships and associated reciprocal leverage.
 Bases during the Cold War 121
Table 8 Land-based SIGINT facilities

Country Location/comments

Australia Northwest Cape

The Azores Villa Nova
Canada Massett, Argentia, Whitehorse, Leetrim
China Korla, Qtai
Cuba Guantanamo
Cyprus Five Stations
Denmark Bornholm
Diego Garcia
Honduras Palmerola
Kwajalein
Midway
FDR Germany Augsburg, Hof, a network called La Faire Vite to monitor WTO
communications, and others
U.K. Cheltenham, Wincombe, Morwenstow, Kirknewton
Greece Iraklion and Nea Makri
Iceland Keflavik, Stockknes
Italy San Vito, Vicenza, Treviso
Japan Misawa, Camp Zama, Hakata, Sakata, Wakkanei, Kamiseya
South Korea Yonchon, Camp Humphreys, Pyongtaek, Sinsan-ni, Kangwha
Morocco Kenitrar
Norway Varda, Vadso, Viksofjellet
Oman Al Khasab, Umm Al-Ranam Island
Panama Corozol, Fort Clayton, Galeta Island
Pakistan Bada Bien
Philippines San Miguel, Clark AB, John May Camp
Okinawa Tori, Hanza, Sobe, Omna Point
Spain Rota, El Casar del Talamanca
Taiwan Shou Lin Kou, Tapeh, Nan Szu Pu
Turkey Sinop, Dyarbakir, Samsun, Karamursel, Antalya, Agri, Kars,
Edirne, Ankara

Source: SIPRI data, and J.T. Richelson and D. Ball, The Ties That Bind (Allen and Unwin: Boston,
1985), appendix 1.

Ocean surface surveillance47

The U.S. had a number of systems – satellites, aircraft, ground stations and ships
– for observing the world’s ocean surfaces, that is, for tracking Soviet warships,
auxiliary intelligence ships, merchant and fishing vessels etc. Operationally, the
goal was to know the location of all Soviet ships at any time. In normal con-
ditions, one major purpose was to track the itineraries of Soviet ships carrying
arms to clients – this was a key item of intelligence. In crises or, hypothetically,
at the outset of a major war, the hair-trigger, preemptive nature of modern naval
warfare – nuclear or non-nuclear – would have put a premium on real-time loca-
tion and targeting of rival fleets, in all weathers. Contrariwise, both sides would
have worked hard to devise methods for eluding detection, again, particularly
during wartime conditions.
122 Bases during the Cold War
Overseas facilities played a major role here. The U.S. utilized its White
Cloud satellite system, part of its larger Classic Wizard system, for ocean sur-
veillance, involving a variety of ELINT functions as well as use of interferome-
try techniques to locate Soviet or other vessels. This system comprised four
satellites. The U.S. Naval Security Group operated ground stations which were
part of this system at Diego Garcia and Edzell, Scotland, as well as at Guam,
Adak and Winter Harbor, Maine.
The P3C Orion, known mostly for its ASW role, was also utilized for ocean
surveillance. It had access to bases throughout the world: Clark AFB (the Philip-
pines), Misawa (Japan), Kadena (Okinawa), Keflavik (Iceland), Rota (Spain),
Sigonella (Italy), Ascension and Diego Garcia islands, Cocos Islands (Aus-
tralia), Masirah (Oman), Mogadiscu (Somalia) and several others.
For land-based ocean surveillance, considerable use was made of HF/DF
systems, which were also mounted on ships which, again, utilized various over-
seas port-facilities. Among the land-based HF/DF locales were those at Diego
Garcia, Rota (Spain), Edzell (Scotland), Keflavik (Iceland), Brawdy (Wales),
Japan and Guam. Those in Scotland, Wales and Iceland were located near the
crucial GIUK–Gap chokepoint, which would presumably have been a major
point of contention at the outset of a major war in relation to North Atlantic sea
lines of communication and the Soviet submarine bastions near the Kola Penin-
sula. Richelson and Ball actually reported on some 40–50 HF/DF sites for ocean
surveillance said to have been operated by the combined assets of the U.S.,
U.K., Canada, Australia and New Zealand.

Space surveillance48
During the Cold War, the proliferation of satellites and other man-made “space
objects” made their tracking and identification more vital. The U.S. had an
extensive program intended to detect and track its own satellites, but also Soviet
and other nations’ space vehicles.
In the security realm this had a number of dimensions. Of course, both sides
wished to mask some of their ground activities from surveillance and therefore
sought the capacity to operate during gaps in surveillance. By detecting and
tracking Soviet satellites, the U.S. Satellite Reconnaissance Advance Notice
(SATRAN) System allowed the U.S. to avoid Soviet coverage of U.S. military
activities. As expectations mounted about a future which might have seen
large-scale militarization of space, both sides increasingly perceived an interest
in real-time surveillance of each others’ satellites, in the context of possible later
hair-trigger preemptive situations as applied to mutual interdiction of satellites.
Of course, both sides desired maximally effective intelligence on the others’
various military activities conducted from space: communications, ocean sur-
veillance, SIGINT, nuclear detection, etc. In summary, as stated by Richelson:

space surveillance helps provide the United States with intelligence on the
characteristics and capabilities of Soviet space systems and their contribu-
 Bases during the Cold War 123
tions to overall Soviet military capabilities . . . Such data aid the United
States in developing counter-measures to Soviet systems, provide a data-
base for U.S. ASAT targeting and allow the United States to assess the
threat represented by Soviet ASAT systems.

For many years the heart of the dedicated sensor system was a group of Baker-
Nunn optical cameras, huge cameras which, according to one source, could
“photograph, at night, a lighted object the size of a basketball over 20,000 miles
in space.” In addition to the two in California and New Mexico, these cameras
were located outside the U.S. in New Zealand (Mt. John), South Korea (Pul-
mosan), Canada (St. Margarets, New Brunswick) and Italy (San Vito). Earlier
there were others on Johnston Island, in Alaska, and in Argentina, Brazil, Chile,
Ethiopia, Greece, Iran, South Africa, Upper Volta and Curacao in the Lesser
Artilles, among others. Because of its limitations – slowness in data acquisition,
processing and response time, absence of all-weather capability and inflexible
tracking capability – this system was replaced by the Ground-based Electro-
Optical Deep Space Surveillance (GEODSS) system.
GEODSS, also with five locations, overcame several of the Baker-Nunn
system’s shortcomings by allowing real-time data, better search capability and
more rapid coverage of larger areas of space – but was still limited by adverse
atmospheric conditions. It was actually a system of three linked telescopes at
each site, providing variable coverage by altitude. The five locations were in
Hawaii (Maui) and New Mexico (White Sands), within the U.S. and externally
in South Korea (Taegu), Diego Garcia and Portugal.
Systems used primarily for early warning – BMEWS, FSS-7, PAVE PAWS,
Enhanced Perimeter Acquisition Radar Attack Characterization System
(EPARCS) and FPS-85 radars – were usable as collateral space-tracking
sensors. Of these, BMEWS – based at Thule (Greenland), Fylingdales (U.K.)
and Clear (Alaska) – involved extensive use of foreign access. Additionally,
COBRA DANE (Shemya Island, Aleutians – 120 arc, 46,000-km range against
space targets) and also the AN/FPS-79 (Pincirlik/Diyarbakir, Turkey) radar were
usable in a space-surveillance role, as supplementary to the primary missions of
monitoring missile-test re-entry trajectories.
Numerous other foreign facilities were used as part of the U.S. Satellite
Tracking and Data Acquisition Network (STADAN) network of installations
used to track and monitor U.S. space activities, including the down-range
course of launches. Among these were facilities in: Australia (Orooral Valley,
Toowoomba), the U.K. (Winkfield), Ascension, Bermuda, the Canaries (Tener-
ife), Spain (Madrid), Brazil (Fernando de Noronha) and Antigua, in connection
with space surveillance and under the heading of “miscellaneous radars.”
Earlier STADAN tracking facilities were operated, among other places, in
Chile, Ecuador, the Malagasy Republic, Grand Turk Islands, South Africa and
Zaire.
124 Bases during the Cold War
Satellite control stations49
One of the most secret or classified areas of overseas bases was that of satellite
control stations. Ford, in his work on command and control, in analyzing the
vulnerable and non-redundant nature of the U.S. early-warning system involving
the DSP East satellite, its down-link facility in Australia and the communica-
tions link from there to the satellite control facility in Sunnyvale, California,
provided some indication of what was involved. Thus, according to him:

There are several dozen U.S. defense satellites now in orbit – providing
communications, photoreconnaissance, electronic intelligence, navigational,
meteorological, and other data-and they require contact with the Sunnyvale
ground control station and its seven substations around the globe in order to
remain functional. A great deal of fine-tuning, for example, is needed to
steer the satellites in precise orbits and to keep their sensors, and antennas
aimed properly. . . . A catastrophic loss of this control center would result in
a major disruption of communications, tracking, and control of its space
systems . . .

And, further:

Other officials are less optimistic. “We lose the SCF and the satellites basi-
cally go haywire,” a Pentagon expert who has studied this subject told me.
“The communications satellites drift off to Pluto.” Certain intelligence-
gathering satellites in low-earth orbit would be in especially bad shape, he
said, since the Sunnyvale facility has to “feed them” with instructions every
time they complete an orbit. “You should see them scrambling when one of
their satellites comes within range.” Desmond Ball estimated that the
typical U.S. defense satellite might be able to remain in operation for three
to four days without the Sunnyvale SCF; the most critical satellites, such as
DSP East, which require a great deal of caretaking attention from the
ground, could go out of service within hours.

The seven sub-stations linked to Sunnyvale comprised three within the U.S. –
at Manchester AF Station in New Hampshire, Kaena Point in Hawaii and Van-
denberg Air Force Base (AFB) in California. Others outside the U.S. were at
Thule, Greenland – collocated with various other technical facilities as well as a
bomber and tanker base – at Guam at Andersen AFB, at Oakhanger in the U.K.
and at Mahe in the Seychelles. Mahe had long hosted a U.S. satellite control
facility (SCF) collocated with a DSCS ground terminal. This facility was appar-
ently important in relation to reconnaissance satellites and for monitoring injec-
tion into orbit of satellites launched from Cape Canaveral. Earlier, up to 1975,
the U.S. also had what apparently was an SCF at Majunga in the Malagasy
Republic, one also used to monitor satellites launched from Cape Canaveral.
U.S. access to this facility was then lost at a time when Tananarive shifted
 Bases during the Cold War 125
towards an arms-supply relationship with the USSR. Still earlier the U.S. appar-
ently had a similar SCF on Zanzibar Island, within Tanzania.

Strategic early warning50

One of the most obviously critical areas of intelligence involving foreign bases
is strategic early warning, that is, warning of impending or unfolding nuclear
attack. Here, as in so many areas of military endeavor, the U.S. was asymmetri-
cally dependent on foreign access, and crucially so. Indeed, it was long the case,
even before the advent of intercontinental missilery, that the U.S. relied on
radars in Canada and Greenland for warning of approaching bombers at a time
when such warning could provide several hours of response time. The asymme-
tries were partly because of the larger relative size of the USSR and partly
because of the location of critical foreign terrain – Canada, Greenland, Iceland –
between the U.S. and the trans-Arctic routes that would be traversed by missiles
and bombers across the arctic regions between the superpowers.
Several key U.S. early-warning systems utilized foreign access; ground sta-
tions used to relay data from early-warning satellites; the BMEWS radar system
directed against Soviet ICBMs, the several layers of radar pickets used to detect
bombers en route to the U.S. from the Arctic region; and a variety of other
sensors which might be used in collateral or supplementary roles.
Regarding early-warning satellites, the U.S. relied primarily on what have
become known as DSP East and DSP West (earlier these were called MIDAS
satellites). The former had the primary task of watching for ICBM launches, the
latter for SLBM launches in the Atlantic.
The Code 647 Defense Support Program satellite – DSP East – sat some
23,000 miles above the Indian Ocean in geosynchronous orbit, monitoring the
eastern hemisphere. It contained an infrared telescope equipped with thousands
of tiny lead-sulphide detectors designed to pick up the hot exhaust flame pro-
duced by large rocket engines during the boost phase of their flights. It had full
coverage of Soviet missile fields from an orbit more or less above the equator
and, in the case of mass launchings, could tell what kinds of missiles had been
launched and from where. Hence, DSP East could also provide valuable
information about what kind of attack had been launched, that is, the likely tar-
geting mix. That would in turn have guided the targeting of a U.S. counterforce
response.
The principal and necessary link between DSP East and NORAD was the
down-link facility at Nurrungar, Australia (there were also control and tracking
functions at Pine Gap and on Guam) described as a highly vulnerable set of
antennas, transmitters and computational facilities. This “readout station” in turn
would relay data to NORAD, variously by underseas cable, by HF radio links or
via the Defense Satellite Communications System, and in turn via a switching
station in Hawaii. These various alternative communications links between Nur-
rungar and Buckley AFB in Colorado involved foreign access to New Zealand,
Fiji, Norfolk Island and Canada’s British Columbia at Port Alberni. In recent
126 Bases during the Cold War
years, however, another down-link for DSP East (called the Simplified Process-
ing Station) had been made operational at Kapaun, FDR Germany.
A second major U.S. strategic warning system used to monitor ICBM
launches was BMEWS, which comprised three major radars (located at Clear,
Alaska, Thule, Greenland and Fylingdales Moor, U.K.). These radars became
operational in 1950 and had 4800-km ranges. The BMEWS facility included
four AN FPS-50 detection radars and an AN/FPS-49 tracking radar – these also
acted as contributing sensors for the SPADATS system. Altogether, there were
12 radars with ranges of 4800 km.
Finally, the U.S. had long relied – primarily for warning of the approach of
bombers – on the series of radar picket lines across the Arctic known as the
Distant Early Warning (DEW) and Continental Air Defense Integration North
(CADIN) Pinetree lines. These had been located across Alaska, Canada and
Greenland, with a few additional outposts in Iceland and the Faeroe Islands (the

Table 9 Location of DEW Line and CADIN Pinetree Line radar sites in Canada and
Greenland, 1985

DEW Lines Pinetree Line

Canada
Broughton Island Alaska
Byron Bay Armstrong
Cambridge Bay Baldy Hughes
Cape Dyer Barrington
Cape Hooper Beausejour
Cape Perry Beaver Lodge
Cape Young Chibougamau
Clinon Point Dana
Dewar Lakes Falconbridge
Gladman Point Gander Air Base
Hall Beach Goose Bay AB
Jenny Lind Island Gypsumville
Komakuk Beach Holberg
Lady Franklin Point Kamloops
Longstaff Bluff Lac St. Denis
Macker Inlet Moisie
Nicholson Peninsula Montapica
Pelly Bay Moosonee
Shepherd Bay Ramore
Shingle Point Senneterre
Tuktoyaktuk Sioux Lookout
Yorkton
Greenland
Easterly
Kulusuk Island (Dye 4)
Quiquatoqoq (Holsteinberg-Dye-1)
Westerly

Source: W.M. Arkin and R.W. Fieldhouse, Nuclear Battlefields: Global Links in the Arms Race
(Cambridge: Ballinger, 1985), appendix A.
 Bases during the Cold War 127
locations of the sites in Canada and Greenland are listed in Table 9 above). The
DEW Line had 31 radars, some 21 of which were in Canada and four in Green-
land (several also were used as relays for troposcatter communications relays);
in the 1950s submarines on the surface filled gaps in the DEW Line – they could
submerge after reporting incoming aircraft.
The CADIN Pinetree Line of air surveillance radars in Canada had consti-
tuted a second line of warning behind the DEW Line and comprised some 22
stations operated by Canadian personnel for NORAD.
The upgrading of the almost 30-year old DEW Line was impelled by cruise-
missile developments and by new Soviet Backfire bombers capable of penet-
rating the old barrier; and it preceded the advent of the Strategic Defense
Initiative (SDI). The new system involved a network of 52 new long- and short-
range radar stations overlapping Alaska, Canada and Greenland, and was called
the North Warning System. It utilized many of the hub facilities of the DEW
Line, but with upgraded modern radars and independent power systems.
Later, around 2005, the U.S. became involved in the upgrading of the facility
at Fylingdales for theater missile defense and, possibly, for the stationing of
actual theater defense missiles.

Anti-submarine warfare51
During the Cold War, as well as afterwards, the U.S. had perhaps the world’s
most extensive and effective global ASW capability, which required access to
land facilities around the world: staging bases for aircraft, and processing
stations for acoustic and electronic data. Regarding acoustic data, it relied
heavily on its SOSUS networks, often alternatively referred to as Caesar. These,
going way back to 1954, involved networks of hydrophonic arrays which sent
oceanographic and acoustic data to shore processing facilities, that is, large com-
puter analysis centers. These data and others were correlated at regional process-
ing centers (including those in Hawaii, Wales, Newfoundland and Iceland) and
then forwarded to a main processing center at Moffett Field, California, via
FLTSATCOM and DSCS satellites.52
SOSUS, though augmented by other systems noted below, was the backbone
of the U.S. ASW detection capability. It has been described by SIPRI as follows:

Each SOSUS installation consists of an array of hundreds of hydrophones

laid out on the sea floor, or moored at depths most conducive to sound prop-
agation, and connected by submarine cables for transmission of telemetry.
In such an array a sound wave arriving from a distant submarine will be
successively detected by different hydrophones according to their geometric
relationship to the direction from which the wave arrives. This direction can
be determined by noting the order in which the wave is detected at the dif-
ferent hydrophones. In practice the sensitivity of the array is enhanced many
times by adding the signals from several individual hydrophones after intro-
ducing appropriate time delays between them. The result is a listening
128 Bases during the Cold War
“beam” that can be “steered” in various directions towards various sectors
of the ocean by varying the pattern of time delays. The distance from the
array to the sound source can be calculated by measuring the divergence of
the sound rays within the array or by triangulating from adjacent arrays.

The first SOSUS systems were completed on the continental shelf off the east
coast of the U.S. in 1954.53 Others were later installed off both U.S. shores and
at Brawdy, Wales – the Pacific Coast system came to be known by the code-
name of Colossus.54 A jointly operated U.S.–Canadian array came to be centered
at Argentia, Newfoundland, others at Hawaii, the Bahamas and the Azores.55
By 1974 it was stated that there were 22 SOSUS installations located along
the east and west coasts of the U.S. and near various chokepoints around the
world – another 14 were identified by Richelson and others.56 Foreign-based
SOSUS installations were located at Ascension, in the Azores (Santa Maria), the
Bahamas (Andros Island), Barbados, Bermuda, Canada (Argentia), Denmark,
Diego Garcia, Gibraltar, Guam (Ratidian Point), Iceland (Keflavik), Italy, Japan
(sonar chains across the Tsugaru and Tsushima Straits), Norway, Panama
(Galeta), the Philippines, the Ryukyus, Turkey, the U.K. (Scatsa, Shetland and
Brawdy, Wales). Others have at times been operated on Grand Turk Island,
Antigua, Bahamas (Eleuthera) and Barbados; and maybe on the Canary Islands
at Punta de Tero. And the U.S. may possibly also have operated still other
barrier sonars, for instance, in the central Mediterranean from Lampedusa and/or
Pantelleria Islands, and on Midway Island in the central Pacific Ocean.
Burrows described as follows the basic geometry of the U.S. SOSUS network
which monitors Soviet egress from the Eurasion bastion:

There are actually two SOSUS arrays moored across the approaches to Pol-
yarnyy; one between Norway and Bear Island, and the other linking northern
Scotland, Iceland, and Greenland. Submarines whose home port is
Petropavlovsk are monitored by hydrophones strung from the southeastern tip
of Hokkaido, along a line parallel to the Kuriles, and then up toward the
northeast, off the Aleutian coast. Still others stretch from southern Japan to
the Philippines, covering the approaches to China and Indochina. And there
are also SOSUS installations on the Atlantic side of Gibraltar, others about
halfway between Italy and Corsica and still others at the mouth of the
Bosporus, off Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean, and not so far from Hawaii.
The Navy keeps the precise locations of its SOSUS equipment a closely
guarded secret, since interfering with it would be a logical Soviet subject.57

Nuclear detection58
One important, but seldom commented upon aspect of the overall U.S. intelli-
gence effort, was that connected with the detection of nuclear explosions. This
involved several separate lines of activity.
First, there was the matter of verification of existing arms control treaties,
 Bases during the Cold War 129
that is, the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963, which bans atmospheric testing,
and the Threshold Test Ban Treaty of 1974, never ratified by the U.S. Senate
(but tacitly adhered to in the manner of SALT II), which barred underground
testing of nuclear devices of over 150 kilotons. Second, there was the monitor-
ing of the horizontal nuclear proliferation activities of hitherto non-nuclear
states, as well as of the non-signatory but nuclear states, China and France.
Third there was the contingency of protracted nuclear war during which the U.S.
would have wanted to determine the locations and frequencies of nuclear deto-
nations on both sides and to assess resultant damage, among other reasons, to
aid subsequent targeting decisions.
Several interrelated systems were used to pursue the above ends, involving
satellites, aircraft and ground stations. Use of satellites, in connection with
bases, raised the question of external facilities for data down-links and command
and control; that of aircraft involved, obviously, bases as well.
According to Richelson, the U.S. space-based nuclear-detection system
involved, variously, the various components of the VELA satellite program begun
in the early 1960s, the previously mentioned DSP satellites primarily intended for
early warning of missile launches, and the NAVSTAR global positioning system.59
Numerous aircraft types were used to detect airborne atomic debris left in the
wake of explosions (if only the venting of imperfectly conducted underground
blasts). One source said that these included the U-2, P-3C, C-135, B-52 and also
an HC-130 configured as a sea-water sampler to monitor underwater nuclear tests
(monitoring of plutonion-239 separation via kryption-85 analysis was presumably
also similarly conducted). For instance, SAC’s U-2s apparently operated out of
Australian facilities at Sale and Laverton, gathering radionuclides as part of a High
Altitude Sampling Program. These aircraft were operated by the Air Force Tech-
nical Application Center (AFTAC) and could presumably have availed themselves
of virtually all the airfields normally open to U.S. use throughout the world. Some
of these operations no doubt involved ad hoc staging through facilities after an
“event,” and the diplomacy of access involved was obscure. But, as there was a
general convergence of overall interest by most nations with regard to monitoring
others’ nuclear tests, access in these cases was likely to have been permissive.

The Soviet Cold War naval basing structure60

Before World War II, the USSR had had only very limited access to external
facilities, perhaps solely with the forward deployment of some combat aircraft in
Czechoslovakia in the 1930s. In parallel, Moscow was then only a small factor
in the international arms trade, so it was not able to bank either on security assis-
tance or ideological ties and alliances to establish forward bases. That situation
changed dramatically after World War II, with an additional quantum jump in
the late 1950s and on up to 1970s.
Directly after the war, of course, Moscow established control over Eastern
Europe (earlier also in Mongolia), and these dominated areas became the sites
for a massive network of Soviet air, naval and ground facilities, with a heavy
130 Bases during the Cold War
concentration in East Germany, Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia as an
obvious correlate to Soviet political control over these countries and as a defen-
sive glacis or possible springboard for offensive operations vis-à-vis NATO
Western Europe. Again, the basis for basing access was simply brute conquest
and imperial control.
For some ten years after the end of the Cold War, the USSR had no basing
access outside of its huge contiguous Eurasian empire. Indeed, it also had virtu-
ally no arms transfer or security assistance relationships outside this area during
a period in which the U.S. established its elaborate structure of alliances and
arms transfer relationships all around the Eurasian rimland.
That all changed around 1955 with the beginning of the Soviet weapons
transfers to Egypt and Syria. But then too in the late 1950s and early 1960s,
numerous nations in the wake of decolonization and the creation of nominally
Marxist regimes, became Soviet arms client states. Along with that, sometimes
with a time lag, came the provision of basing access at a time, also, when
Moscow was beginning to build a “blue-water navy.” And, some of the new
arms recipients and basing hosts involved a “leapfrogging” of the containment
rim around the huge Sino-Soviet Eurasian domain. Among the basing hosts
developed in addition to Egypt and Syria were Algeria, Guinea, Ghana, Congo-
Brazzaville, Angola, Mozambique, Somalia, both Yemens, Iraq, Cuba and
Vietnam (Indonesia and India were both major Soviet arms clients by 1965, but
provided no significant access to bases).
Gradually, the Soviet navy developed an external presence as the Cold War
progressed, involving the build-up of a significant blue-water navy, the acquisi-
tion of bases and available ports of call, and the compilation of “ship-days” in
the major oceans and seas matching that of the U.S. Navy. As recently as the
late 1950s, the Soviet navy had had little of “blue-water,” long-range power pro-
jection capability nor basing access. Indeed, the early postwar exceptions were
use of a Chinese base at Port Arthur, one at Porkalla in Finland, and a three-year
interregnum (1958–1961) when Soviet submarines were granted access to
Albanian bases in the Mediterranean.
After that came the large-scale naval build-up through the late 1980s under
the aegis of Admiral Gorshkov, a build-up that produced a navy that, measured
by major surface combatants and submarines, was larger than that of the U.S.
The Soviet Navy fielded some 269 principal surface combatants (including
four Kiev carriers), two ASW helicopter carriers, some 36 cruisers of which two
(Kirov-class) were nuclear, 61 destroyers (of which 33 were specialized for
ASW) and 167 escorts including 100 corvettes.61 In addition, there were some
762 minor surface combatants: vast numbers of missile patrol boats, fast attack
craft, 372 principal auxiliary ships (replenishment, tankers, missile support,
supply, cargo, submarine tenders, repair, hospital, submarine rescue, salvage/
rescue, training ships, etc.). There were some 62 intelligence collection vessels
(AGI), 456 naval research vessels, 74 tankers, 298 support ships, 1900 merchant
ships, and numerous civilian oceanographic, fishery, space-associated and
hydrographic research vessels.62
 Bases during the Cold War 131
The Soviet submarine fleet was equally formidable, comprising some 360
vessels. It fielded 63 SSBNs and 14 non nuclear-powered ballistic-missile sub-
marines (SSNs), with a total of 983 submarine-launched ballistic missiles
(SLBMs) – 39 SLBMs and 15 submarines were outside the SALT limits – some
214 attack submarines of which 70 were nuclear-powered, and 63 cruise-missile
submarines, 48 of which were nuclear (SSGNs).63
That Cold War Soviet navy was, obviously huge. But its more limited (rela-
tive to the U.S.) external basing network required an outsized force of auxiliary
ships to compensate for the shortage of land bases. The same was true for AGIs,
fishing and oceanographic vessels, and SIGINT, communications relay, space-
tracking, ships etc.
In the Mediterranean, the important Soviet presence in Syria included naval
access to the port of Tartus, which was the primary maintenance facility for
Soviet submarines operating in the area. A Soviet submarine tender, a yard oiler
and a water tender were stationed there.
Over the years, there had also been varied degrees of naval access to Algeria,
Libya and Yugoslavia. Soviet submarines were reported serviced at Annaba in
Algeria, and its ships were refueled and maintained at a couple of Yugoslav
ports on the Adriatic, at Tivat and Sibenik.64
In Guinea, despite some curtailment of long-maintained access for Soviet
Bear reconnaissance aircraft, the USSR routinely used Conakry harbor as a
facility for its West African patrol.65 But Luanda in Angola became the most
important port for Moscow’s West African naval units – since 1982 that had
involved an 8500-ton floating drydock capable of handling most major Soviet
naval combatants.66 In Ethiopia, the installation at Dahlak Archipelago was the
maintenance facility and supply depot for Soviet naval combatants operating in
the Indian Ocean and Red Sea, normally ranging from 20–25 units, including
surface ships, attack and cruise-missile submarines and auxiliaries. This facility
included an 8500-ton floating drydock, floating piers, helipads, fuel and water
storage, a submarine tender and other repair ships. Guided-missile cruisers and
nuclear-powered submarines regularly called at Dahlak for repair and supplies.67
In Cuba, in addition to enjoying access for port visits, maintenance, and so
on, Moscow permanently based a submarine tender at Cienfuegos, used primar-
ily, if not solely, for servicing attack submarines – access for SSBNs might have
been construed as a violation of the agreements emerging out of the Cuban
Missile Crisis.68
At another level, Soviet access to Peruvian ports provided logistics support
and maintenance for some 200 fishing vessels that operated off the coast of
South America. This involved, among other things, extensive rotation of mer-
chant seamen and fishermen.69
Table 10 details the Soviet overseas naval basing structure which, it is import-
ant to note, had experienced some major changes in the late Cold War period as
reflective of the vicissitudes of external political alignments. Several external main
operating bases were crucial to Soviet naval deployments: Cam Ranh Bay
(Vietnam) in the Far East/Pacific area; Aden and Socotra (South Yemen) and the
132 Bases during the Cold War
Table 10 Main and secondary surface-ship operating bases of the Soviet Navy

Host nation base Description

Vietnam
Cam Ranh Bay Main external Soviet naval base in Far East – guided-
missile cruisers, frigates and minesweepers based
here; also, attack submarines; on average, deployment
was four submarines, two to four combat vessels, ten
auxiliaries.
Cambodia
Kampong Som (Sihanoukville) Reported access for Soviet warships, i.e., replenishment,
refueling, etc.
North Korea
Najin Some port access, earlier reports of submarine base.
India
Vishakhapatnam Indian naval base built with Soviet assistance, some
Soviet port calls, refueling, etc.
Cochin Port calls, refueling, etc. reported.
Iraq
Umm Quasr Soviet assistance in improving facilities here, earlier
reported accessible to Soviet warships; access, limited
during Iraq–Iran War.
Az Zubayr Earlier reported used by Soviet submarines and
SIGINT vessels.
Al Fao Iraqi port, reported availed to Soviet Union after 1974
agreement.
South Yemen
Aden Soviet main base for Indian Ocean operations; fuel
tanks, replenishment, reports of submarine pens
alongside berthing for major surface ships.
Socotra Island Anchorage used by Soviet ships, possible shore
facilities.
Ethiopia
Dahlak Archipelago Large anchorage for Soviet Indian Ocean naval
squadron.
Assab Important Soviet naval facility; floating dry dock
formerly moored at Berbera.
Massawa Port access, routine.
Perim Island Former British facility, reportedly improved by Soviet
Union.
Mauritius Reported port calls (note concurrently reported U.S.
access).
Mozambique
Nacala Periodic port calls.
Maputo Periodic port calls.
Tanzania
Zanzibar Available, port calls.
Angola
Luanda Was main Soviet naval base on West African coast,
having replaced Conakry; guided-missile destroyer
and several accompanying craft stationed here.
 Bases during the Cold War 133
Table 10 continued

Host nation base Description

Madagascar
Diego Suarez Available, port calls.
Tanative Available, port calls.
Benin
Cotonou Periodic port calls.
Guinea
Conakry Formerly hosted small West African flotilla; use later
curtailed, if not eliminated.
Congo
Ponte Noir Reported occasional port calls.
Guinea Bissau
Geba Estuary Port calls.
Algeria
Mers El Kebir Port calls.
Annaba Soviet repair ships deployed. Submarine repair
capabilities reported.
Libya
Tripoli Regular access, Soviet Mediterranean squadron.
Benghazi Regular access, Soviet Mediterranean squadron.
Bardia Soviet Union reported constructing naval base here.
Syria
Latakia Main base for Soviet Mediterranean squadron; fuel,
replenishment, etc.
Tartus Regular access, maintenance facility for attack
submarines, oiler, tender.
Ras Shamra Soviet submarine base alleged under construction.
Yugoslavia
Tivat Repair of Soviet ships and submarines.
Rijeka Port calls.
Pula Port calls.
Sibenik Port calls.
Split Port calls.
Greece
Siros Island Ship repairs, commercial, at Neorian shipyard.
Cuba
Cienfuegos Replenishment base for Soviet attack submarines,
mooring of submarine tender occasionally rumoured.
Mariel Port calls.
Nipe Bay Port calls, Gulf-class submarines, intelligence
collectors.
Havana Access for Soviet surface ships.
Santiago de Cuba Access for Soviet surface ships.
Peru
Calleo Occasional ship visits since Soviet–Peruvian arms
deal.
Romania
Mangalia Reported Soviet submarine base on Black Sea.
Sulina Forward supply base for Soviet Danube flotilla.

Source: Compiled from SIPRI data.

134 Bases during the Cold War
Dahlak Archipelago (Ethiopia) in the western Indian Ocean/Horn of Africa area;
Luanda (Angola) in the South Atlantic; Latakia and Tartus (Syria) in the Mediter-
ranean; and Havana, Cienfuegos and Mariel (Cuba) in the western North Atlantic.
Beyond that, the Soviet Navy had acquired degrees of access – secondary bases,
minor facilities, port visits etc. – in numerous other locales (often the subject of
debate over facts and interpretations). These included Cambodia, India, Iraq, Mau-
ritius, the Seychelles, Madagascar, Mozambique, Angola, Congo, Sao Tome and
Principe, Cape Verde, Guinea Bissau, Benin, Guinea, Algeria, Libya, Yugoslavia,
Spain (Canary Islands), Nicaragua and Peru. That may not have been a truly
global basing structure, but it was something well beyond what would have
accorded with a strictly defensive, coastal defense navy, or with the assumptions
and expectations of a generation earlier.

Soviet air bases70

Numerically speaking, the Cold War Soviet Air Force was huge, comprising – in
varying degrees of readiness – some 4000 combat aircraft. More than half of these
were primarily configured as interceptors, that is, they were for strategic and/or
tactical defense; the remainder were configured mostly as ground-attack craft. Still
others had as their primary functions reconnaissance and electronic countermea-
sures; 540 and 30 craft, respectively. In its strategic forces, the USSR had some
165 long-range, 567 medium-range, and 450 short-range bombers, 68 long-range
reconnaissance craft, some 100 ECM machines and (here deficient relative to the
U.S.) a then growing force of some 50 Bison and Badger tankers.
In line with the facts of Soviet ground and naval deployments, most perman-
ent external deployments of aircraft were in the immediately contiguous areas of
Eastern Europe within the WTO, Mongolia and Afghanistan. Otherwise,
however, the Cold War years saw the Soviet Air Force break out of the confines
of Eurasia to establish more or less permanent bases in Vietnam, South Yemen,
Angola and Cuba.
The USSR had some 2000 tactical aircraft deployed in Eastern Europe. The
MiG-23 Flogger was by far the most numerous fighter-interceptor; followed by
late-model MiG-21 Fishbeds and older Su-15 Flagons. Other less numerous
fighter-interceptors included the Foxbat, Firebar, Fiddler and the then new MiG-
31 Foxhound and MiG-29 Fulcrum.
Among the ground-attack aircraft, the most common were the Su-17 Fitter
and MiG-27 Flogger, though reportedly the best interdiction aircraft in the
Soviet inventory was the Su-24 Fencer. Other units were comprised of MiG-23
Floggers, the then new Su-24 Frogfoot and older MiG-21 Fishbed and Su-7
Fitter As. Reconnaissance aircraft deployed in Eastern Europe included MiG-21
Fishbeds, Su-17 Fitters, MiG-25 Foxbats and Yak-28 Brewers.
In East Germany, there were large numbers of attack and interceptor fighters,
a total of 685 combat aircraft, comprising 315 attack aircraft (Su-17s, Su-24s,
Su-25s, MiG-27s), 300 fighter interceptors (MiG-21/25/27s), 50 reconnaissance
craft (Su-17s, MiG-25s), plus 20 ECM and 40 light transport aircraft. These
 Bases during the Cold War 135
were forward-based at some 17 bases; quantitatively speaking, there were both
more aircraft and bases than were fielded by the U.S. and British counterparts in
West Germany. These were at: Zossen-Wiesdorf, Stralsund, Peenemunde,
Parchim (Hind-24 helicopters and long-range transports for troop exchanges),
Finow, Werneuchen, Oranienburg, Wittstock, Neuruppin, Zerbst (MiG-25
reconnaissance aircraft), Juterborg, Kothen, Welzow, Finsterwalde (Su-20 Fitter
B fighter regiment), Merseburg, Grossenhein and Alternburg.
In Czechoslovakia, the USSR regularly deployed some 105 combat aircraft,
located mostly in the Bohemian region along the German border and in the area
northwest of Prague. There were some 45 MiG-27 Flogger D/Js, 45 Flogger Bs
and 14 Su-17 reconnaissance craft. Among the some 30 military airfields in
Czechoslovakia, Soviet combat aircraft were reported stationed at Prague’s
Ruzyne airport, Milovice, Cheb/Horni Dvory, Dobrany, Karlovy Vary, Zatec,
Mimon, Tchorovice and Panensky Tynec.
In Hungary, the Soviet Air Force had six major air bases in addition to joint
use of some Hungarian bases and also some dispersal strips. There were about
240 combat aircraft deployed, including Su-17 Fitter and Su-24 Fencer attack
craft, MiG-23 interceptors and Su-17 reconnaissance aircraft. Tokol in
Budapest, a major Soviet base used jointly with Hungary, deployed fighters,
bombers, transports and helicopters and was also the headquarters for the Soviet
Air Force in Hungary. Other important bases were at Kaposvar, Papa,
Veszprem, Debrecen, Mezokovesd, Pecs and Szombathely. There was joint use
of other installations at Kalocsa, Szolnok, Kecskemet, Sarmellek and Szeged.
In strategically located (relative to the main potential theater of operations
along the West German frontier) Poland, the USSR earlier based combat aircraft
at Legnica, Gniezno, Pucza Bolimowska, Gdansk (naval air Backfires), Zagan,
Brzeg, Opole, Szczecin, Kolobrzeg, Szczecinek and Koszalin. The bases at
Zagan and Szprotawa hosted Su-24 Fencer aircraft.
In the Far East, again associated with a major ground force deployment, there
were in Mongolia about six squadrons of Soviet combat aircraft, including MiG-
21/23/25/27s. They were at Choybalsan northeast, Ulan Bator southwest,
Nalayh, Bayan Suma and two facilities around Sayn Shand which fielded MiG-
23s. These were large deployments comparable to those in Eastern Europe,
reflecting the size of the Soviet presence vis-à-vis China during the period of
tension between the two communist giants. In addition, some 30 MiG-23s were
based on Eterofu Island in the Kuriles (disputed with Japan), along with
8000–10,000 troops.
During the war in Afghanistan the Soviet Air Force established a major pres-
ence in at least five air bases. These was at Kabul, Kandahar (important for
airlift and for naval reconnaissance over the Indian Ocean), Bagram (MiG-23
base and reported Tu-95 Bear bomber deployment), Shindand (a squadron each
of MiG-21s and MiG-23s, two squadrons of Su-20 fighters and 60 Mi-6 heli-
copters) and Jalalabad near Pakistan and the Khyber Pass, where 100-plus
Soviet helicopters were reported stationed. These bases were later used by the
U.S. after the fall of 2001.
136 Bases during the Cold War
Outside of the old (Western-imposed) Eurasian containment rim (or “out of
area” relative to the USSR), the Soviet Air Force established bases, ad hoc facil-
ities and staging rights in virtually all of the world’s major regions. Concerning
the “permanent” or continuous deployment of aircraft (or sporadic deployments
approaching that status), this involved most importantly both combat and naval
reconnaissance aircraft. The major deployments were, as one might expect, co-
located with the major naval facilities in some of the Soviet Union’s closest
allies in the Third World, such as Vietnam, South Yemen, Cuba, Syria, Libya
and Angola. Still, relative to USAF access overseas, the paucity of permanent
deployment of combat aircraft stood out. Perhaps of greater significance was the
considerable access for Soviet naval reconnaissance aircraft.
In Vietnam, alongside the major naval deployments at Cam Ranh Bay, the
Soviet Union deployed some 24 reconnaissance or combat aircraft, 8 Tu-95
Bears and 16 Tu-16 Badgers D/K, ten of the latter having strike capabilities.71
The Badgers’ ranges extended the Soviet strike capability over the entire
Southeast Asian region, notably including the U.S. bases in the Philippines,
but also over Guam and the other U.S. facilities in the islands of the Central
Pacific.72
In the Southwest Asia/Indian Ocean area, the Soviet Union, after 1978, was
provided access to Yemen’s Aden International Airport and to a military airfield
at Al-Anad, for IL-38/May naval reconnaissance aircraft, the Soviet equivalent
to the U.S. P-3C.73 (These were transited further south to Ethiopia and Mozam-
bique.) In the Mediterranean, there was similar access for IL-38s in Libya after
1981, at Okba ben Nafi, the former U.S. Wheelus Air Force Base. Additionally,
there were a large number of Soviet Air Force advisers and maintenance person-
nel in Libya, whose air force comprised MiG-25s, MiG-23s, MiG-21s, Su-22s
and Mi-24 Hind helicopters – as well as Tu-22 Blinder bombers and IL-76
Candid and AN-26 Curl transports.74

Soviet ground force bases75

During the peak of the Cold War, the USSR deployed a massive land army and
associated facilities in Eastern Europe. At the peak, that involved some 565,000
troops, organized for combat into 30 divisions (16 tank and 14 motorized rifle),
plus attached artillery units. The deployments were as follows:

1 GDR: 380,000 troops; one Group and five Army headquarters; ten tank and
nine motorized rifle divisions; one artillery division; one air assault divi-
sion; five attack helicopter regiments with some 500 Mi-8 Hip and 420
Hind attack helicopters.
2 Czechoslovakia: 80,000 troops; one Group and one Army HQ; two tank and
three motorized rifle divisions; one air assault battalion; one artillery
brigade, 2 attack helicopter regiments with 100 Mi-8 Hip and Mi-24 Hind
helicopters.
3 Poland: 40,000 troops; one Group and one Army headquarters; two tank
 Bases during the Cold War 137
divisions, one attack helicopter regiment with 120 Mi-8 and Mi-24 heli-
copters.
4 Hungary: 65,000 troops; one Group and one Army HQ; two tank and two
motorized rifle-divisions; one air assault brigade with 65 Mi-8 and Mi-24
helicopters.76

Outside Europe, the only permanent major (peacetime) Soviet ground-force

deployment in an allied country was in Mongolia. There, the Red Army
deployed two tank and three motorized rifle divisions, 65,000 troops in all
(earlier there were 75,000) vis-à-vis China.77 These forces filled a gap in the
Sino-Soviet confrontation line amid a much larger overall Soviet deployment in
the Far Eastern theatre of some 53 regular divisions (seven tank, 45 motorized
rifle, one airborne), abetted by four artillery divisions and two air assault
brigades.
The Soviet Union’s other main external ground force was, of course, the
large army of some 118,000 troops engaged in combat in Afghanistan, which
included 10,000 Ministry of Internal Affairs (MVD) and Committee of State
Security (KGB) troops. That force remained, numerically speaking, at a fairly
constant level from the initiation of hostilities in 1979, to its conclusion in 1989.
There are several other locales where clusters of Soviet-bloc advisers and
military technicians were significant beyond the “norm” for standard military
missions. These were in Algeria (1000), Cuba (8000), Ethiopia (1500), Libya
(2000), North Yemen (500), South Yemen, (2500), Syria (4000) and Vietnam
(2500), with small numbers in India, Iraq, Cambodia, Laos, Mali, Mozambique,
Nicaragua and Peru. Each was a major recipient of Soviet arms. The much-
argued “Cuban brigade” – whether defined as a combat formation or as a collec-
tion of support troops – achieved some notoriety in 1979 when publicity over its
presence (and arguments about whether it represented a violation of agreements
made at the close of the 1962 Cuban Missile crisis) was important to the aborting
of the SALT II Treaty by opposition in the U.S. Senate. Soviet forces in Syria
were important in the wake of the latter’s debacle in the 1982 war with Israel –
they manned the some 48 long-range SA-5s which could have contested Israeli
air control even over the Mediterranean in the event of renewed hostilities.
Earlier, prior to 1972, there was a large force of Soviet troops – some 20,000 –
deployed in Egypt’s Suez Canal area, mostly to man air defense installations. In
1977–1978, some Soviet forces aided Ethiopia in its war against Somalia.

Soviet technical facilities abroad78

During the Cold War, the USSR made – relative to the U.S. – much less use of
foreign facilities for technical functions – communications, space-related, anti-
submarine warfare, nuclear detection etc. This was variously due to much
greater utilization of shipboard facilities; the larger (relative to the U.S.) Soviet
land mass in relation to the major focus of the superpower competition along the
Eurasian rim, which allowed many functions to be performed within the USSR;
138 Bases during the Cold War
the lesser number of aligned client states available to the Soviet Union in the
Third World; the practice of utilizing a larger numbers of satellites with shorter
lives; and the more open nature of Western societies which reduced the (rela-
tive) Soviet requirements for proliferated intelligence facilities.
The USSR had nothing, for instance, comparable to the U.S. SOSUS network
for tracking submarines, though there was a report in 1978 of a Soviet
hydrophone apparatus washed ashore in Iceland. The Soviets relied more on
surface ships and perhaps also submarines and aircraft-sown sonabuoys for
detection of U.S. submarines. It maintained about 50 auxiliary intelligence ships
for ASW work, which maintained a constant presence near important contin-
ental U.S. bases such as Charleston, South Carolina; Kings Bay, Georgia;
Norfolk, Virginia; Mayport, Florida; and Bangor, Washington; as well as at
Holy Loch, Scotland.
And, unlike the U.S., the USSR apparently made no use of external commu-
nications and/or navigation facilities in connection with submarines on patrol.
Several sources reported that communications with submarines stationed at great
distances from the USSR were handled by a network of some 26 VLF and LF
transmitters within the USSR itself, apparently sufficient to cover the patrol
areas of Soviet SSBNs and SSNs; in the former case, most were kept close to
home in the “bastions,” or on stations in the Atlantic or Pacific oceans within
range of the home communications stations. Ford referred to six long-range
radio transmitters (at Petropavlovsk, Vladivostok, Dikson Ostrov, Kaliningrad,
Matochin Shar and Arkhangelsk) that gave orders to Soviet submarines. In addi-
tion, Arkin and Fieldhouse reported a three-station network of “Omega-type”
VLF transmitters at Krasnodar, Komsomolsk and Rostov. They also detailed a
considerable number of LORAN-C type “Pulsed Phase Radio Navigation
System” stations, organized by chains along the western and eastern littorals of
the USSR, used to position submarines.
Soviet submarines apparently also received communications from satellites
during brief surfacing. And, one source indicated the possibility of Soviet use of
command and control submarines for relaying communications to other under-
seas craft within communications distance.
The Soviet global ground network of space-tracking and satellite control
facilities was, of course, far less extensive than that of the U.S. Again, this was a
function of the far more extensive use of ship-borne facilities as well as of the
lesser external needs dictated by the larger land mass of the USSR, particularly
in relation to many satellite orbits which allowed direct transmission to the
USSR.
At the core of the Soviet space-surveillance system was a network of at least
12 sites within the USSR claimed to be “equipped with receivers to measure
Doppler shifts in radio signals, tracking radars, and photo theodolites and which
transmit data to a central computation center.” Additionally, radars associated
with anti-ballistic missiles (ABM) – Pushkino, Hen House, Try Add and Dog
House – are said to have had space-tracking capabilities, along with the contro-
versial (in the context of ABM treaty verification) radar at Abalakova.
 Bases during the Cold War 139
Outside the USSR, there were a number of tracking stations in foreign coun-
tries. These were reported in Egypt (Helwan and Aswan) before the Egypto–
Soviet break, Mali, Guinea, Cuba and Chad, as well as in Czechoslovakia and
Poland. At Santiago de Cuba, for instance, there was an Interkosmos laser radar
and also a KIM-3 tracking camera, presumably functionally equivalent to the
U.S. Baker-Nunn or GEODSS systems. Perhaps overlapping this grouping, there
were reports of an Interkosmos laser tracking program (using a laser
rangefinder) involving facilities in Egypt, Bolivia, India and Cuba. It is believed
that tracking was carried out at Khartoum in the Sudan and Afgoi in Somalia.
But just because the Soviet Union was reluctant to become too dependent on
foreign land-based stations, it placed considerable emphasis upon shipborne
space-tracking (and also missile-tracking) systems. This involved more than ten
ships – a Soviet source noted that even despite the nation’s large land mass,
space vehicles were within direct visibility from Soviet territory only for about
nine hours out of 24.
In the field of communications too, the Soviet Union was far less dependent on
foreign land bases than the U.S.; correspondingly, far more reliant on ship-borne
systems (an exception, of course was the VLF facilities used to communicate with
submarines, perhaps too large to be placed aboard ships). As it is, however, rela-
tive to what was known about the U.S., there was scant information on how the
USSR utilized the whole of the frequency spectrum for various purposes, how it
tried to circumvent countermeasures by redundancy, and so forth.
For the most part, Soviet use of overseas communications facilities focused
on the downlinks for the Molniya communications satellites, of which there
were some 40 aloft at a given time.
A U.S. government report provided some information (and a map) on the
general locations of Soviet tracking ships and, hence, of the locales where they
might have sought port access or at least mooring buoys. Among them, off Sable
Island, Nova Scotia; in the western Mediterranean near Gibraltar; the Gulf of
Guinea; off Mozambique and Madagascar; off Honduras, east of the Philippines;
and north of New Zealand. Large tracking ships apparently moored at Havana
and/or Santiago while tracking some flights; Trinidad was also mentioned in this
context. Some of the other locations provided rationales for periodic access to
Conakry or Maputo, maybe also to Nicaragua, as well as providing further indi-
cations of the Soviet need for access somewhere in the South Pacific. (The U.S.
government report stated that three large Soviet ships took turns serving in the
Caribbean area to extend Soviet deep-space coverage.)
The USSR depended considerably less on land-based SIGINT collection sta-
tions than the U.S., though, it utilized a variety of means; satellites, surface ships
and submarines, aircraft, equipment based in embassies and so on. And again,
similar to the situation with respect to space tracking and early warning, one had
to be aware of the sometimes only indirect importance of external access; for
instance, for fueling ships used in lieu of land facilities.
The USSR was reported to have had major SIGINT facilities at Lourdes,
Cuba; Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam; Ethiopia (two); South Yemen; Syria; and
140 Bases during the Cold War
Afghanistan. That at Lourdes was reported to be devoted to interpretation of
satellite communications. There may have been additional ground stations in
Libya and Iraq, though the fate of the latter might be questioned since Moscow
had given only modest support to Iraq in its war with Iran, particularly in the
early stages, in part because of the cross-pressures from its relationship with
Libya.
The Lourdes facility was a large one, operated by some 2000 Soviet person-
nel; it became a prominent issue in 1979 at the time of the imbroglio in the U.S.
over the Soviet “Cuban brigade” amid the SALT II confirmation hearings. The
facility of 50 buildings housed an antenna field, satellite receiver and so on, and
targeted U.S. civilian and military communications, that is, B-52 communica-
tions, Fort Benning and Cape Canaveral, the naval headquarters at Norfolk, etc.
According to Richelson, the Lourdes facility, complemented by a similar one in
the USSR, “gave complete coverage of the global beams of all U.S. geosynchro-
nous communications satellites.”
At Cam Ranh Bay, the Soviet Union had an important facility from which to
monitor both land and ocean-based emissions – there were two HF/DF sites used
to gain locational data on U.S. fleet units in the Pacific. The U.S. bases in the
Philippines were obvious targets.
The four sites in Afghanistan aided collection, variously, vis-à-vis China,
Pakistan, Iran and the Persian Gulf area. And, of course, these sites
merely added to the capabilities of hundreds of SIGINT sites located within the
USSR.
The Soviet Union had some other land-based intelligence-interception facili-
ties located outside the USSR. In Laos, there was an air-surveillance radar, obvi-
ously directed against China. According to the IISS, there was a Soviet
monitoring station (elsewhere identified as a radar site) in Sao Tome and
Principe. In Cuba, along with the Lourdes facility, there were also air-defense
surveillance radars, the Tall King system, apparently operated by Soviet person-
nel. In East Germany, there were HF-finding antennas used in connection with
jamming operations, in Poland, a SIGINT station and HF direction-finder at
Sinajscie, and at Bierdzany a receiver site for a Soviet OTH radar transmitter
located at Kiev. Throughout Eastern Europe, there were large numbers of air-
surveillance radars equivalent to the NATO NADGE system – in Hungary, for
instance, some 130 sites manned by Soviet personnel were reported.
The Soviet AGIs had near global patrolling areas. There was a concentrated
effort to monitor off the southeastern coast of the U.S. (where U.S. surface and
submarine units were concentrated), in the English Channel, the Norwegian Sea
and off Holy Loch. In the Indian Ocean and Mediterranean Sea, Western naval
movements were monitored, particularly near the straits of Gibraltar, Hormuz
and Bab El Mandeb, and the Suez Canal. In the Pacific Ocean, there was corre-
sponding emphasis off the coasts of China, Japan, Guam and in the waters
around Vietnam.
The dependence of these “spy ships” on provisioning from foreign ports was
difficult to gauge, but must certainly have been considerable. As noted by one
 Bases during the Cold War 141
source, the Soviet Union had chosen “not to build an auxiliary fleet of the size
necessary to reduce out-of-area base support to a manageable minimum . . . Ship
designs, both for ease of maintenance and for reasons of habitability, still are
notoriously poor . . . Unlike U.S. ships, most Soviet ships cannot distill enough
fresh water and are dependent upon water tankers.”
This situation necessitated frequent operational port visits by auxiliaries to
take on food and fresh water, which were then transferred to combatants, pre-
sumably also AGIs, at roadsteads or at sea. This presumably further directed
attention to the main Soviet basing hosts and clients – Cuba, Angola, Syria,
Vietnam, South Yemen etc. – as critical to fueling and otherwise provisioning
the Soviet Union’s global AGI effort.

Soviet forward-based missiles79

By the mid-1980s, of course, both the U.S./NATO and the USSR deployed large
numbers of externally based, nuclear-armed missiles in Europe, constituting a
massive and critical forward presence. Centrally, this involved Soviet deploy-
ment of short-range theater weapons and tactical weapons in Eastern Europe
(SS-12/22s, SS-23s and SS-7 “Frogs”) and a countervailing U.S. deployment of
Pershings, cruise missiles and Lance battlefield weapons.
The Soviet SS-20 theater missiles which were at the center of the INF negoti-
ations were first deployed in 1977. These missiles, carrying three nuclear war-
heads with ranges of 3400 miles (5000 km), were phased in to replace the older
SS-4s. The latter were first deployed in 1959, with a single warhead platform
and a range of 1120 miles.
By 1987, it was typically reported that over 300 SS-20s were deployed
against NATO west of the Ural Mountains, with another 100 or so in Soviet
Asia, for a total of 441. None of these were based outside the USSR (nor were
any of the 112 reported SS-4s which were still deployed in the western USSR).
They were based in several fields in the western Soviet Union and near the
Caspian Sea. The SS-20s threatened the entirety of NATO-Europe with their
5000-km ranges, as well as many other important targets – the Azores, Green-
land, Philippines, Guam, Okinawa, etc.

Other nations’ external basing: Britain and France80

Somewhat in the face of historical nostrums associated with Mahan and others,
it is apparent that the Cold War competition – if that is what it was – for over-
seas naval access was largely a two-nation game. In that sense at least, bipolarity
unquestionably reigned. There were, nonetheless, a few not altogether insignifi-
cant instances of naval basing retained by – or recently acquired by – some other
nations: France, Britain, Australia, the Netherlands and maybe others. Of course,
almost all navies conduct periodic port visits abroad, variously involving “pres-
ence,” solidification of political friendships, broadening of horizons for naval
personnel, and so on.
142 Bases during the Cold War
France had the most significant external naval presence besides the super-
powers, most notably represented by its Indian Ocean Flotilla (Alindien) of five
frigates, three minor combatants, two amphibious and four support ships (also a
small naval marine detachment). That force was deployed out of Djibouti (hence
was within combat range of the Persian Gulf), also making extensive use of
bases at Reunion and Mayotte (Mozambique Channel), both French overseas
possessions (earlier, up to 1973, France had extensive access to Diego Suarez in
Madagascar). There was also a significant naval presence in the Pacific: five
frigates, five minor combatants, seven amphibious and 12 support ships. That
force operated out of Noumea, New Caledonia and also patrolled via Tahiti
(Papeete), Muroroa and other French dependencies in the southwest Pacific.
Two small ships were also normally rotated about between the Antilles (Port
Lewis, Guadeloupe) and Guyana. The French Navy also made extensive use of a
number of other ports, mostly in closely aligned African nations: most notably
Dakar (Senegal), Abidjan (Ivory Coast) and Libreville (Gabon). During the
events of 1987, France’s access to Djibouti allowed for a significant naval pres-
ence in the Gulf of Oman, outside the Straits of Hormuz. That presence was
reported as consisting of three minesweepers, three escorts, one anti-submarine
ship, the aircraft carrier Clemenceau and two frigates.
Great Britain’s once near astonishing network of overseas naval bases and
access had by 1985 dwindled to a very small remnant, aside from still extensive
routine port calls by the Royal Navy. Small naval forces were still permanently
deployed in Belize, Gibraltar and Hong Kong. A relatively large force, including
an ASW carrier, an SSN and several escorts and auxiliaries remained in the
Falklands in the wake of that (not wholly resolved) dispute. A small naval
detachment (one or two destroyers or frigates and a couple of support ships)
moved about the Indian Ocean, making use of Diego Garcia, Singapore, Perth
and so on, and had quietly been used to escort ships in the Persian Gulf. That
presence, which apparently utilized access to Bahrain, was reported in 1987 to
consist of two warships, one fleet tanker, four minesweepers and a supply ship.
Otherwise, within NATO, only the Netherlands permanently deployed a tiny
naval presence outside Europe – the Dutch retained a small presence at Curacao
in the Caribbean. (Spain was reported to have established a small “fishing” pres-
ence in Equatorial Guinea after the expansion of the Soviet Navy from Luba.)
As in so many other ways, the matter of external basing of aircraft remained
during the Cold War primarily a two-nation game, reflective of the tenacious
hold of bipolarity which had characterized global basing networks in the post-
colonial era. Earlier, of course, the primary colonial powers – Britain, France,
Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain – all had had extensive networks of air
bases closely associated with colonial garrisons and with colonial rivalries
among the European powers themselves. In the 15–20 years after 1945, these
assets gradually dwindled, and in the process the number of bases available to
the U.S. and, more generally, to the Atlantic alliance contracted. But there were
still some remnants, and in the case of France at least, even the hint of a slight
expansion of an overseas air power presence.
 Bases during the Cold War 143
Of course, there was some intra-NATO alliance forward basing of aircraft in
West Germany; again, associated for obvious reasons with land-force deploy-
ments and, indeed, located immediately to the rear, westward of those forces.
The British Army of the Rhine was backed up by significant forward Royal Air
Force (RAF) deployments, involving 12 aircraft and two helicopter squadrons,
six deploying nuclear-capable Tornado strike aircraft (co-developed in a consor-
tium with the FRG and Italy), one of Jaguar reconnaissance aircraft and two of
Phantom fighters; also among these were two squadrons of Harrier jump jets
(nuclear-capable) and one of Pembroke communications aircraft. These aircraft
were stationed at several main air bases in northern Germany: Laarbruch,
Bruggen, Wildenrath and Gutersloh. Canada’s contribution, further south in
Baden Wurtemberg, consisted of forward deployment of three squadrons of 36
CF-18s at a base at Baden Sollingen, supported by liaison aircraft and 2700 per-
sonnel. In addition, the West German Luftwaffe had training and some support
facilities in Portugal, the U.S., the U.K. and Canada, and had permanently based
18 Alpha jets at Beja in Portugal, mostly in connection with training activities.
Elsewhere, overseas, some remnants of what obviously once was a much
larger RAF presence remained. There were some aircraft or helicopters perman-
ently stationed at the Falkland Islands, Ascension, Belize, Brunei, Cyprus,
Gibraltar and Hong Kong. Of these, the RAF maintained only helicopters and/or
utility aircraft in Brunei, Cyprus (Akrotiri) and Hong Kong, though Phantoms
and Lightning fighters were sometimes deployed to Cyprus. There were appar-
ently Victor bomber and Hercules C-18 tanker detachments on Ascension, in the
late 1980s, no doubt to provide the wherewithal for another logistics operation
to the Falklands, if that should have been necessary. There was a helicopter
squadron at Hong Kong, as the latter’s reversion to China loomed. In Belize, a
lingering point of tension in connection with Guatemalan irredentist aims, the
supporting British force included four Harriers and also four Puma and four
Gazelle helicopters. Gibraltar still saw occasional deployments of Jaguar fighter
aircraft. In the Falklands themselves, the U.K. – to deter another invasion which
could have seen an enhanced Argentinian air assault – maintained on station a
full squadron of nine Phantoms and Harrier vertical take-off and landing
(VTOL) aircraft, Hercules tactical transports and several Sea King and Chinook
helicopter detachments. This was almost, quixotically, the largest RAF presence
outside of Europe. Overall, the RAF had some 17,000 personnel stationed
abroad.
The U.K. also deployed some ASW aircraft at overseas bases, supplementing
the near-global presence of the large U.S. force of P-3C Orions. The British
equivalent was the nuclear-capable Nimrod MR2 aircraft. These were periodi-
cally deployed at Wideawake Airfield on Ascension; Kindley Naval Air Station,
Bermuda; Akrotiri, Cyprus; Stanley Airfield in the Falklands; Gibraltar;
Keflavik, Iceland; Sigonella, Sicily and perhaps also Konya Air Base, Turkey.
The French Air Force, again in direct association with army detachments,
maintained a fairly significant presence in several African states. These forces
had been directly engaged in some local wars where, even in small numbers,
144 Bases during the Cold War
they could be decisive or at least telling because of an absence of counter-
weights, at least so long as Soviet or Cuban pilots were not directly engaged. At
minimum, they acted as tripwire deterrents – for several Francophone regimes –
against local aggression or external involvement.
The main points of deployment were in Djibouti, the Central African Repub-
lic, Chad, Gabon, the Ivory Coast and Senegal. Jaguar fighter-bombers (co-
developed with the U.K.) were deployed in the Central African Republic, Chad
and Gabon; Mirage F-1C aircraft were also deployed to Chad. Djibouti had a
squadron of ten Mirage IIIs. Alouette and Puma helicopter were stationed in all
of these countries, in the Ivory Coast they constituted the only French Air Force
presence. There were C-160 Noratlas transport aircraft deployed to the Central
African Republic, Chad, Djibouti, Gabon and Senegal. In the latter case, France
had based at Dakar and also at Djibouti Breguet Atlantique maritime-
surveillance aircraft in areas not far from frequent Soviet naval deployments in
West Africa and the Indian Ocean. The Noratlases provided for speedy move-
ment of French or other surrogate forces in case of crisis or conflict.
Aircraft based in Chad were earlier military engaged, as were those based in
Senegal, which flew missions on behalf of Mauritania and Morocco earlier on
during the Western Sahara war. Outside of Africa, France had no permanently
stationed combat aircraft, though helicopters and utility aircraft were deployed
in Martinique, Guadeloupe, French Polynesia, Reunion and the Mozambique
Channel Islands.
Otherwise, one can point merely to a few scattered external deployments of
aircraft represented by still other members of the Western alliance. The Nether-
lands had deployed some P-3Cs through Keflavik, Iceland and through British
air bases at St. Mawgan and Machrihanish. Australia had kept two squadrons of
Mirages in Malaysia as its contribution to the defense of Southeast Asia. New
Zealand up to 1982 had also had a small air presence in Singapore.
Concerning technical facilities, the U.K., which deployed SSBNs and SSNs
in the eastern Atlantic, had LF transmitters at Bermuda and Gibraltar; the latter
was capable of reaching across the Mediterranean to the Indian Ocean (until
1976 the U.K. had naval communications facilities at Mauritius and Singapore,
when it also still maintained a naval presence east of Suez). It had another at
Port Stanley in the Falklands, which would obviously have been of value in case
of resumption of hostilities in that area. It also deployed an RAF/UKADGE
early-warning radar at Sornfelli in the Danish-controlled Faeroe Islands.
Britain also fielded some additional, scattered C3I assets overseas. It had a
major SIGINT site on Cyprus at Pergamos/Dhekelia. Elsewhere, on Cyprus, the
U.K. had a troposcatter communications relay, a Skynet satellite-communications
terminal and an OTH radar in the Troodos Mountains capable of monitoring
missile tests within the USSR. There were reported Government Communica-
tions Headquarters (GCHQ) SIGINT stations on Ascension (Two Boats) and St.
Helena islands; also at Darwin, Australia (earlier, there were others in Botswana,
Aden, Bahrain, Malta, Mauritius, Singapore and on Oman’s Masirah Island).
There was a COMINT and HF/DF facility at Gibraltar. Two other SIGINT
 Bases during the Cold War 145
stations were located at Hong Kong, a major one at Diepholz in West Germany,
along with other signals units at Teufelsberg, Jever, Celle, Dornenberg and Gor-
leben. A former U.S.-run nuclear-detection site at Pearce, Australia was oper-
ated by the British Atomic Energy Authority. Earlier, there was a
communications relay facility on Mauritius.
Britain also contributed to the overall Western intelligence effort via some
jointly operated facilities. In conjunction with Australia, it operated an ocean-
surveillance radar at Hong Kong, once directed against the People’s Republic of
China, used to monitor Soviet fleet movements in the SLOCs between Siberia
and Vietnam. (Australia and New Zealand jointly operated a similar facility at
Singapore.) The U.S. and U.K. jointly operated such a facility at Diego Garcia.
These and other such facilities – an Australian installation at Darwin, U.S.-
operated bases at Edzell, Scotland and Brawdy, Wales, constituted a global
system codenamed Bullseye for direction-finding interception of ships at sea.
These and related activities were discussed by Richelson and Ball in the context
of the multilateral U.K./U.S. arrangement entered into by the U.S., U.K.,
Canada, Australia and New Zealand in 1947 in the aftermath of World War II.

Summary – Cold War basing patterns

The 45-year long Cold War presented in some cases patterns that were reminis-
cent of previous periods, but others that were entirely new, pertaining both to
politics and technologies.
Reminiscent of the past was the geopolitical heartland/rimland structure of a
bipolar struggle. The U.S. rimland basing structure, increasingly leapfrogged as
the period progressed, was similar by degree with the earlier Portuguese, Dutch
and British basing networks, calling to mind Thompson’s thesis about system
leader lineage patterns.
But, the ideological nature of the bipolar conflict (earlier, only the religious
divide between Islam and Christianity provides a partial analog) resulted in
fairly stable alliance and alignment/clientship patterns over several decades.
That translated also into stable, long-term basing relationships between sover-
eign states that had no discernible historical precedent.
The basis for basing in this period was also historically unique, increasingly so
as the period progressed. As previous imperial control over much of the world by
the European powers collapsed, so too collapsed basing access networks based on
that imperial control. In its place, both the U.S. and USSR, largely previously
bereft of overseas empires, acquired and maintained access to bases largely via a
combination of the provision of security to regional states against the rival super-
power and its regional clients and with that, the provision of security assistance in
the form of arms transfers, training, economic assistance etc.
During the Cold War period, the proliferation of new types of basing access
was driven by rapid and profound technological change. Up to the interwar
period, the story for bases had mostly to do with surface naval bases and related
“forts” or ground force deployments utilized mostly for colonial control. By the
146 Bases during the Cold War
1930s, air bases and those for submarines had become important, so too some
initial “technical facilities,” such as those for communications and communica-
tions intercepts, early-on radars, terminals for underwater communications
cables etc. But later in the Cold War, particularly paced by developments in
satellites, there was developed a whole range of new basing requirements:
various form of communications, satellite downlinks and control stations, satel-
lite surveillance, sonar submarine tracking networks, early warning for ballistic
missile attacks, elaborate networks of radars, nuclear detection facilities and
many more. Technologically speaking, military operations and the bases that
support them had moved into several dimensions and the relations between
them, i.e., naval and land surfaces, the underseas, the airspace and outer space.
That is, there were many, many new types of bases in addition to traditional
naval bases and army installations.
Early on in the Cold War, the U.S. and Soviet basing networks tended to be
separate and demarcated, but also rivalrous. As the Soviets leapfrogged the
rimland alliance structure set up by the U.S. in the 1950s – Syria, Egypt, Libya,
Algeria, China, Guinea, Angola, Mozambique, Ethiopia, South Yemen, India,
Cuba, Vietnam – the rival basing points came more to be cheek-by-jowl, inter-
penetrated. Scenarios for “protracted conventional phase” warfare came to dwell
on possible rival efforts to “pick off” the enemy’s bases and, hence, to tilt the
balance of power in global conflict. But, that never came to pass, in part because
the dangers of escalation of conflict to the nuclear level precluded a more
modern version of conflict “beyond the line,” i.e., outside Europe, that was an
earlier tradition. The two superpowers eyed each others’ bases, engaged in a
cold war of nerves, but never directly attacked their rivals’ bases.
7 After the Cold War
Basing in a unipolar system

In the period 1989–1991, the Cold War came to a somewhat sudden and unex-
pected end and, with it, the bipolar U.S.–USSR global competition for bases also
ended. The Soviet external basing structure – Cuba, Vietnam, Syria, Angola,
Mozambique, Algeria, Guinea, Ethiopia, Mongolia et al. – collapsed almost
completely, leaving small remnants only in Georgia and Kyrghizstan. British
and French overseas access had already been diminished in consonance with the
withering of remnant colonial assets, leaving islands such as Ascension and
Diego Garcia in the former case, and a few places in Africa such as Djibouti in
the latter. What remained in a system now perhaps to be characterized as largely
unipolar, was a still very extensive if a bit reduced and modified U.S. basing
structure, leaving the U.S. to appear as a virtual colossus with an unrivalled and
unparalleled structure of global access, now added to by bases in Eastern Europe
and former Soviet “socialist republics” in Central Asia.1
Technological change, meanwhile, proceeded apace, to some extent reducing
U.S. overseas basing requirements as longer ranges for aircraft and expanded
functions for satellites became realities. Meanwhile, the lesser perceived require-
ments for U.S.-provided security, absent the Soviet threat, led some nations to
curtail U.S. access, a situation perhaps abetted by the events following 9/11.
That in turn led to the beginnings of serious attention to sea basing and CONUS-
basing, as U.S. planners, looking at newer possible scenarios, began to worry
about other nations’ decoupling from the U.S. security orbit. By 2005, all of the
above was enmeshed in the newer world of threats from WMD, terrorism,
Islamic radicalism and the rise of “hegemonic China.”

The collapse of the Soviet basing structure, rise of China

As a wholly odd and unexpected event, the Soviet Union’s basing structure
totally collapsed as the once powerful bipolar hegemon itself dissolved in the
period 1989–1991. In a short period of time, Soviet air and naval bases in such
disparate client states and allies as Cuba, Vietnam, Cambodia, South Yemen,
Syria, Angola, Guinea, Ethiopia and Mozambique, and all of the Warsaw Pact
countries including Mongolia, vanished, as did Soviet naval access to other
countries heretofore somewhat aligned with Moscow, i.e., India, Algeria,
148 After the Cold War
Congo-Brazzaville, Ethiopia and others. In the absence of actual warfare or the
“system leader lineage” effect, this was historically unprecedented, save perhaps
the earlier partial analogy of Ming China, whose leadership, still intact in China
itself, gave up its naval expeditions to, and access to, ports in and around the
Indian Ocean. Simultaneously, Soviet (now Russian) arms transfers and security
assistance to most former basing hosts largely dried up, with some exceptions in
Syria, India, perhaps Angola.
By the early twenty-first century, Russian external basing access was retained
only in Georgia, Kyrghizstan and Tajikistan.2 In the former, remnant Russian
access had to do with support to separatists in Abkhazia and the pursuit of
Islamic extremists harbored in Georgia. As of 2001, there were 5000 Russian
ground troops plus an air regiment with cargo planes and helicopters in Georgia,
and another 3000 troops serving with peacekeeping units in Abkhazia and South
Ossetia.3 In Armenia there were 3000 ground troops and an air defense squadron
with 14 MIG-29s, and a battery of air defense missiles. In Kyrghizstan, in an
odd twist, Russian permission for its ex-socialist republic to host U.S. bases
after 9/11 in proximity to Afghanistan was followed by re-establishment of
Russian bases to balance what became unwanted (for the Russians) U.S. access.4
There, Russian officers command Kyrghiz border guard troops. And in nearby
Tajikistan, there were 8200 ground troops and Russian officers commanding the
14,500 strong frontier forces. Whether an increasingly resurgent Russia would
seek bases elsewhere in its former empire, perhaps to be greased by security
assistance or the leverage of oil and gas supplies, remains to be seen.
Finally, in 2001, the Russians still occupied ABM radar stations in Azerbai-
jan and Kazakhstan (Balkhash), and an air defense missile test range in the latter
at Emba.

China – an incipient basing structure for a rising

superpower?
By 2005, the press and journals were full of projections about the inevitable rise
of China as a hegemonic bipolar rival to the U.S. (or, as one leg of an incipient
tripolar system with the EU as third leg).5 Those projections were underpinned
by extrapolated GDP data that predicted, at some point around say 2040, the
Chinese GDP would exceed that of the U.S. And, as China’s industrial machine
gathered steam, and as the usage of oil grew immensely in consonance with a
huge increase in automobile ownership, the press was likewise full of articles
detailing China’s growing thirst for oil and non-fuel mineral imports, particu-
larly in a variety of African nations.6 Military might was expected inevitably to
match growing economic power. And, that raised the question of future Chinese
external basing, perhaps particularly around the Indian Ocean and in proximity
to the Persian Gulf, as the prospect of heightened competition for resources
loomed.
So far, by 2006, little had occurred, but China was beginning to move
towards the Persian Gulf. There had been reports of Chinese technical facilities
 After the Cold War 149
in the Coco Islands, off the coast of Myanmar (an arms recipient of China),
deemed likely referenced to the Indian naval presence in the Bay of Bengal and
naval base at Port Blair. And, there was Chinese economic activity at Gwadar, a
Pakistani port west of Karachi once of U.S. concern in relation to the USSR, and
the deepening of a harbor in Bangladesh. Apparently this involved development
of a deep water port that could accommodate large ships.
And, there were hints of increasing security ties with Saudi Arabia, whose oil
resources were prized by China. For the future, who knows? Much would
depend on the extent China decided to proceed with a long-range blue water
navy in line with its overall growth in power.7

Other powers’ external basing

With the U.S. all alone as a possessor of a truly global presence, and China’s
future in this respect unclear, Britain and France continued to maintain some
limited basing assets outside of Europe, in the former case also made available
to the U.S. But, with the EU’s growing power and cohesion, and its evident
ambition to play a larger role on the world’s stage, maybe even to become a stra-
tegic rival to the U.S., there looms the inevitable question of enhanced basing
access in consonance with growing economic and political might. Stated another
way, there is the question of whether the limited but still significant basing
assets now maintained by the U.K. and France, all of them remnants of the
earlier extensive empires, could form the nucleus of what might be an expanded
global system of access for a future EU.
By 2006, Britain, outside of Europe, maintained a presence in its own posses-
sions, mainly islands, in Gibraltar, Ascension, the Falklands and Diego Garcia.
Gibraltar, usable as an air and naval base, contained small detachments from all
of the services.8 Ascension, earlier used to base Vulcan bombers in 1982 for
bombing raids on the Falklands, has only a small RAF detachment, and is also
available for the USAF. A frigate or destroyer are based at Diego alongside a
larger U.S. naval presence. In the Falklands, a destroyer or frigate and RAF Tor-
nadoes, Hercules, and a VC-10 tanker are permanently based for deterrence pur-
poses vis-à-vis Argentina. Another destroyer moves back and forth between the
West Indies and West Africa. Small army detachments are based in Afghanistan,
Belize, Kenya, Kuwait, Nepal (to train Gurkhas), Oman, and Sierra Leone; a
larger force of two infantry battalions, helicopters and an engineering group are
on Cyprus. There are nearly 10,000 troops in Iraq, 22,000 in Germany including
an armored division, and smaller RAF detachments in Belgium and the Nether-
lands; also some 1120 troops in Brunei, mostly Gurkhas. These deployments
have not changed much over the past decade, save a reduction of forces in
Germany and removal of forces and bases in Hong Kong.
France had a smaller overseas empire than Britain, but has retained a perhaps
more significant basing presence in former colonies: the Antilles, French
Guyana, Chad, Ivory Coast, Djibouti, Gabon and Senegal.9 Mirage fighter air-
craft are based in Djibouti and Chad, along with regiments of army forces, while
150 After the Cold War
Gabon, Ivory Coast and Senegal have small army units plus helicopter and
reconnaissance aircraft. Several of these countries, i.e., Djibouti, Chad and
Senegal, are now also providing forms of access to the U.S. in relation to anti-
terrorist operations. Air, naval and army units are also based in Martinique,
French Guyana, New Caledonia, Tahiti, La Reunion and Mayotte, all overseas
French possessions, with Reunion supporting an Indian Ocean Squadron. Some
3200 troops remain in Germany, including elements of the Franco-German
Eurocorps. Overall, the French overseas presence, like that of the British, has
remained quite stable in the post-Cold War period, excepting the loss of an
earlier significant army presence in the Central African Republic. Again, all in
all, the combined French and British basing assets comprise what could be the
core of an expanded EU basing network of the future.
Of course, the future could see a resumption of Western solidarity and, hence
the continued availability of British and French assets for the U.S. or NATO.
The U.S. now uses Diego Garcia and Ascension, and has access in Djibouti and
Senegal alongside the French military. An expanded U.S. presence in Africa
could result in more of the latter.

The unipolar U.S. Empire post-Cold War

After the 1989–1991 gradual ending of the Cold War and the dissolution of the
Soviet Union, the U.S. was left as a global colossus with a global reach, featur-
ing an extensive basing structure. To be sure, some points of access were lost or
abandoned due to the new international situation, just as others were gained. The
following major trends were in evidence between 1990 and 2006, also spanning
the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq in 2001 and 2003.

• A loss or reduction of the U.S. basing network after the Cold War in Spain,
Greece, Turkey, the Philippines and elsewhere in Europe.
• The drawing down of air, naval and ISR assets all around the European
rimland that, hitherto, had been directed against the USSR, if only for deter-
rence purposes.
• An elaboration of the U.S. basing network in and around the Persian Gulf,
both before and after Desert Storm.
• Acquisition of important new bases in Eastern Europe and Central Asia, in
the latter case in connection with Operation Enduring Freedom in
Afghanistan.
• A new geopolitical configuration of global presence in relation to the “arc of
crisis” in the Greater Middle East (North Africa, core Middle East, Central
Asia, South Asia, Horn of Africa), accelerated after 2001.
• A newer emphasis on basing in relation to terrorism and WMD prolifera-
tion, focused on Africa as well as the Greater Middle East.
 After the Cold War 151
Loss of access, post-Cold War
Though the trend began towards the end of the Cold War, the phased end of that
conflict saw the curtailing of U.S. access in some places, again because of the
re-assertion of sovereignty and dignity on the part of some erstwhile U.S. allies,
and perceptions of the lesser need for the U.S. deterrent umbrella vis-à-vis the
USSR, now Russia in truncated form. As it happens, there had been losses of
access in some places before the end of the Cold War in relation to the vicissi-
tudes of domestic politics; in Thailand, Iran (after 1979), Greece (accession of
left-wing regime) and in Spain, from which access for U.S. combat aircraft was
transferred to Italy. And in other places – Japan, Australia, the Philippines,
Turkey, the U.K., Iceland – the extent of U.S. access became a political issue
even before the end of the Cold War. After the end of the Cold War, most
importantly, the Philippines, ever-conscious of its earlier colonial tutelage,
forced the U.S. to abandon its major bases at Subic Bay and Clark Air Force
Base (in the former case occasioning a major U.S. diplomatic effort to find a
replacement, eventuating in far greater use of a naval facility in Singapore).
But, of course, the end of the Cold War automatically reduced the need for a
U.S. basing presence all around the Eurasian rim directed now at a truncated but
less hostile USSR/Russia.10 This was particularly the case with regards to
nuclear weapons. All ground-based tactical nuclear weapons were removed by
arms control agreements on both sides of the former Cold War forward line of
troops (FLOT). The number of U.S. air bases in Germany, the Netherlands,
Belgium etc. (also contingency bases in Denmark) and their associated perman-
ently stationed aircraft was reduced. Nuclear-armed F111Es stationed in the
U.K. were removed. Long kept under wraps, the nuclear weapons storage sites
in Iceland were also presumably removed. And, over the course of the 1990s
and beyond, the U.S. land-force presence in Germany, once involving more than
300,000 troops, was cut by more than two-thirds.11 Likewise, various ISR facili-
ties were eliminated, for instance, a variety of technical facilities in Turkey, and
the SOSUS facilities in Iceland, the U.K., Turkey, Italy etc. And also, the
“boomers,” i.e., SSBNs, were withdrawn from Holy Loch as the U.S. came to
rely entirely on SSBN bases in Georgia (U.S.) and the state of Washington.
Somewhat paradoxically, and just as the Cold War was drawing to an end
with the aborted coup in Russia, the dissolution of the USSR and the devolve-
ment of its component parts, there was the almost open-ended use of facilities
and overhead airspace utilized by the U.S. (and its allies) for the conduct of the
1990–1991 Gulf War.12 For Desert Shield/Desert Storm, backed by a UN
collective security mandate, and with the crucial political support of endangered
Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, and other Gulf Cooperation Council states, and Egypt,
the U.S. was denied needed or requested access almost nowhere, the minor
exceptions being Jordan and Yemen, which backed Iraq during the crisis. There
was some internal political opposition to U.S. air staging rights provided by
Thailand and India (the latter then still in a somewhat frigid political relationship
with the U.S., only later altered in the Bush-43 administration). Full use of
152 After the Cold War
tactical air bases, air command and control centers, tanker bases and overhead
air space was provided by nearby Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Oman, Qatar and
Egypt; en route access by Morocco, Kenya, all of the “old” European states, all
of the “new” European states, and even Russia. Large combat units, division-
sized, were moved from Germany to the theater of war. Prepositioned matériel
in Diego Garcia and the GCC states was married to troops coming from Europe
and the continental U.S. (CONUS). U.S. fleet units were availed of basing
access in the Mediterranean and in various places in the northwest Indian Ocean
as well as transit through the Suez Canal. It was, for the U.S., a halcyon moment
as pertains to permissiveness of U.S. basing access, a part of what was involved
in attributions of “hyperpower” and “empire of bases.”
In the aftermath of the Gulf War and through the Clinton Administration, the
U.S. continued, in less demanding circumstances, to have nearly full freedom of
access to needed bases. In the Bosnia and Kosovo crises, in both cases where
U.S. and European NATO allies’ policies were mostly coordinated and in synch,
the U.S. made extensive use of facilities in Italy and Germany, in the former
case flying a lot of missions out of the air base at Aviano. And, by this time,
former Soviet bloc countries in Eastern Europe, now incipient candidates for
admission to NATO, were glad to help out. Hungary provided valuable access
for forces and logistics engaged in the Bosnian conflict and its fragile aftermath.
Albania, long divorced even from the Warsaw Pact and tied to China during the
Hoxha regime, provided land and air access for U.S. forces during the Kosovo
imbroglio. U.S. forces were able to operate within Macedonia as well in peace-
keeping operations. During this long and still relatively uneventful period pre-
ceding 9/11, the U.S. drew down its forces and base structure in Europe
retaining, however, what was essential. In Asia, with a possible hegemonic
rivalry with China looming and the situation in Korea still unresolved, the U.S.
retained most of its earlier force deployments and basing structure in South
Korea and Japan, also in Australia, and beefed up its presence in Guam and its
access to a naval base in Singapore.
Then came 9/11 and, subsequently, the requirements for access to conduct a
major military operation in Afghanistan. And by this time, the rise of radical
Islamic political currents throughout the Middle East rendered U.S. access
somewhat less assured than had been the case in 1990, in some places at least.
For instance, the U.S. had been denied use of some Saudi facilities and also the
use of Saudi airspace for Tomahawk missiles’ overflights for some of the spor-
adic retaliation raids against Iraq during the Clinton years. And, the USAF
control and communications center near Riyadh had had to be moved to Qatar,
all of this because of mounting pressures on the Saudi ruling elites by Islamic
fundamentalists unhappy with the U.S. presence in the kingdom.
During Operation Enduring Freedom the U.S. had crucial use of air and other
bases in Qatar, the UAE and Oman – the three air bases in the latter were used to
mount many air strikes to Afghanistan.13 B-2 bombers based at Whiteman AFB
in Missouri flew long-range bombing missions to and from Afghanistan, availed
of refueling in Diego Garcia.14 In a startling new development, former Soviet
 After the Cold War 153
socialist republics Kyrghizstan, Uzbekistan and Tadzhikistan provided bases for
U.S. aircraft and helicopters, with a green light given reluctantly by Moscow. For
these operations, the USAF utilized 55 KC-10 tankers and 550 smaller KC-135s
(the Marines have 75 KC-130s and the Navy 110 carrier-based S-3Bs).15 Pakistan,
under U.S. pressure because of its previous support of the Taliban regime, and
fearing a U.S. green light for an Indian invasion aimed at its nuclear facilities,
allowed for overflights of U.S. aircraft, including carrier planes, and for heliborne
and special forces operations mounted from Pakistani territory. Finally, never pub-
licly revealed, numerous nations – for instance in Eastern Europe, Turkey, the
Caucasus – clearly allowed U.S. overflights en route to Afghanistan. That much
may be inferred from a glance at the map. The sole seeming problem, perhaps a
harbinger of the future, appeared to be with Saudi Arabia.
For Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) in 2003, and in its long and still unre-
solved aftermath, the U.S. had fully adequate, but in some cases limited, basing
access. Bases throughout “Old Europe” and “New Europe” were available,
including the crucial Ramstein AFB and the nearby military hospital in Land-
stuhl in Germany. The U.K., Italy and Spain, all in 2003 under the control of
political forces friendly to the Bush-43 Administration, were all helpful to the
military operations. Indeed, despite the hostility to OIF on the part of large seg-
ments of the publics and political elites in “Old Europe,” about the only restric-
tion on U.S. overflights, itself irrelevant, was imposed by Switzerland. “New
Europe” was fully permissive of U.S. access, with Romania, Bulgaria etc. pro-
viding air transit access. That was likewise the case for Australia, Diego Garcia
(U.K.), Djibouti and all of the Gulf Cooperation Council states, with Kuwait
acting as a launching pad for the bulk of ground operations.
However, Saudi Arabia was not very important to OIF, the USAF having
moved its command and control operations to Qatar and being availed of access
to air bases for tactical aircraft and tankers in Kuwait, Qatar, the UAE and
Oman. Egypt was cited in the open press as restrictive of access (the Egyptian
public was hostile to the purposes of OIF), but in a quiet way, air staging, transit
of the Suez canal and use of a military hospital closer to Iraq than Landstuhl,
were all provided by this major recipient of U.S. security assistance. Meanwhile,
Jordan, closed to U.S. access in 1990–1991 as the Kingdom was afraid to
identify with the U.S. because of its majority Palestinian population, allowed for
U.S. Special Forces operations to be mounted from within its borders to the
western Iraqi desert before and during OIF.
The main problem for the U.S. was Turkey, long a staunch U.S. ally and
provider of elaborate basing access, and long a recipient of extensive U.S. secur-
ity assistance. But Turkey had fallen under the political control of an Islamic-
oriented government which had also loosened then burgeoning ties with Israel,
and the Turkish public had become less friendly to the U.S. Also, Turkey badly
wanted membership in the European Union, and there were hints of quiet pres-
sure from governments in France and Germany against Turkey’s allowing for
U.S. basing access with EU membership used as leverage. Turkey subsequently
allowed some U.S. use of air facilities, for instance, for medical evacuations, but
154 After the Cold War
denied the U.S. use of Turkish soil for the 4th Infantry Division, which was on
ships offshore the Turkish port of Iskenderun, poised to enter Turkey and attack
Iraq from the north. That division then had to be shipped through the Suez Canal
and around the Persian Gulf to Kuwait, too late for it to be a major participant in
the conventional phase of conflict.
In the aftermath of OIF, extending up to 2006, the fundamental aspects of the
U.S. global basing presence had shifted, markedly so, in a geopolitical sense. Up
to 1990, that had, fundamentally, involved a largely rimland basing structure –
Iceland to Hokkaido – around the Eurasian supercontinent, involving air, sea,
land and ISR facilities directed against the USSR and, still to a degree, China.
By 2006, an altered structure had emerged, geographically focused on the inter-
locking “arcs of crisis,” Morocco to India, the Horn of Africa to the Caucasus
and Central Asia. Earlier, the fundamental problem was the containment of
Soviet expansionism. Now, there was a more complex set of threats, involving
WMD, the “axis of evil,” terrorism, mostly that by non-state actors, and access
to oil and gas in a potentially worsening supply and demand situation.
The most significant shifts in the U.S. basing structure had taken place in the
Persian Gulf area, the Horn of Africa and Central Asia, all of which had been
gradually produced by the progression from the Carter Doctrine and start-up of
the RDF (in response to the Iranian revolution and the Soviet invasion of
Afghanistan); the tanker reflagging operation in the Persian Gulf towards the
end of the Iran–Iraq war; Desert Shield/Desert Storm; OEF and OIF.
By 2006, the U.S. had acquired a surprisingly massive basing structure in the
Persian Gulf area and in Central Asia, including Afghanistan. There were about
a dozen air and army bases in the latter, including air bases at Bagram, Kandahar
and Mazar-e-Sharif. Quietly, next door, and in relation to the ongoing conflict in
Afghanistan, access was provided by Pakistan to bases at Jacobabad, Dalbandin,
Pasni and Shamsi.16 In the former Soviet Central Asian republics, and in the face
of Russian complaints, the USAF used bases at Manas near the Kyrghiz capital
of Bishkek and at Khanabad in Uzbekistan.17 In Turkey, the U.S. continued to
have access to the long-occupied main air base at Incirlik.18 In the African Horn,
Djibouti hosted facilities for the U.S. Navy and for Special Forces units dealing
with terrorist problems in the Arabian Peninsula.19 Kenya provided access for
U.S. operations in Somalia.
But despite the U.S. drawdown of its earlier basing structure in Saudi Arabia
(now with some residual access to Sultan Air Base near Riyadh), the guts of the
U.S. Persian Gulf basing structure was in the other GCC states: Oman, the UAE,
Qatar, Bahrain and Kuwait.20 In Oman, USAF bases at Seeb, Masirah and
Thumrait were heavily used for operations in OEF, given the favorable location
to circumvent Iranian airspace, but to use Pakistani airspace. The USN also used
a base in Oman at Masirah. In the UAE the USAF had use of an air base at Al
Dhafra and the USN a naval base at Jebel Ali. Qatar’s air bases at Sheik Isa and
Al Udaid were also available, the latter having become a main command and
control center. In Bahrain, the USN continued to homeport a squadron at
Manama and in Kuwait, U.S. army brigades were maintained plus two main
 After the Cold War 155
USAF bases at Ali Al Salem and Ahmed Al Jabber. It might be surmised that
the GCC states, absent Saudi Arabia, were anxious to keep a U.S. presence
despite the implications regarding Islamic fundamentalism and in the face of
continuing U.S. support for Israel, just because of fears of a Saudi upheaval, the
aftermath of which might require provision of security by the U.S.

A new Pentagon typology of basing

As indicated in recent DOD publications, basing access has come to be viewed
along a spectrum involving a three way typology of: Main Operating Base
(MOB), Forward Operating Site (FOS) and Cooperative Security Location
(CSL). The MOBs, according to Strengthening U.S. Global Defense Posture,
involve “permanently stationed combat forces and robust infrastructure,” and
“will be characterized by command and control structures, family support facili-
ties, and strengthened force protection measures.”21 Examples mentioned in this
document are Ramstein AFB, Kadena Air Base and Camp Humphreys (Korea).
Others that might fit that category are the air bases at Thumrait, Seeb and
Masirah in Oman, and Al Udeid in Qatar. Others might be the naval base at
Yokosuka, the complex of bases on Guam, perhaps the naval facilities at Singa-
pore, Diego Garcia, maybe the air and army bases in Kuwait, and the main army
bases in Germany at Baumholder, Wurzburg, Wiesbaden, Friedberg, Schwein-
furt and Vilseck. An FOS, meanwhile, is defined as a “forward operating site”
which “will be an expandable warm facility maintained with a limited U.S. mili-
tary support presence and possibly prepositioned equipment.”22
“FOSs will support rotational rather than permanently stationed forces and be
a focus for bilateral and regional training.” Examples cited in this report are the
Sembawang port facility in Singapore (elsewhere reported to be a approaching,
de facto, an MOB) and Soto Cano Air Base in Honduras. Other USAF bases
around the world that, as measured by permanently stationed personnel might
qualify as FOBs, are Keflavik in Iceland, RAF Lakenheath and RAF Mildenhall
in the U.K., Spangdahlem in Germany, Aviano in Italy, Incirlik in Turkey,
Utapao in Thailand and Atsugi NAS in Japan. Of course, the newer facilities
being expanded and utilized in Bulgaria and Romania fit this model, as do some
of the facilities hosted in the smaller Persian Gulf countries. Expansion of the
U.S. facility at Sigonella in Sicily (during the Cold War, mostly a USN P-3
base) would presumably also fit this model.
CSLs are defined as “facilities” with little or no permanent U.S. presence:
“Instead, they will be maintained with periodic service, contractor, or host-
nation support.” And, “CSLs will provide contingency access and be a focal
point for security cooperation activities.”23 According to the DOD documents,
Dakar, Senegal is one example of this model, where the USAF “has negotiated
contingency landing, logistics, and final contracting arrangements and which
served as a staging area for the 2003 peace support operation in Liberia.”24
According to a recent article in the Christian Science Monitor, absent the
acronyms and Pentagon jargon, cooperative security arrangements of this sort
156 After the Cold War
are being set up in several African countries: Chad, Djibouti, Uganda, Kenya,
Niger, Mauritania, Mali, Senegal, Nigeria and Algeria, among others.25
Obviously, the main thrust here is in the direction of a very limited number of
MOBs to lessen the U.S. overseas footprint, and an expanded number of FOBs
and CSLs to accommodate lighter and more mobile forces for a variety of con-
tingencies, as outlined above.

The basis of basing: the U.S. at the outset of the twenty-first

century

Conquest
As discussed in our historical review of this subject, user nations have acquired
basing access in one of three basic ways: by conquest and/or colonization; by
providing security or protection for the host via formal alliances or less formal
arrangements still implying protection; and by the use of tangible quid pro quo,
i.e., security assistance, arms transfers, subsidies or, in effect, “rents.”
In the more recent context for the U.S., the first of these categories, conquest,
has more or less been precluded by now well established international norms or
“laws.” But, some critics of the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan in 2001 and Iraq in
2003 saw enhanced basing access as a motive, even if subsidiary in the former
case to eradicating the Taliban and Al Qaeda, and eliminating the Saddam
regime and its (assumed) WMD programs in the latter.
By 2005, the U.S., having installed what became a democratically elected
government in Afghanistan, but still fighting a new insurgency and helping to
defend the new Karzai regime, had established an elaborate basing structure in
that country. How long that would be retained remained to be seen, given the
uncertainties of the continuing hunt for Osama Bin Laden, the WMD menace in
Pakistan and Iran, etc.
In Afghanistan, as of 2005, the U.S. had some 15 major air and army facilities,
including the air bases at Bagram, Kandahar and Masar-e-Sharif, and numerous
large army bases. How long those could be maintained, now perhaps less a matter
of conquest than cooperation with the new Karzai government, remained to be
seen. In Iraq also, army barracks, headquarters etc. for some 135,000 troops, plus
several major air bases, remained under U.S. control after the installation of the
new government in 2005. How long these could be retained at the discretion of a
Shi’a dominated government, particularly as the bases are somewhat dedicated to
the possibility of conflict in Iran or Syria, remained to be seen.

Provision of security: alliances, extended deterrence, the

changing international system, shifts in basing hosts’
domestic politics
During the Cold War, a large number of U.S. basing hosts provided the U.S.
access at least in part because it provided assurance against Soviet or Chinese
 After the Cold War 157
aggression. The term “extended deterrence” was often used to describe this
relationship. Nowadays, that may still be applicable in a number of cases, for
example, Japan, South Korea, perhaps again the Philippines to a degree, even
Vietnam. Access in Georgia and some of the ex-Soviet states in Central Asia
might be included in relation to a possibly resurgent and revisionist Russia.
Around the Persian Gulf, states are made secure against Iranian aggression and
maybe reassured about the possible implications of a Saudi Islamic fundamen-
talist revolution. And, a growing number of nations – the Philippines, some in
Africa – may see a U.S. presence as deterring terrorists.
However, these scenarios are for the most part narrowly specific, representing
extrapolations from current problems and scenarios. Perhaps absent here is the
broader picture of a changing but indeterminate international system’s structure
that may heavily impact future scenarios, formal and informal alliances, hence
basing access. Cold War bipolarity based largely on an ideological divide has now
given way to a degree of unipolarity (in military terms, at least) heavily reflected
by the facts of basing dominance, admixed with an incipient though asymmetric
multipolarity, the poles of which are the U.S., the EU, Russia, China, Japan, India
and perhaps a nascent radical “Islamic world.” Save the remnants of communism
and the growing ideological-religious nature of Islamic radicalism, the new system
is largely devoid of an ideological basis for enmity and friendship, hence allowing,
as was the case in the European state system of the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
turies, for rapidly shifting alliances based on short-term or medium-term expedi-
ency and balance of power considerations. Russia’s recent oscillation between
orientations towards China (arms transfers, coalescence vis-à-vis the U.S.), the EU
(ganging up on the U.S.), and the U.S. (common front against Islamic terrorism)
may be a harbinger of things to come as well as a reminder of the past.
And for the future? The West versus the rest? The U.S. aligned with Japan,
India and maybe Russia against rising Chinese global hegemony, with the EU as
a “balancer” and Islam aligned with China?26 As a far-out scenario, Japan
kowtows to China and joins in an all-Asia front to drive U.S. power out of Asia?
There are varied possibilities, and again, the possibilities for rapid and frequent
shifts. At another level, juxtaposed to big-power multipolarity, nuclear prolifera-
tion will be critical, and it would appear that there will be numerous new
entrants to the “nuclear club.” North Korea (maybe later a nuclear-armed united
Korea), Iran, maybe Egypt, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Taiwan, Japan, Australia and
Indonesia, are all technically capable of joining the club.
What will be the impact of all of this on basing and, specifically, on the U.S.
basing posture? In the past, multipolar systems devoid of long-term stable
alliances usually have resulted in the absence of, or limits on, large-scale basing
systems. Today’s “friend” is tomorrow’s rival and someone else’s “friend.”
And, nuclear proliferation would appear to portend the decoupling of alliances
because of the intimidation factor (or, to the contrary, might impel an increase in
the protection/security factor featuring missile defense systems). Will Japan,
China, Russia, India, the EU, all develop effective BMD systems? And, to what
extent will some of these major powers be able to provide security assistance as
158 After the Cold War
quid pro quo for basing themselves, or to deny basing access to the U.S.? On the
whole, decoupling and a very constrained environment for U.S. basing might be
predicted – and hence further lead to reliance on sea-basing or CONUS-basing
schemes, but all of this is uncertain. But, the effective use of security assistance
might alter that equation.
All things considered, basing access has become more ad hoc and situational
since the end of the Cold War and, with it, the weakening of the formal alliance
structure constructed by the U.S. during that protracted struggle. During the
Cold War, the U.S. was able, almost always, to utilize its overseas facilities and
the airspace of friendly nations for a variety of missions. For instance, air bases
in Japan, the Philippines and Thailand were used to prosecute the war in
Vietnam. U-2 aircraft were flown over the USSR from bases in Turkey,
Germany, the U.K., Pakistan and Japan. Germany was used as a jumping-off
point for American intervention in Lebanon in 1958. Various nations allowed
access for satellite downlinks in connection with nuclear early warning and
satellite control: Germany, Australia, the U.K., the Seychelles, even Madagascar
for a period. The U.K., Turkey, Italy and Taiwan allowed for forward-basing of
land-based missiles aimed at the USSR and China. There were few exceptions
where the U.S. was not allowed access – denial of airspace by France and Spain
for the raid on Libya in 1986 was one such example. But, also, numerous
nations were tied to the USSR, allowed it access, and denied same to the U.S.:
Cuba, Vietnam, Cambodia, South Yemen, Iraq, Libya, India and the whole con-
tiguous Warsaw Pact bloc from Eastern Europe to Mongolia.
The keys here, in the prior period, were systems structure (a bipolar struggle
with ideological cement on both sides), shared threats and U.S. protection of
basing hosts, and perhaps a lower level of the anti-Americanism that is the hall-
mark of contemporary diplomacy.

Security assistance
The third category, in the current context, relates primarily to the use of security
assistance as a quid pro quo for basing access. During the Cold War, some of the
largest recipients of U.S. security assistance – Turkey, Greece, Spain, Portugal,
the Philippines – all were providers of critically needed access for the U.S.
There are several categories of security assistance: the Foreign Military
Financing Program, the International Military Education and Training (IMET)
program and the Economic Support Fund.27 Around the globe some 74 countries
receive Foreign Military Financing, some 130 receive IMET, some 26 receive
money from the Economic Support Fund, which is also used to support multilat-
eral programs concerning regional democracy, regional womens’ issues, various
regional democratization and administration of justice funds etc.
Several points stand out regarding the current structure of U.S. security assis-
tance, primarily the dominance of the numbers by Egypt and Israel. Also stand-
ing out is the huge number of countries receiving U.S. funds from one or more
of the aforementioned sources, more than two-thirds of the world’s some 190
 After the Cold War 159
sovereign nations. And many that now receive such assistance are former Soviet
allies and arms clients (also former Soviet republics), many of which provided
Moscow basing access and overflight rights: Egypt, Yemen, Algeria, Bulgaria,
the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, Ethiopia/Eritrea,
Congo-Brazzaville, Guinea, Guinea Bissau, Madagascar, Mali, Mozambique,
Angola, Mongolia, India, Cambodia among them.
Regarding the FMFP, Egypt and Israel are the largest recipients, and this per-
tains primarily to supporting the Camp David “peace process,” though Egypt has
provided the U.S. some access in recent times. The figures for Latin America are
low, correlating with low levels of conflict and strategic threat and the near-
absence of U.S. bases (Colombia and Ecuador have had significant support in
relation to drug interdiction, Honduras has been cited).
Earlier, the U.S. had provided large amounts of security assistance, up in the
range of $500 million annually, to a small number of key basing hosts: Portugal
(the Azores), Spain, Greece, Turkey, Thailand, the Philippines. Now, aside from
the billions of dollars required to support the Egypt–Israel Camp David accords,
money is spread out in small amounts to a much larger number of recipients.
Some are near the range of the former key hosts: Jordan (near half a billion) and
Afghanistan ($190 million). In Jordan’s case, underwriting the “peace process”
is involved, but perhaps also needed U.S. access in the Iraq war. Djibouti, along
with the Philippines, has the largest account from the Economic Support Fund,
around $25 million, no doubt reflecting its role in providing U.S. military access.
U.S.–Philippines collaboration on the war on terrorism is germane here. The
IMET amounts are small, only a handful above $1 million per year: the Philip-
pines, Malaysia, Thailand, India, Senegal, South Africa, Colombia, Mexico,
Turkey, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Argentina, Colombia, El Salvador, Egypt, Jordan,
Morocco, Oman, Tunisia, Yemen, Bulgaria, Czech Republic, Estonia, Georgia,
Hungary, Kazahkstan, Kyrghiz Republic, Latvia, Lithuania, Moldova, Poland
and Romania. The relation to basing access is clear in many of these cases.
Regarding FMF funding in 2003–2004, aside from Egypt and Israel, only
Jordan, Oman, Morocco, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Macedonia,
Poland, Georgia, Turkey, Colombia, the Philippines and Pakistan had numbers
over $20 million, modest sums. Hence, it would appear that in many cases, all
over the world, relatively small increases in absolute levels of assistance would
represent large proportional jumps. Such increases could judiciously be used in
exchange for enhanced access.
What is potentially involved was illustrated in a recent Christian Science
Monitor article that detailed cooperative security and training exercises in
various African states, reflective of the emphasis on “activities” as outlined in
the recent DOD report to Congress. The focus is on counter-terrorist training,
particularly in and around the Sahara Desert and the Sahel, a band of land south
of the Sahara and that runs east to west across Africa. Further, “these are vast
lawless lands where terrorists linked to Al Qaeda are known to operate – and
where the region’s large Muslim populations sometimes offer support or sym-
pathy to extremists.”28 As elsewhere noted, and in this connection, the U.S. has
160 After the Cold War
been working to develop north–south air corridors to support military opera-
tions. And then, there are the promising oilfields around and near the Gulf of
Guinea – Nigeria, Cameroon, Gabon, Angola, Chad, Equatorial Guinea, Sao
Tome and Principe; additionally, the reports that China, perhaps the U.S.’s
future hegemonic rival, has been scouring the African continent to line up deals
regarding a variety of non-fuel natural resources. The CSM article details U.S.
forces training “locals” in Chad, Botswana, Niger, Mauritania, Mali and Dji-
bouti – the latter now has some 2000 U.S. troops poised to launch anti-terrorist
operations in the Horn of Africa or the southern part of the Arabian Peninsula.
The amounts of IMET targeted for these countries range from around $100,000
or $200,000 per year, on up to about $1 million for Senegal, which has been des-
ignated as a CSL, where in Dakar, “the Air Force has negotiated contingency
landing, logistics and fuel contracting arrangements, and which served as a
staging area for the 2003 peace support operation in Liberia.”29

Future scenarios requiring U.S. basing access, and a relevant

conflict typology
The heart of the problem of global posture is that of the future of U.S. access in
relation to a wide variety of possible scenarios in a context of ambiguous threats
and uncertain alliances and international system structure.
This has not always been the case. Before World War II, a more or less isola-
tionist U.S. had very little in the way of overseas bases, mostly relegated (as was
also the case on a much larger scale for Great Britain) to colonial possessions or
protectorates, i.e., the Philippines, Guam, Wake Island, the Panama Canal Zone,
Puerto Rico and Cuba. Then the Lend-Lease Act of 1940 provided the U.S. a
string of bases on a 99-year lease, from Newfoundland to British Guyana.
During the war, bases all over – Greenland, Iceland, the Azores, Acapulco, the
Galapagos Islands, Recife and Fortaleza in Brazil – were provided by a host of
countries.
After World War II, the U.S. had, as noted, an elaborate alliance system that
also provided bases via the colonial possessions of Britain, France, Portugal and
the Netherlands. Numerous other bases were available all around the Eurasian
rimland as a virtual given in alliance relationships. This made it easy for the
U.S. to operate in conflicts large and small.
In the Korean War, bases in Japan were about all that was needed. In the
Vietnam War, the U.S. was availed of air and naval bases in Japan, Taiwan, the
Philippines and Thailand. Before and during Desert Storm, access was available
just about everywhere in Europe and the Middle East. Likewise, for a variety of
contingencies large and small, the U.S. operated in a permissive environment for
access because of numerous stable alliance and other client relationships, all
underpinned by security assistance. As noted, things became tougher in 2003.
At present, and for the future, the security environment is much more
ambiguous, as are alliance relationships themselves. In place of a somewhat set-
piece and stable twilight struggle against the Soviet Union and its allies, there is
 After the Cold War 161
now a multilayered and fluid threat environment featuring terrorism, WMD pro-
liferation, nation-building and peacekeeping in a variety of places, but also a
looming hegemonic rivalry with China, maybe the EU, and maybe Russia again,
in what combinations and sequences is not easily foreseen.
It should be emphasized that even with the best analytical work, conflicts –
and, hence, basing requirements – are not always so easily envisaged or pre-
dicted. Few people in the summer of 2001 could have predicted the need for U.S.
access in Central Asian, ex-Soviet socialist republics to enable large-scale mili-
tary operations in Afghanistan. Earlier, presumably, few British analysts foresaw
the need for a large-scale forced entry invasion in the Falkland Islands under
adverse weather conditions, and the critical associated requirement for access to a
(British-owned) air base on Ascension Island. The critical role of Lajes AFB in
the Azores for arms resupply to Israel in 1973 (which arguably averted the
latter’s resort to nuclear weapons), was probably also only dimly perceived by
defense planners. So, whatever the elaborateness of scenarios, surprises may be
expected, including those that overwhelm “capabilities based analysis.”
Scenarios for the future can be broken down into two basic levels, generic
and specific. As noted, most current DOD open-source analyses tend to rely on
the former, not just to organize the subject, but because the latter is politically
sensitive in an ambiguous political environment in which identification of
friends and foes may not be as clear as it was in the (in this respect) halcyon
Cold War years.
The generic scenario-types now commonly utilized are: traditional, irregular,
catastrophic and disruptive.
Traditional refers to the familiar force-on-force large-scale engagements
such as the two world wars, the Korean War, Desert Storm, the Iran–Iraq War,
the 1967 and 1973 Middle Eastern wars etc. In the academic literature, for
instance, in the research emerging from the Correlates of War (COW) project,
the relative scale of such conflicts is gauged by the variables of magnitude
(number of combatants involved), severity (number of combat deaths) and the
duration of war.30 Additionally, there is reference to the existence of “moving
fronts,” i.e., an identifiable shifting demarcation of large-unit forces, analogous
to a (American) football line of scrimmage. Or, there is a spectrum running from
all-out conventional wars to various forms of “limited” conventional war, with
Korea having been an example of war characterized by tacit geographical limits.
Most of these conflicts are interstate wars, though the Chinese civil war in the
late 1940s was an example of an intrastate conventional war.
Irregular conflicts refer to a range of conflict types roughly similar to what is
contained in the spectrum of low intensity warfare, the term in vogue in the
1980s and 1990s. That comprises guerrilla and insurgency warfare, civil wars
(ethnic wars over territory and ideological wars over control of governments),
coups, terrorism, border frictions, etc.31 Most of these wars, the latter case
excepted, are of an intra-state nature. Over time, the dominant frequency of
Marxist insurgencies gave way to “Reagan Doctrine” anti-communist insurgen-
cies to, in the 1990s, the heyday of ethnic warfare.
162 After the Cold War
Catastrophic conflicts comprise those where large-scale casualties are
caused by the use of WMDs, i.e., nuclear, biological, chemical and radiological
warfare. Hypothetically, some forms of environmental warfare might also be
envisaged. This can involve inter-state warfare or terrorist acts. In the former
case, it could involve “bolt out of the blue” or preemptive attacks or, could result
from the escalation of a conventional war up through rungs in the escalation
ladder to the use of tactical, theater and strategic WMDs.
Disruptive scenarios are perhaps more difficult to categorize than the others.
Apparently they can comprise such things as EMP attacks that disrupt communi-
cations or “cyber warfare,” with or without an identifiable perpetrator. They can
also apparently pertain to major political changes in nations via elections or
significant shifts in foreign policy orientations that could heavily impact on the
U.S. global presence.
Again, the above generic scenario types seem largely a recasting of the conflict
spectrum elaborated by various authors in the 1990s running from nuclear to con-
ventional to limited conventional, to high, medium and low-intensity conflict.32
The shift towards a multipolar system somewhat devoid of ideological conflict,
and the advent of new technological possibilities for conflict such as EMP and
cyber-war, have added new dimensions to a comprehensive scenario menu.
Specific scenarios: Again, in the Cold War, USG studies were open in
acknowledgment of expected, or possible actual scenarios, mostly related to the
then two “base cases,” war in Central Europe and war in the Persian Gulf, both
expected to involve the USSR. War started in one of these theaters was feared to
spread to the other via horizontal escalation. Korea was, in addition, long an
additional mini-base case. Now, the scenarios considered are far more varied,
with respect both to type (see above) and location. But, certain kinds of political
sensitivities often now preclude discussing some scenarios that are closely held
within the classified realm, most of which can be fitted into the aforementioned
four-way typology (parentheses follow scenarios with generic conflict type
noted).

• U.S. involvement in helping defend Taiwan from a PRC invasion (or block-
ade), requiring access in Japan/Okinawa, Guam (assured), maybe the Philip-
pines, Thailand, Vietnam, Australia, India [traditional, maybe also
catastrophic].
• U.S. involvement in defending the ROK, and/or preempting North Korean
nuclear facilities, perhaps involving defense of Japan from missile attack,
requiring access in ROK, Japan/Okinawa, Guam (assured), perhaps the
Philippines (traditional, maybe also catastrophic).

Note: previous two scenarios involve minimal if not non-existent requirements

for overhead access or air corridors, for obvious reasons.

• Military operations in Iran in connection with preemption of nuclear facili-

ties and/or terrorism, requiring access in GCC states (Kuwait, Bahrain,
 After the Cold War 163
UAE, Qatar, Oman), Diego Garcia, perhaps Iraq, Turkey, Central Asian
“stans,” air corridor over the Caucasus; also en route access in various
places in Europe (Romania, Bulgaria, Germany), etc. (traditional, irregular,
maybe catastrophic).
• Possible U.S. involvement in an India-Pakistan war, conventional or
conventional/nuclear, involving coercive diplomacy, arms resupply (missile
defense for India?), possible response to Pakistani “last resort” use of
nuclear weapons. Missile shield from ships; requiring access to Diego
Garcia, Oman, Djibouti, Singapore, maybe Australia and others. War could
be in context of current political constellations, or with a more radical
Islamic regime in Pakistan and the BJP returned to power in India (poten-
tially catastrophic).
• Possible U.S. involvement in Saudi Arabia if it should be threatened with a
revolution or coup, involving support of incumbent regime, or seizure of
oilfields (disruptive, some chance of catastrophic terrorist response on
CONUS). Requires access in Kuwait, Bahrain, UAE, Qatar, Oman, Egypt,
Turkey, Djibouti, Yemen, Diego Garcia, maybe Israel; also en route access
in Europe.
• Possible U.S. support of one or more among Qatar, UAE, Oman, Kuwait,
Bahrain, Yemen, if threatened by a post-revolutionary radical Islamic
regime in Saudi Arabia. Ditto if threat comes from a nuclear-armed Iran
supporting Shi’a minorities in GCC states. Access required in above GCC
states, Diego Garcia, Djibouti, Egypt, plus en route overhead access,
various (irregular, disruptive).
• Arms resupply to Israel (perhaps also Egypt, simultaneously) in a large-scale
conventional war involving Israel with some combination of Egypt, Syria,
Iraq, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Lebanon, perhaps Iran and perhaps a more Islamic
Turkey. Issue of Israeli use of nuclear weapons central; likewise, Iranian and
Pakistani nuclear counter-deterrents. Possible use of U.S. anti-ballistic mis-
siles based on ships to “shut down” nuclear war. Possible joint embargo on
Egypt and Israel regarding arms resupply. Access required for staging and
overflights in various European countries, i.e., Italy, Spain, Germany, pos-
sibly to be denied to disadvantage Israel (disruptive, maybe catastrophic).
• Possible Israeli use of nuclear weapons after conventional defeat (“Samson
Option”), perhaps to include (permanent) destruction of Persian Gulf oil-
fields. Access requirements indeterminate (catastrophic).
• Arms re-supply to newly free and “democratic” Iraq in new war with Iran,
requiring staging and overflight rights in Europe, Turkey, Jordan, maybe
Syria. Or, arms resupply to Sunni Iraqis engaged in civil war with Iran-
backed Shi’ites after U.S. withdrawal (disruptive).
• New fighting in Balkans requiring U.S. intervention and/or arms resupply –
Bosnia, Kosovo, Macedonia. Access required in Italy, Hungary, Albania,
maybe Slovenia (disruptive, irregular).
• Possible U.S. involvement in a variety of situations replying to terrorist
acts, hostage-taking, WMD thefts and transit, etc.: Philippines, Malaysia,
164 After the Cold War
Thailand, Yemen, Sudan, Saudi Arabia, Somalia, Djibouti, Ethiopia, Tanza-
nia, Mali, Niger, Uganda, Nigeria, Mauritania, Senegal, many others, all
over the world. Access requirements, scenarios almost open-ended (disrup-
tive, irregular).
• The need to seize Persian Gulf oilfields in response to massive price
increases, embargoes, preferential access to oil for EU, China, requiring
access to Diego Garcia, Djibouti, Turkey, maybe Italy, Germany, Romania,
Bulgaria, etc. (traditional or irregular, disruptive).
• The need to seize oilfields in Libya, Egypt, Algeria, also in relation to
massive price increases, embargoes, preferential access given China, EU,
requiring access to Italy, maybe Turkey, maybe Israel, Djibouti, Romania,
Bulgaria (disruptive, traditional or irregular).
• The need to seize oilfields in Nigeria, Angola, Gabon, Congo, Equatorial
Guinea, Sao Tome and Principe, Sudan, in response to massive rises in
price, cut-offs elsewhere, requiring access to nearby states such as South
Africa, Liberia, Sierra Leone, Ghana (disruptive, irregular or traditional).
• U.S. need to invade Syria regarding WMDs, terrorism, support for latter in
Iraq, requiring access in Iraq, Turkey, maybe Israel, Italy, Germany,
Romania, Bulgaria (traditional, catastrophic).
• U.S.–Russia clashes, or threat of same or run-up to same, over the Baltic
states, Georgia, Azerbaijan, requiring access to Poland, Romania, Bulgaria,
Hungary, Germany, maybe Turkey, Armenia, Iraq (incipient traditional, dis-
ruptive, catastrophic).

Looking at these myriad complex scenarios, a few points stand out. Mostly,
that has to do with the foci on WMDs, terrorism, hegemonic rivalry with China
and competition over scarce resources – particularly oil, but possibly also such
minerals as iron ore and manganese – and the possible nexus between the latter
two.36 The possession, existing or possibly pending, of nuclear weapons by Iran,
Israel, India, Pakistan and North Korea, possibly later Egypt, Syria, Taiwan,
among others, is at the heart of numerous scenarios. Islamic terror raises the
possibility of conflict, and hence access requirements, in numerous areas span-
ning West, North and East Africa, the Middle East, South and Southeast Asia,
Central Asia, etc. Hegemonic China looms large. And maybe ultimately of
greatest importance, the supply–demand equation for oil looms large, what with
the enormously increased demand by China and India (projected for a popu-
lation of 1.6 billion) and other Asian countries. China is now getting oil in large
quantities from Saudi Arabia, Oman, Angola, Iran, Russia, Sudan, Yemen,
Congo, Equatorial Guinea and Indonesia.37 It is looking for additional sources in
Chad, Canada and Peru, among other places.
If the U.S. is embargoed or outfoxed in terms of oil supply, seizure of oil-
fields could be a last resort. And, again, many oilfields are located near coasts,
subject to littoral warfare or more specifically (see later) attack from sea bases.
That could involve, hypothetically, Venezuela, Algeria, Libya, Egypt, Iran,
Yemen, Oman, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Qatar, Nigeria, Congo, Gabon,
 After the Cold War 165
Equatorial Guinea, Sao Tome and Principe, among others. That is a grim set of
scenarios, but the basing implications of this problem may yet become vital. The
menacing nature of these scenarios and their nearly open-ended diversity, may
be driving capabilities-based analyses to deal with a maximum multiplicity of
them.
But, again, there is also the high likelihood of the unforeseen. Underlined in
the above is the global, diverse, almost open-ended nature of potential problems
and the uncertainty of basing and overflight access in the context of shifting,
indeterminate, and contingent or ad hoc political relationships. We shall return
to this.

Arms resupply during conflict

There are any number of scenarios that may be divined regarding future basing
problems in connection with arms resupply during conflict. And, we will note
here that in numerous past situations, the U.S. and other major weapons suppli-
ers have had to choose, when a conflict involving allies or friendly states arises,
along a spectrum from embargo (see the U.S. embargo on Pakistan in 1965 that
drove the latter into a long-term alliance with China) to all-out arms resupply,
with a possible time lag in the latter case as in 1973.33 In 1973, access to bases in
the Azores (Portugal) and perhaps Spain (tanker refueling) was critical to the
resupply effort on behalf of Israel, as was the movement of some matériel out of
Germany. An “air corridor” through the Gibraltar Straits was also apparently
vital. On the other side of the Cold War divide, Soviet use of air staging bases
and overflight corridors for resupplying clients in Angola (1975), Ethiopia
(1977–1978) and Vietnam (1979) might be noted. In the first two of these cases,
north-south air corridors in Africa were used similar to what the U.S. now seeks
in its contingency planning.
In the future, who can say? Above, we have bruited scenarios for possible
arms resupply operations involving Israel, Egypt, maybe Iraq, maybe Pakistan
and/or India (During the Lebanon conflict in 2006, U.S. use of a transit base in
Scotland for supplying bombs to Israel caused a small political storm in the
U.K.). A new round of fighting between Ethiopia and Somalia, or Armenia and
Azerbaijan could bring this matter into play. In the case of Israel and Egypt, a
later conventional conflict might prompt a joint U.S. embargo on both, perhaps
coupled with asymmetric Russian or EU resupply on behalf of Egypt. That
could trigger a repeat of the near-nuclear scenario in 1973. In another round,
Portugal and Spain would not likely allow the U.S. access for resupply of Israel,
but longer-range transport aircraft render this a less crucial matter than before.

Coercive diplomacy, air-based intelligence

Coercive diplomacy, a.k.a. “gunboat diplomacy” in an earlier time, may also
require access. The two earlier major volumes by Barry Blechman and Stephen
Kaplan on U.S. and Soviet coercive diplomacy, respectively, detailed numerous
166 After the Cold War
cases where this came into play during the Cold War, in many cases involving
access to bases and overhead air space.34 Earlier, that usually involved the move-
ment of ships as with actual “gunboats” used by the U.S. to affect behavior in
Central American states.35 In 1970, U.S. ships based in Souda Bay and else-
where coerced Syria to halt its invasion of Jordan. In 1971, a U.S. carrier battle
group in the Indian Ocean signaled a U.S. “tilt” towards Pakistan in its conflict
with India, which was actually also a signal of friendship towards China. More
recently, the forward movement of AWACs aircraft has become more the norm,
though the movement of U.S. ships through the Taiwan Straits to signal support
for Taiwan was closer to the earlier model. Use of Tomahawk missiles for “sig-
naling” (some might call these activities mere futile gestures) in Sudan, Iraq and
Afghanistan may be cited, by ships that may have had some access to regional
ports. A related matter is the flying of intelligence aircraft offshore of rival
nations such as China, hence in the latter case requiring access to bases in
Okinawa.
During the Cold War, the U.S. flew U-2 missions from Bodo (Norway), Wies-
baden, Incirlik, Peshawar and Atsugi, among other places, and ELINT planes
along the Soviet Arctic coast from bases in Western Europe. The shooting down
of the Korean 007 airliner may have resulted, accidentally, from such activities.
ELINT functions are now more normally conducted by satellite, but the need for
basing ELINT and PHOTINT aircraft may remain somewhat relevant.

Presence – showing the flag

“Presence” or “showing the flag,” mostly in the form of port visits, is a long-
time maritime tradition, an important aspect of the politics of prestige and
alignments. In the nineteenth century, for instance, all of the major naval powers
sent flotillas around the globe (see the U.S. “White Fleet”) to show the flag, as
the display might, perhaps, intimidate a bit. These visits are made to allied
nations, but also to neutral and even somewhat rivalrous ones. And, as recently
has been the case with U.S. ship visits to Vietnam, efforts at “showing the flag”
can be a way of indicating – both from the perspectives of hosts and visitors – a
new political relationship. The bombing of the USS Cole took place in this
context in Aden, not much earlier a major Soviet naval base.

Peacekeeping
A more recent phenomenon is that of use of foreign facilities in order to conduct
nearby peacekeeping or interposition operations. Here one might cite U.S. use of
facilities in Egypt to support peacekeeping in the Sinai, and use of facilities in
Hungary and Albania to support operations, respectively, in Bosnia and Kosovo.
West African ports such as Dakar have been used to support peacekeeping
operations in nearby states such as Liberia.
 After the Cold War 167
The future of global presence
In relation to the threat scenarios outlined above, the U.S. has been reshaping its
global presence to deal with new threats emanating from sometimes new sources,
in a very fluid and complex global environment. It is, accordingly, shifting its
global presence with newer geopolitical emphases (arcs of crisis, African oilfields
etc.) and also in line with “transformation,” i.e., an emphasis on smaller, lighter,
more mobile forces. There is a clear shift away from the remnant Cold War global
presence that featured heavy forces stationed where they would be expected to
fight, i.e., in Central Europe and Korea. But in the context of the scenarios, the
comparative costs involved, the needs for retention of military personnel and
attention to their family needs, and the desire to lower the intrusiveness of the U.S.
presence and the infringement on other nations’ sense of sovereignty, more and
more the global presence is being seen in the light of trade-offs between traditional
forward presence/basing, the newer possibilities for sea basing that would lower
requirements for land basing, and the resort, based both on political but also new
technological realities, to larger degrees of CONUS-basing for military operations.
The latter two broad options are, of course, linked.

Long-range CONUS-basing
In 1991, in the Gulf War, the U.S. had used lumbering old B-52s, flown all the
way from Barksdale AFB in Louisiana, for bombing raids. Then in the 1999
Kosovo conflict, B-2s were flown back and forth from Whiteman AFB in Mis-
souri. The round-trip missions covered more than 10,000 miles and took 30
hours (the B-2’s range is listed as 7255 miles, but tanker refueling can extend
that almost indefinitely).
In Afghanistan, much more use was made of the B-2s based in Missouri, this
time usually using Diego Garcia as a stopping off point, coming or going. The
Whiteman-Afghanistan-Diego Garcia leg was said to take 40–44 hours and to
require six mid-air refuelings, while the Diego Garcia-Whiteman trip took 30
hours and five refuelings.38 The B-2s carried some 40,000 pounds of bombs,
including the vaunted Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAMs). The plane carries
a crew of two, pilot and mission commander. The U.S. also used B-52s and B-1s
based mostly at Diego Garcia, 3000 miles away, involving 15-hour round trips,
for raids in Afghanistan, as well as attack aircraft based on carriers in the
Arabian Sea, some 700 miles from Kabul.39 Other attack aircraft used bases in
the Persian Gulf in Kuwait and Oman, 1400 miles from Kabul and later the ex-
Soviet states of Uzbekistan and Kyrghizstan. For those operations, the USAF
utilized 55 KC-10 tankers and 550 smaller KC-135s (the Marines have 75 KC-
130s, and the Navy 110 carrier-based S-3Bs).40
Hence, according to one commentary: “Indeed, what sets the U.S. military
apart from every other military in the world – every bit as much as smart bombs
and stealth planes – are tankers and lifters.”41 These aircraft enable America –
and only America – to project power around the world on a massive scale.
168 After the Cold War
Abetting this during the recent wars were some 50 military satellites, including
two dozen satellites in the Global Positioning System Constellation, numerous
communications satellites, about half a dozen electro-optical and radar-imaging
spy satellites, and an undetermined number of satellites that intercept cell phone
and other ground-based communications.42
These long-range missions for B-1s and B-2s had, by 2005, given a lot of
room for speculation that in the future, the U.S. could rely more on CONUS-
basing and less on forward basing, or a combination of it and sea-basing.

Sea basing
As an alternative, or a supplement to a land-based forward presence or a more
CONUS-based strategy for power projection, sea basing has captured increased
attention. It is, indeed, one of the three elements of Seapower 21, along with Sea
Strike and Sea Shield.43 This newer emphasis on sea basing is the result of worries
that land bases may not so readily be available for future power projection opera-
tions, for reasons previously enumerated: the lack of durable long-term alliances
and shifting alliances in a more multipolar system, intimidation of allies and arms
client states because of WMD, the leverage of the oil trade, political cross-
pressures, assertion of sovereignty by states no longer so much under the U.S.
security umbrella, sensitivity about problems caused by a foreign military pres-
ence, etc. So, some analysts now foresee greater use of sea-borne platforms for
operations ashore in lieu of land bases, a trend already anticipated by a large
number of small crisis operations (removal of U.S. embassy personnel, small-scale
interpositions), mostly in Africa, and some aspects of the Afghanistan conflict.
The recent CBO study on this subject states it as follows in its “Summary.”

But the third, Sea Basing, is considered by many in the Department of

Defense to be the most transformational of the three ideas. It envisions
putting a substantial Marine Corps ground force on shore and sustaining it
from ships at sea rather than from a land base. Thus, the Navy and Marine
Corps could conduct amphibious assaults (including “forcible-entry” opera-
tions, like those conducted on Japanese-held Pacific islands during World
War II) without needing to seize the enemy territory to build a base or to get
permission from a nearby country to use an existing base. Supporters argue
that sea basing would therefore allow U.S. forces to operate overseas more
independently, flexibly and quickly.44

As reported by the CBO study, the USN now has a 293-ship fleet, including
35 amphibious ships.45 The latter comprises five Tarawa (LHA-1) and Wasp
(LHD-1) amphibious assault ships, 11 Austin (LPD-4) amphibious transport
docks and eight Whidbey Island (LSD-41) and four Harpers Ferry (LSD-49)
dock landing ships. In addition, there are now 16 Maritime Prepositioning Ships.
The first three types of ships “carry Marines, vehicles, and the landing craft that
are used to ferry troops and equipment to shore; some also carry helicopters and
 After the Cold War 169
fixed wing aircraft.”46 The L-class ships together provide lift transport capacity of
1.9. Marine Expeditionary Brigades (MEBs) amounting to 27,000 troops and their
equipment. According to the CBO, in the past, these ships were arranged into 12
amphibious ready groups, three ships apiece, which operated independently from
the fleet and carried a Marine Expeditionary Unit of about 2200 troops, a battalion
equivalent. Now, the Navy is reorganizing its fleet so as to have three surface com-
batant ships and one submarine to operate with each amphibious ready group,
amounting to a task force known as an expeditionary strike group (ESG). Clearly,
this is reflective of a shift away from blue-water sea dominance towards littoral
warfare with myriad possible scenarios.
The MPSs carry equipment only, no troops, and are organized into three
squadrons of five or six ships apiece, based at ports in the Mediterranean, the
Indian Ocean (Diego Garcia), and the western Pacific (Guam). Each carries
enough matériel to equip an MEB and sustain it for 30 days, thus a lift capacity
of 3.0 MEBs. So that is the current basis for sea basing.
In March 2003, the Navy proposed to Congress building a fleet of 375 ships
(compared with the current 293), including 37 amphibious ships (compared with
the current 35) and 18 new MPSs (there are 16 today) capable of conducting
sea-basing operations. Over a 30 year period up to 2035, this would involve pur-
chasing 12 LPD-17s (San Antonio Class), ten amphibious ships of a new class
(LHA-R) similar to the present LHDs but capable of carrying more aircraft, 12
dock landing ships of a new class (LSD-X), and up to 21 new MPF(F)s far more
capable than the current MPSs. Thus by 2035, the Navy would have 57 com-
bined amphibious warfare ships and maritime prepositioning ships, organized
into 12 ESGs and three MPF(F) squadrons.
The CBO study sums up the Navy’s and Marine Corp’s plans for sea basing
as follows:

In the Navy’s and Marine Corps’s vision for sea basing, amphibious ships
would continue to carry the “assault echelons” – the first wave of troops – in
any expeditionary operation. The MPF(F) ships would carry most of the
materiel needed to sustain that force in the first 20 days of operations. They
would also hold all of the equipment for “follow-on assault echelons” – suc-
cessive waves of troops that would be transported to the theater on aircraft
on high-speed surface craft. With sea basing, no land base would be neces-
sary for the follow-on forces to assemble themselves and deploy–all of that
would occur on the ships comprising the sea base. Nor would there be a
large supply depot on land to offer a prime, stationary target for attacks by
enemy ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, or aircraft. The MPF(F)s are the
linchpin of the sea base; without them, the Navy and Marine Corps would
not be able to implement that new approach to amphibious warfare or
forcible-entry operations.47

The CBO report then goes on to explore several lower cost options for this
plan:
170 After the Cold War
1 buy fewer, more-capable ships within the historical spending level;
2 buy more, less capable ships within the historical spending level;
3 create a more survivable sea-basing force and;
4 de-emphasize sea basing in favor of forward presence.

These options involve a blizzard of possible options involving types and mixes
of ships, trade-offs between men, equipment, helicopters and aircraft, defensive
systems and survivability based on ship construction, etc. all costed out.
And, to add another layer of complexity, there is the further question of con-
nectors for the sea bases, i.e., means to get troops from CONUS (or Europe or
U.S. bases in the Far East) to combat zones, and to get them ashore and sustain
them. One option mentioned by the CBO is to purchase fast sealift ships capable
of ferrying troops from CONUS (or European or Asian bases) at high speeds.
Another option would be to fly troops to an advanced base, and then ferry them
to the sea base using short-range, higher speed vessels. Ships of the latter type
already exist, but new ones would require scaled-up designs. Additionally
required connectors are large air-cushion landing craft to get everything ashore,
flow-on/flow off ships to bring landing craft close to shore, a new heavy lift heli-
copter to replace the CH-53, or a new aircraft with quad-tilt rotors now only in
the early design stage.
The CBO report briefly discusses four areas of argument against sea basing,
keeping in mind that reliance on the latter can vary greatly along a scale from
modest to major.48 Those are:

1 the possible inability even of maximum sea-basing schemes to deal with

large-scale military operations such as those in Iraq in 1990–1991 and 2003;
2 the vulnerability of sea bases to attack from ballistic and cruise missiles,
maybe even more vulnerable than less concentrated land bases;
3 the question of whether there is a real likelihood that the U.S. would attempt
large-scale amphibious operations when it has not done so since the Korean
War with the Inchon landing; and
4 the expense of all the new ships and connectors needed to provide for
effective sea-basing.

The CBO study of sea basing, while elaborate and detailed with regard to
prospective force postures and associated cost projections, is almost divorced
from analysis of scenarios, i.e., the possible locations and sizes of conflicts,
impact of alignments, availability of land bases etc. The CBO’s overseas basing
study is also stingy with reference to possible or most likely scenarios, aside
from brief mention of Nigeria and Azerbaijan (potentially important future
sources of oil) and Uganda and Djibouti (potential staging bases for conducting
operations in Africa and the Arabian Peninsula to counter instability and terror-
ism).49 Likewise missing is any juxtaposition to or cross-referencing with the
now standard DOD general breakdown of conflict scenarios: traditional, irregu-
lar, catastrophic and disruptive.
 After the Cold War 171
Hence, a sea-basing scheme that allows for lift of 1.5–2.5 MEBs, maybe up
to 40,000 Marine Corps troops, might be suitable for littoral operations on the
scale of the Afghanistan war or, given favorable air overflight rights, somewhat
removed from the littoral. It would easily be capable, as it has been, of dealing
with extraction and peacekeeping operations on a small scale in Africa and else-
where. Without supplementation from the Army however, and maybe with it, it
might not be capable of operations on the scale of Desert Storm nor of OIF, the
progress of transformation to smaller, more mobile, more lethal forces notwith-
standing. The relevance to “catastrophic” generic scenarios (let us say, a WMD
terrorist attack in the U.S.) is ambiguous, likewise, preemption of the sources of
such threats via sea basing may be ambiguous.
The limitations of sea–basing away from littorals is a further subject for
review. Could, for instance, an MEB with full complement of submarine and
aircraft, be useful in Azerbaijan vis-à-vis the Russians, or in Tibet vis-à-vis
China, or in Chad or Uganda in relation to terrorist threats or coups?50
The absence of attention to jointness in the two CBO studies stands out. Army
forces are hardly mentioned in connection with sea basing, nor are Air Force cap-
abilities in relation to littoral warfare. And in the CBO study of the Army’s over-
seas bases, the Marines are largely missing and the Navy figures only in connection
with “locations with the fastest deployment by sea to potential areas of conflict.”
Hence, regarding the latter, Diego Garcia is seen as the best launching pad for
operations in South Asia, the Persian Gulf, East Africa, etc.; Bulgaria and Romania
for operations in the Med.–Black Sea area. Emphasis here is on the degree of
forward deployment, use of CSLs, rotation of units back and forth to CONUS, etc.
Missing is an analysis of how the lift capabilities layed out in the sea basing study
could provide lift both for the Army and Marines to deal with large-scale traditional
scenarios, or whether deployments of the troops of the two services would be mutu-
ally impossible due to the limits of sea basing even if abetted by extensive airlift.
Building the CBO sea basing force for 2035 could involve many billions of
dollars per year, perhaps $70 to 90 billion cumulatively over that period. Such
numbers dwarf the current non-Egypt/Israel security budgets, raising the issue of
the trade-offs between them and sea basing.

Missile defense basing

An emerging important issue is that of U.S. external basing in relation to ballis-
tic missile defense (BMD), which involves both defense of CONUS from
nuclear attack, and theater defense for U.S. forces abroad and U.S. allies in
Europe, the Middle East and the Far East.
Regarding defense of CONUS from external missile attack (China, Russia,
Iran, North Korea are concerns), the main basing issues have to do with the
upgrading of the BMEWS radars in the U.K. at Fylingdale Moor and at Thule,
Greenland, still under Danish sovereignty, a new radar in Poland, and missile
interceptors in the Czech Republic. For many years enhanced access to the
former sites was under pressure from political forces in Europe unhappy in
172 After the Cold War
general with U.S. ballistic missile defense schemes. Regarding the new possi-
bilities in Poland and the Czech Republic, there is extensive counter-pressure
from resurgent Russia.
But, the external basing of missile defense can be seen in a context other than
defense of U.S. forces and installations. There is the defense of allies. In that
connection, there is the concept of “triangular” or “indirect” deterrence, whereby
nations threatened by a U.S. strategic campaign or preemption of WMD cap-
abilities, and who are unable to respond or threaten to respond by hitting
CONUS or U.S. installations overseas, may threaten to hit U.S. allies.51 The
deterrent threat involved depends somewhat on U.S. concern for the well-being
of allies. As it happens, the 1991 Iraqi Scud attacks on Israel and Saudi Arabia
(Iraq had no capacity to attack the CONUS), constituted an early example of
what is involved here.
North Korea’s missile tests over Japan imply such a threat to strike Japan in
response to a U.S. preemption of Pyongyang’s nuclear facilities. Iran and
perhaps Pakistan could perhaps do likewise in response to U.S. attacks, and both
will be acquiring missiles that can reach all over their respective regions, to
Israel, to the Central Asian “stans,” etc. As some of these nations acquire still
longer range missiles, the range of threats will expand, in the case of Iran, all
over Europe. Hence the U.S. must think in terms of more comprehensive
regional BMD capabilities. But potentially threatened nations, such as Japan,
may be wary of acquiring such defenses (much less so after 2006 North Korean
missile tests) and think of them as “provocative” (this is a widely held view
among the Japanese left), and may indeed move toward decoupling from the
U.S. and the withdrawal of access for U.S. forces.52
In Europe, it may be less likely than in the case of Japan that intimidation or
the fear of provocation may block the installation of TMD and associated
systems. But in a broader sense, some similarities may exist. It may be hypothe-
sized that some “old” European nations now conceive of their “grand strategy”
as one of building a “counterweight” pole to the U.S., but also, taking advantage
of U.S. support for Israel to ingratiate themselves with the Islamic world via
anti-Israeli policies so as to attain preferential access to oil and the greater use of
euros as coin in the oil trade. That could militate in the direction of decoupling
from U.S. defense policy, including TMDs intended to protect Europe from
attack from the Middle East via triangular strike.
But, Poland is negotiating the possibility of basing a U.S. anti-missile radar
system within its borders, and the Czech Republic of basing U.S. theater mis-
siles. Britain appears willing to allow the U.S. to upgrade the BMEWS radar at
Fylingdale Moor and maybe also to install missiles. And, of course, U.S. naval
vessels armed with anti-missile defenses could be parked in the Mediterranean
or Baltic Seas, or offshore Europe’s Atlantic coast. Rarely commented upon is
the possibility that Europe may require missile defense vis-à-vis Israel in the
context of an ever more pro-Arab tilt by the EU and the possibility of EU arms
resupplies to Arab countries in the case of another large-scale Arab–Israeli con-
ventional war, presumably to include Egypt and perhaps Saudi Arabia.
 After the Cold War 173
U.S. anti-ballistic missiles could, conceivably, be used to “shut down”
nuclear exchanges in the Greater Middle East region, involving India and Pak-
istan, Iran and Israel (should the former acquire nuclear weapons), perhaps Pak-
istan and Israel. That could be done by shipboard missiles, but the possibility of
land-based missiles somewhere in the region (Persian Gulf, Central Asia, the
Caucasus) may not be ruled out.

Conclusion
As of 2005, the U.S. still maintained an elaborate “empire of bases,” a global
basing structure consonant with what remained a unipolar dominance at the mil-
itary security level at least (the fall of the dollar, rising Chinese economic might
and the U.S. vulnerability to a worsening situation with respect to the supply and
demand equation for oil presented a different picture). In that context following
are some general points regarding the future of the U.S. global basing system, its
structure and its purposes.

The diverse, uncertain and very global nature of the emerging threat
environment
Myriad possible scenarios, following under the (now standard) Pentagon head-
ings of traditional, catastrophic, irregular and disruptive, could be conjured up,
running from the probable, to the possible, to the hypothetical. Those threats
included terrorism, WMD (based on nation-states or non-state actors), tradi-
tional warfare possibilities in Iran, Taiwan and Korea, also a looming hege-
monic rivalry with China, maybe too the EU or both combined in alliance. But
looming, quietly, is the perhaps menacing struggle for oil, gas and non-fuel min-
erals, perhaps inextricably to be linked to problems of terrorism, WMD and
great powers’ hegemonic rivalries. These issues present almost open-ended
requirements for basing access.

The future of the international system

In addition to the foregoing, there is the uncertainty surrounding the future of the
international system, more specifically, whether the current U.S. unipolar domi-
nance and alliance structure will hold up, allowing for a continuing permissive
environment for U.S. basing access. It has also meant competition for basing
access, rival basing structures (either largely separate or interpenetrative), raising
the prospect of Chinese and EU thrusts for enhanced global military presences (a
resuscitated Russian basing structure is also not out of the question).

The bases for basing access

As previously analyzed, historically, there have been three generic routes to
basing access: conquest/colonization, alliances, the provision of security umbrellas
174 After the Cold War
(extended deterrence) and the quid pro quo of security/economic assistance. The
first named, the recent idiosyncrasies of Afghanistan and Iraq notwithstanding,
have pretty much been ruled out by prevailing international norms. The second
is, per the above discussion, in jeopardy in numerous places (see the example of
Turkey in 2003) because of changing international system structure, the prospect
of changed domestic politics where pro-U.S. regimes have existed, and the
intimidation factor related to WMD proliferation. The third, security/economic
assistance, may be, at present, an underutilized instrument of acquisition and
retention of basing access, what with relatively nugatory monies being expended
in numerous nations other than Israel and Egypt (in the latter cases, the purposes
of the assistance have to do with maintaining a “cold peace”). But, it is not clear
in many cases whether even greatly increased security assistance would result in
enhanced basing access due to the counter-pressures associated with issues of
sovereignty and pride as translated through domestic politics (here too, Turkey
is a good example).

Sea-based and CONUS-basing

In the early twenty-first century, largely in response to fears about the loss of
overseas bases, both on a normal day-to-day basis and during crises, the U.S.
began to consider the possibilities for conducting long-range military operations,
or portions of them, from homeland bases or from ships in lieu of land bases.
This was partly also the result of technological changes, i.e., longer-range air-
craft, tanker refueling, more advanced naval platforms carrying missiles and
fixed and rotary-wing aircraft, better satellite sensors, more precise munitions
etc. The possibilities for more effective rotating of forces back and forth from
CONUS to overseas venues was also a part of this. By 2005, there were a lot of
studies in progress to determine the technical and cost requirements, particularly
for the utilization of sea-basing in lieu of land facilities. Whether, later, apropos
the above, similar issues would arise in connection with Chinese, EU or Russian
long-range power projection remained to be seen.
Appendices

I Mongol Empire and the Mediterranean system

II The age of sail and European imperialism
III The interwar period
IV The Cold War period
V The post-Cold War period
I Mongol Empire and the Mediterranean system

Mongol Empire

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Hangzhou Bay China 1279 n/a C P MN N

Canton China 1284 n/a C P MN N
Masan South Korea 1274 1280s C P MN N
Tsushima South Korea 1275 1280s C P MiN N
Iki South Korea 1276 1280s C P MiN N
Chindo South Korea 1271 n/a C P MiN N
Cheja South Korea 1273 n/a C P MiN N

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
**MN = Major naval, MiN = Minor naval, F = Fort
*** = Yes or no
Venice

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Antwerp Belgium – – D P Commercial Y

Bruges Belgium 1374 – D P Commercial Y
Famagusta Cyprus 1200s – C P MN –
Alexandria Egypt 1340s – D P MiN Y
South Hampton England – – D P MiN Y
Rhodes Greece 1200s – C P MN Y
Zante Greece 1481 1797 C P MiN Y
Modun Greece – 1499 C P MN Y
Negroponte Greece 1209 1470 C P MN Y
Salonika Greece 1424 – C P MiN Y
Coron Greece 1204 1499 C P MN Y
Moron Greece 1300s 1479 C P MN Y
Corinth Greece – – C P – Y
Chios Greece 1694 1695 C P MiN Y
Tenedos Greece 1375 1383 C P MiN Y
St. Maura Greece 1502 1684 C P MiN Y
Greece 1699 1797 C P MiN Y
Thasos Greece 1464 1479 C P MiN Y
Samathrace Greece 1464 1479 C P MiN Y
Imbros Greece 1466 1479 C P MiN Y
Lemnos Greece 1464 1479 C P MiN Y
Greece 1656 1657 C P MiN Y
North Sporades Greece 1453 1538 C P MiN Y
Icaria Greece 1694 1695 C P MiN Y
Andros Greece 1437 1440 C P MiN Y
Greece 1507 1574 C P MiN Y

continued
Venice continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Tinos Greece 1390 1715 C P MiN Y

Agina Greece 1451 1537 C P MiN Y
Souda Bay Greece 1643 1715 C W MiN Y
Mycenos Greece 1390 1537 C P MiN Y
Naxos Greece 1437 1510 C P MiN Y
Greece 1511 1517 C P MiN Y
Amargos Greece 1370 1446 C P MiN Y
Ithaca & Cephalone Greece 1483 1485 C P MiN Y
Cergo Greece 1363 1797 C P MiN Y
Karpathos Greece 1306 1538 C P MiN Y
Candia Greece, Crete 1204 1669 C P MN Y
Souda Bay Greece, Crete 1380 – C P MN Y
Acre Israel – 1291 C P MiN Y
Marcano Italy – – C P fort –
St. Jean d’ Arc Lebanon – – C P salt trade Y
Tyre Lebanon – 1291 C P MiN Y
Beirut Lebanon 1374 – D P MiN Y
Monaco Monaco 1297 1297 D – MiN N
Lisbon Portugal – – D P MiN Y
Soldava Romania 1200s 1382 D P MiN Y
Ibiza Spain – – C P – Y
Tunis Tunisia – – D P commercial Y
Constantinople Turkey 1205 1453 C – MN Y
Trebizond Turkey 1200s – D P MiN Y
Lajazzo Turkey 1302 1340s D P MiN Y
Smyrna Turkey 1344 – C P MiN Y
Tana Ukraine 1200s 1315 D P MiN Y
Zara Yugo – – – – – –
Ragusa Yugo 1260 late 1300s C P MiN Y
Capadistria Yugo – – C P MN Y
Pola Yugo 1378 – C P MiN Y
Treviso Yugo 1375 1384 C P MiN Y
Scutari Yugo 1396 1479 C P MiN Y
Trieste Yugo 1494 – C P MiN Y
Corfu – 1206 1214 C P MN Y

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
**MN = Major naval, MiN = Minor naval, F = Fort
*** = Yes or no
Genoa

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Famagusta Cyprus – – C P Entrepôt Y

Chios Greece 1289 – C P MN Y
Salonika Greece 1262 – D P MiN Y
Porto Longo Greece 1200s 1353 C W MiN Y
Rhodes Greece 1380 – – – port visits
Acre Israel 1250 1291 C P MiN Y
Naples Italy 1528 – D P Mission to
French –
Tyre Lebanon 1250 1291 C P MiN Y
Malta Malta 1260s – – P MiN Y
Koffa Russia 1240 1322 D? P MiN Y
Tunis Tunisia 1535 – C P MN Y
Pera Turkey 1299 1396 D P MiN Y
Focea Turkey – – – – alum mines Y
Trebizond Turkey 1319 – – P fort-trade Y
Tana Ukraine 1200s 1372 C P MiN Y
Dalmatia Yugo 1378 – D W MiN Y

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
**MN = Major naval, MiN = Minor naval, F = Fort
*** = Yes or no
Ottoman Empire

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Scutari Albania 1479 – C P MiN –

Bone Algeria 1535 – C P MiN N
Algiers Algeria 1529 – C P MiN –
Cyprus Cyprus 1571 – C P MiN –
Suez Egypt 1517 – C P MiN –
Marseille France 1535 – C P MN N
Marseille France 1510 – D W MiN –
Toulon France 1543–1544 – D W MiN –
Lesbos Greece 1462 – C P MiN N
Negroponte Greece 1470 – C P MiN –
Modon Greece 1499 – C P MiN –
Coron Greece 1479 1532 C P MiN –
Zonchio Greece 1534 – C P MiN –
Rhodes Greece 1522 – C P MiN –
Crete Greece 1645 – C P MiN –
Basra Iraq early 1550s – C P MN –
Reggio Italy 1532 – C P MiN N
Oranto Italy 1479 – C P MiN –
Tyre Lebanon 1516 – C P – N
Tripoli Libya 1551 – C P MN N
Jidda Saudi Arabia early 1500s – C P MN N
Djidjelli Saudi Arabia 1514 – C P MiN N
Mecca/Jidda Saudi Arabia 1516 – C P MiN –
Point Mahon Spain 1534 – C P MiN N
Tunis(x) Tunisia 1535 – C P MiN N
Djerba(x) Tunisia 1560 – C P MN N

continued
Ottoman Empire continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Galeta Tunisia 1532 1535 C P MN N

Constantinople Turkey 1453 present C P MN –
Aden Yemen early 1500s – C P MN N
Aden Yemen 1515 – C P MN –
Castelnuovo Yugoslavia – 1538 C P MiN N

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
**MN = Major naval, MiN = Minor naval, F = Fort
*** = Yes or no
(x) = Kheir El Din, pirate, Barbarosa, linked to Ottomans
II The age of sail and European imperialism, intra-European basing in the Baltic arena

Portugal

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Luanda Angola 1575 1641 C P MiN Y

Maxima Angola 1575 – C P F Y
Massangano Angola 1575 – C P F Y
Cambambe Angola 1575 – C P F Y
Macao China 1557 – D P MiN Y
Kilwa E. Africa 1505 1512 C P MiN (F) Y
El Mina Ghana 1482 1638 C P MiN (F) Y
Axim Ghana 1503 1638 C P MiN (F) Y
Goa India 1510 1961 C P MN Y
Malacca Indonesia 1511 1641 C P MN Y
Ternate Indonesia 1522 1575 C P MiN (F) Y
Amboina Indonesia 1529 1605 C P MiN (F) Y
Tidore Indonesia 1521 1665 C P MiN (F) Y
Macassar Indonesia n/a n/a C P MiN Y
Timor Indonesia 1520 – C P F Y
Madeira Islands 1419 present C P MiN Y
Azores Islands 1439 present C P MiN Y
Cape Verde Islands 1456 n/a C P MiN Y
Nagasaki Japan 1576 n/a D P MiN Y
Arguim Mauratania 1445 n/a C P MiN (F) Y
Ceuta Morocco 1415 1578 C P MiN Y
Tangier Morocco 1437 1668 C P MiN Y
Mazagan Morocco 1514 1667 C P MiN (F) Y
continued
Portugal continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Sofala Mozambique 1505 1660s C P MiN Y

Sena Mozambique 1505 1660s C P MiN Y
Tete Mozambique 1505 1660s C P MiN Y
Quelimane Mozambique 1505 1660s C P MiN Y
Mocambique Mozambique 1508 n/a C P MN Y
Alca N. Africa 1458 1549 C P MiN Y
Arguila N. Africa 1471 1550 C P MiN Y
Azemour N. Africa 1513 1541 C P MiN Y
Hormuz Oman 1515 1622 C P MN Y
Sao Tome Sao Tome 1470 n/a C P MiN (F) Y
Zanzibar Tanzania – C P MiN Y
Pate Tanzania – C P MiN Y
Penda Tanzania – C P MiN Y
Malindi Tanzania 1505 1698 D P MiN Y
Socotra Yemen 1610 1844 C P MiN Y
– 1648 – C P MiN (F) Y
Mombasa – 1505 1698 D P MiN Y

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
**MN = Major naval base; MiN = Minor naval base; F = Fort
***Yes or no
Spain

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Oran Algeria 1505 – C P MiN (F) Y

Mostaganem Algeria 1505 – C P MiN Y
Tenes Algeria 1505 1517 C P MiN Y
Algiers Algeria 1505 – C P MiN (F) Y
Bougie Algeria 1505 – C P MiN (F) Y
Buenos Aires Argentina – – C P MiN Y
Santiago Chile 1541 – C P MiN Y
Arica Chile – – C P MiN Y
Havana Cuba 1511 1898 C P MN Y
Santiago Cuba 1520 – C P MiN Y
Santo Domingo Dominican Rep. 1496 1585 C P MN Y
Guayaquil Ecuador – – C P MiN Y
Moluccas Indonesia – – C P MiN Y
Kinsale Ireland 1601 – D ad hoc MiN N
Messina Italy 1500s – D P MN N
Naples Italy 1500s – D P MN N
Kingston Jamaica 1509 – C P MiN Y
Malta Malta 1535 – C P MiN Y
Vera Cruz Mexico 1519 – C P – Y
San Juan de Ulloa Mexico 1574 – C P MN –
Acapulco Mexico 1527 – C P MN Y
Tehuantepec Mexico – – C P MiN Y
Yucatan Mexico – – C P MiN Y
Ceuta Morocco – – C P MiN Y
Tangiers Morocco – – C P MiN Y
Huatulco Nicaragua – – C P MiN Y
continued
Spain continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Darien Panama 1513 – C P MiN Y

Nombre de Dios Panama – – C P MN Y
Porto Bello Panama 1598 – C P MN Y
Panama City Panama – – C P – Y
Manila Philippines 1542 1898 C P MN Y
Lima (Calleo) Peru 1535 – C P MiN Y
Lisbon Portugal 1580 – C P MN Y
San Juan Puerto Rico – – C P MN Y
Las Palmas Spain 1479 – C P MiN Y
Melilla Spain 1492 – C P MiN Y
Mers El Kebir Tunisia 1505 – C P MiN (F) N
Tunis (Goleta) Tunisia 1535 – C P MiN Y
St. Augustine U.S. – – C P MiN Y
Maracaibo Venezuela – – C P MiN Y
Cartagena Venezuela – 1585 C P MN Y
Cubagna (New Cadiz) Venezuela 1511 – C P MiN Y

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
**MN = Major naval, MiN = Minor naval, F = Fort
*** = Yes or no
The Netherlands

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type**** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition** vs. wartime and economic
function***

Loango Angola 1663 – C P MiN Y

Bahia Brazil 1623 1625 C P MiN Y
Pernambuco Brazil 1630 1648 C P MiN Y
Cape Verde Cape Verde – – – – – –
Canton* China – 1750 D P factory Y
Curacao DWI 1634 – C P MiN (F) Y
Bonaire DWI 1634 – C P MiN Y
Aruba DWI 1634 – C P MiN Y
El Minya Ghana 1638 – C P MiN (F) Y
Pulicat India 1630s – C P F Y
Sadras India 1630s – C P F Y
Negapatam India 1660s – C P F Y
Cochin India 1660s 1750 C P F Y
Surat India 1660s – C P F Y
Pondicherry India 1697 – C P Entr. Y
Cannavore India – – C P F Y
Quilon India – – C P F Y
Belasore* India 1750 – D P MiN –
Calcutta* India – – C W MiN –
Dacca* India – – C W MiN –
Patna* India – – C W MiN –
Agra* India – – C W MiN –
Broach* India – – C W MiN –
Amboina Indonesia 1605 1947 C P MiN Y
Batavia Indonesia 1619 1947 C P MN Y
Malacca Indonesia 1641 1947 C P MiN Y
Tidore Indonesia 1613 1947 C P MiN Y
Ternate Indonesia 1605 1947 C P MiN Y
Palembang Indonesia – – C P MiN (F) Y
Choribon Indonesia – – C P MiN –
continued
The Netherlands continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type**** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition** vs. wartime and economic
function***

Padang Indonesia – 1794 C P MiN –

Borus Indonesia – 1794 C P MiN –
Palermo Italy 1664 – D W MN Y
Elba Italy – – D W MiN Y
Nagasaki Japan 1640s – D P F Y
Deshima Japan 1640s – D P F Y
Hirado Japan 1640s – D P F Y
Bergen Norway 1660s – D W MN –
St. Eustatius NWI 1634 – C P Entr. Y
St. Martin NWI 1634 – C P Entr. Y
Lisbon* Portugal 1704 – D P MiN Y
Arkangelsk Russia – – D P T Y
Cape Town South Africa 1652 – C P MiN (F) Y
Cadiz Spain 1664 – D W MN Y
Malaga Spain 1664 – D W MN Y
Alicante Spain 1664 – D W MN Y
Jaffna Sri Lanka 1640s 1750 C P F Y
Trincomalee Sri Lanka 1640s 1750 C P MiN Y
Galle Sri Lanka 1640s 1750 C P F Y
Colombo Sri Lanka 1640s 1750 C P MiN Y
Batticaleo Sri Lanka 1640s 1750 C P F Y
Surinam Surinam 1667 1799 C P MiN –
Kalmar Sweden 1644 1644 D W MiN –
Zeelandia Taiwan 1627 1662 C P MiN Y
Bangkok* Thailand – – C W MiN –
New Amsterdam United States – 1664 C P Entr. Y
St. Martin W. Indies 1756 – C P MiN –
St. Bartholomew W. Indies 1756 – C P MiN –
Tobago W. Indies 1676 – C P MiN Y
Gold Coast West Africa 1663 – C P MiN (F) Y

Notes
* Shared with Great Britain
**C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
***Yes or no
****MN = Major naval base; MiN = Minor naval base; F = Fort; Entr. = Entrepôt
France

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Algiers Algeria 1600s – C P pirates N

Rio de Janeiro Brazil 1555 – C P econ Y
St. Kitts BWI 1670s(X) 1713 C P MiN Y
Port Royal Canada 1605 1627 C P MiN Y
Quebec Canada – 1627 C P MiN (F) Y
Louisburg Canada 1740s 1747 C P MN Y
Newfoundland Canada – 1697 C P econ Y
Hudson Bay Canada – 1697 C P econ Y
Acadia Canada 1710 1714 C P econ Y
Nova Scotia Canada 1710 1714 C P econ Y
Alexandria Egypt late 1830s 1882 C P MN N
Cayenne Fr. Guyana 1604 – C P MiN Y
Guadeloupe France 1700 1759 C P MiN Y
Martinique(Ft. Royal) France 1700 1762 C P MiN Y
Corsica France 1756 1763 D W MiN Y
Reunion France – – – – – –
Marquesas Isl. France 1840s – C P MiN Y
New Caledonia France 1840s – C P MiN Y
St. Pierre France – 1793 C P econ N
Miquelon France – 1793 C P econ N
Tahiti French Samoa 1840s – C P MiN Y
Grenada Grenada 1700 1763 C P MiN –
Madagascar Grenada 1664 – C P MiN Y
Conakry Guinea 1887 – C P MiN Y
St. Domingue Haiti 1697 – C P MiN Y
Surat India 1668 – D P MiN Y

continued
France continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition* vs. wartime and economic
function***

Pondicherry India 1672 1697 C P econ Y

Madras India 1747 1748 C P MiN Y
Pondicherry India 1750 – C P outposts Y
Swally India 1750 – C P outposts Y
Calicut India 1750 – C P outposts Y
Chandanagore India 1750 – C P outposts Y
Karikel India 1750 – C P outposts Y
Bantam Indonesia 1664 – C P MiN Y
Achin Indonesia – – C P MiN Y
Batavia Indonesia 1794 – C P MiN Y
Cork Ireland 1688 1690 D W MiN N
Kinsale Ireland 1688 1690 D W MiN N
Porto Longone Italy (Elba) 1646 – C W MiN N
Tripoli Libya 1600s – C P pirates N
Tripoli Libya 1830s – C P MiN N
Bamako Mali 1883 – C P Fort Y
Mauritius Mauritius – 1810 C P MN Y
Azores Portugal (Sp) – – D W MiN N
Goree Senegal 1701 1759 C P MiN/slaving Y
Dakar Senegal 1700s 1759 C P MN Y
Mahe Seychelles 1750 – C P outposts Y
Cape Town South Africa – 1795 C P MN Y
Malaga Spain 1704 – D W MN N
Barcelona Spain 1741 – D W MN N
Minorca Spain 1756 1763 D W MiN N
Ceylon Sri Lanka – 1802 C P MiN Y
Tunis Tunisia 1600s – C P Pirates N
Bizerte Tunisia – – C P MN N
Tunis Tunisia 1830s 1950s C P MN N
Oswego U.S. 1756 – C P Fort Y
Mobile U.S. 1700 1807 C P MiN Y
Biloxi U.S. 1700 1807 C P – Y
Florida U.S. 1562 1565 C P – Y
Hanoi Vietnam – – C P MiN N
Haiphong Vietnam – – C P MiN N
Saigon Vietnam – – C P MiN N
Tortuga West Indies – – C P MiN Y
St. Christoph West Indies 1620s 1713 C P MiN Y
Dominica West Indies – – – – – –
St. Martin West Indies – 1762 C P MiN Y
St. Lucia West Indies – 1763 C P MiN Y
St. Vincent West Indies 1782 – C P MiN Y
Tobago West Indies – 1672 C P MiN Y
Sallée 1600s – C P pirates N

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
**MN = Major naval, MiN = Minor naval, F = Fort
*** = Yes or no
(X) = Shared by France and Britain
Great Britain

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type*** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition** vs. wartime and economic
function****

Buenos Aires Argentina early 1700s – C P MiN Y

Port Essington Australia 1838 – C P MiN N
Melville Australia 1838 – C P MiN N
Sydney Australia 1788 – C P MN N
Bahamas Bahamas – 1703 C P MiN Y
Barbados Barbados 1625 – C P MiN Y
Sarawak Brunei 1845 – C P MiN N
Tenasserim Burma early 1800s – C P MiN Y
St. Kitts BWI 1624 – C P MiN Y
St. Kitts BWI 1713 – – – MiN Y
St. Christof BWI 1713 – C P MiN Y
Nevis BWI 1628 – C P MiN Y
Antigua BWI 1632 – C P MiN Y
Montserrat BWI 1632 – C P MiN Y
Montserrat BWI 1624 – C P MiN Y
St. Lucia BWI 1794 1815 C P MiN Y
The Saints BWI 1794 – C – outpost Y
Maria Galante BWI 1794 – C P outpost Y
Tobago BWI – 1784 C P MiN Y
Grenada BWI 1760 1784 C P MiN Y
Dominica BWI 1793 – C P MiN Y
St. Vincent BWI 1793 – C P MiN N
Curacao BWI 1800 1815 C P MiN Y
Nova Scotia Canada 1655 1667 C P MiN N
Newfoundland Canada 1710 – C P MiN Y
Louisburg Canada 1713 1740s C P MiN N
Halifax Canada 1600s – C P MN Y
Halifax Canada 1749 – C P MN N
Esquimalt Canada 1870s – C P MiN N
Amoy China – – D P MiN Y leave in
1668
Canton* China 1710 – D P MiN Y leave in
1669
Hong Kong China 1841 – C P MN N
Kiungchow China 1858 – D P Treaty Port Y
Canton China 1843 – D P Treaty Port Y
Hong Kong China 1842 – D P Treaty Port Y
Kowloon China 1860 – D P Treaty Port Y
Swatow China 1860 – D P Treaty Port Y
Amoy China 1843 – D P Treaty Port Y
Foochow China 1843 – D P Treaty Port Y
Taiwan China 1858 – D P Treaty Port Y
Tansu China 1858 – D P Treaty Port Y
Ningpo China 1844 – D P Treaty Port Y
Shanghai China 1843 – D P Treaty Port Y
Chokong China 1861 – D P Treaty Port Y
Nanking China 1858 – D P Treaty Port Y
Keelung China 1861 – D P Treaty Port Y
Hankow China 1861 – D P Treaty Port Y
Chefoo China 1862 – D P Treaty Port Y
Tientsin China 1860 – D P Treaty Port Y
Ninshang China 1869 – D P Treaty Port Y
WeiHei Wei China – – C P MiN Y
Cyprus Cyprus 1878 – C P MiN N
Copenhagen Denmark 1665 – D W MN N
Alexandria Egypt 1882 1952 D P MN N
Fiji Fiji 1874 – C P MiN N
Dunkirk France 1658 – D-C P MiN N

continued
Great Britain continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type*** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition** vs. wartime and economic
function****

Martinique France 1758 1763 C P MiN N

Guadeloupe France 1794 1815 C P MiN Y
Corsica France 1795 1796 C W MiN N
Banjol Gambia 1760s 1770s C P – Y
Stralsund Germany 1807 1807 D W MiN N
Heligoland Germany early 1810 1818 D W MiN N
Crete-Souda Bay Greece 1840 – C P MiN N
Bombay India 1665 – D then C P MN Y leave in
1668
Surat India 1612 1618 C P MiN Y leave in
1668
Masulipatam India 1611 – D P MiN Y leave in
1668
Salasore India 1633 – D P MiN Y leave in
1668
Madras India 1639 – D P MN-fort Y leave in
1668
Calcutta* India 1686 – D P MN Y leave in
1668
Agra India 1612 – D P trading post Y
Porcalt India 1662 – C P factory Y
Telichery India 1600s – D P MiN-posts Y
Cuddahore India 1600s – D P MiN-posts Y
Belasore India 1600s – D P MiN-posts Y
Dacca India 1600s – D P MiN-posts Y
Malda India 1600s – D P MiN-posts Y
Patna India 1600s – D P MiN-posts Y
Visagapatam India 1600s – D P MiN-posts Y
Andaman (Pt. Blair) India – – C W MiN N
Ternate Indonesia 1579 1580 D P MiN Y
Bantam Indonesia – – C P trading post Y
Amboina Indonesia 1612 1623 C P MiN Y
Penang Indonesia 1794 1818 C P MiN
Banda Indonesia 1784 – C P MiN Y
Labuan Indonesia 1846 – C P MiN N
Borneo Indonesia 1888 – C P MiN N
Achin Indonesia 1756 – C W MiN N
Malacca Indonesia 1794 1816 C W MiN N
Moluccas Indonesia 1795 1816 C W MiN N
Bencoolen Indonesia 1794 1818 C W MiN N
Khorak Iran 1839 – C P MiN N
Cork Ireland late 1600s 1697 C W MiN N
Kinsale Ireland late 1600s 1697 C W MiN N
Acre Israel 1840 – C P MiN N
Sardinia Italy 1708 – C W MiN N
Leghorn Italy 1650s – D W MiN N
Livorno Italy – – D P – N
Citavecchia Italy 1570s – D P – Y
Zante Italy 1575 – D P – Y
Cephalenia Italy 1575 – D W – Y
Kingston Jamaica 1655 1920s C P MN Y
Mombasa Kenya – – C P MN N
Madagascar Madagascar – – C P MN N
Maldives Maldives – – C P MiN N
Malta Malta 1800 1812 C P MN N
Mauritius Mauritius 1810 – C P MN –
Mauritius Mauritius 1815 – C P MiN N
Tangier Morocco mid 1650s – C P MiN N

continued
Great Britain continued

Base name Country Date Date Basis for Permanent peacetime Type*** Mixed military
(nowadays) start end acquisition** vs. wartime and economic
function****

Agadir Morocco 1551 – D P MiN N

Texel Netherlands 1790s? – D W MiN N
Auckland New Zealand 1841 – C P MiN N
Lagos Nigeria 1851 – C P MiN N
Lisbon Portugal 1640 – D W&P MiN Y
Tagus Portugal 1832 1833 D P MiN N
Cape (Simonstown) S. Africa 1795 1802 C P MN N
Goree Senegal 1664 – C P slave Y
Dakar Senegal 1758 1784 C P MiN N
Seychelles Seychelles 1815 – C P MiN N
Freetown Sierra Leone 1815 – C P
Singapore Singapore 1819 – C P MN N
Durban South Africa 1847 – C P MiN N
Tangier Spain 1662 – D-C P MiN N
Cadiz Spain 1665 and
1695 – D W MN N British and
Dutch used
the base
Port Mahon Spain 1708 1756 C P MN N
Port Mahon Spain 1763 1784 C P MN N
Port Mahon Spain 1798 – C P MN N
Barcelona Spain – – D W MN N
Tangier Spain 1697 – C P MiN garrison N
Tetuan Spain mid 1650s – D W MiN N
Trincomalee Sri Lanka 1763 1784 C P MN N
Trincomalee Sri Lanka 1815 – C P MN N
Colombo Sri Lanka – – – P MN N
Surinam Surinam 1799 – C P MiN N
Zanzibar Tanzania – – C P MiN N
Tonga Tonga 1899 – C P MiN N
Trinidad Trinidad 1797 – C P MiN –
Gibraltar U.K. 1704 – C P MN N
Ascension U.K. 1815 – C P MiN N
Bermuda U.K. 1609 – C P MiN N
St. Helena U.K. 1511 – C P MiN N
Chagos Arch U.K. – – C P MN N
Ascension U.K. 1815 – C P MiN N
Falklands U.K. 1833 – C P MiN N
New York U.S. 1664 1782 C P MiN N
Virginia U.S. 1606 1782 C P MiN Y
Mass-Plymouth U.S. 1620 1782 C P MiN Y
Baltimore U.S. 1634 1782 C P MiN Y
Boston U.S. 1628 1782 C P MiN Y
Oswego Bay U.S. 1600s 1756 C P MiN N
Brielle West Africa 1713 – C P slave Y
James Island West Africa 1618 – C P slave Y
Aden Yemen – – C P MN N
Aden Yemen 1839 – D P MN N
Providence Isl. – 1629 1641 C P MiN Y
(Acadia) – 1710 – C P MiN N
(Cape Breton) 1747 1748 C P MiN Y
Danish; Swedish Islands 1801 – D – – Y
New Hebrides 1906 – C P MiN N

Notes
*Shared with the Netherlands
**C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
***MN = Major naval, MiN = Minor naval, F = Fort
**** = Yes or no
Naval wars in the Baltic 1522–1850

Host Location (Current User Date begin Date end Year

designation)

Introduction
Travemünde-Port of Lübeck Germany Denmark–Prussia–Sweden June June 1535
Fyen Norway Denmark–Prussia–Sweden June Feb. 1536
The Northern Seven Years War, 1563–1570
[the Allies: Denmark, Germany]
Landskrona, Sjaeland-Fortress of Kronborg (Elsinore) Sweden Denmark, Prussia Jan. Feb. –
Bornholm Denmark The Allies 24 May 12 June –
Copenhagen Denmark Lübeck Contingent 27 May 30 May 1565
Rügen Germany Sweden, Finland 4 July 7 July –
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies 14 July 8 Aug. –
Revel Estonia Sweden June Oct. 1568
Abo and Viborg Finland Sweden winter winter 1570
The Russo-Swedish Wars and the War of the Vasa Succession, 1570–1610
Danzig Poland Sweden – – 1587
Danzig Poland Sweden June 6 Sept. 1592–1593
Narva Estonia Sweden winter winter 1599
Barösund Denmark Sweden Aug. Jan. –
Danzig, Riga Poland, Latvia Sweden Apr.–May Oct. 1603
Riga Latvia Sweden Sept. Oct. –
Bergen Norway Sweden weather-port in weather-port in 1607
Elfsborg Norway Sweden – – 1607–1608
Belt, Norway, and Lapland – Denmark – – 1587
The Kalmar War, the Russo-Swedish Wars, the Wars of the Vasa Succession and the Thirty Year’s War, 1611–1643
Kalmar Sweden Denmark 13 Aug. 21 Aug. 1612
Abo Finland Sweden Sept. winter 1616
Stralsund Germany Sweden – – 1627
Stralsund Germany Sweden winter winter 1629
The Belt, the Elbe, and Weser Germany Denmark Aug. – 1626
The Elbe Germany Denmark – – –
The Elbe Germany Denmark w/ Britain, Dutch winter end Aug. 1627
The Elbe, the Weser Germany Denmark w/ Britain, Dutch 16 Mar. 7 May 1628
Glûckstadt Germany Denmark w/ Britain, Dutch May 7 May –
Stralsund Germany Sweden – – 1630
Danzig Poland Sweden summer summer 1634
The Elbe-Stade (Hamburg) Germany Denmark 4 Sept. Sept. 1630–1643
The war between Sweden and Denmark, 1643–1645
Stralsund Germany Sweden 7 July 28 July 1644
Gothenburg Sweden Dutch 20 July 9 Aug. –
Kalmar Sweden Dutch 24 Aug. 5 Oct. –
Wismar Germany Dutch 3 Nov. 13 Nov. –
Wismar Germany Dutch 23 Nov. winter –
Kjöge Bay Denmark Dutch 5 June – 1645
Kronborg Denmark Dutch 5 June winter –
Hellevoetsluis Netherlands Dutch 22 Nov. – –
Bremen, Verden, Pomerania, Rügen, Wismar Germany Sweden Peace of Westphalia –
1648
The wars of the Danes and the Dutch against the Swedes and the English, 1652–1667
Helsingor Denmark Britain Early Aug. 9 Sept. 1652
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 13 Oct. Nov. –
Stralsund Germany Sweden 25 Nov. winter –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 19 July 20 July –
Danzig Poland Dutch 26 July – –
Riga Latvia Sweden July-Sept. July–Sept. –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 29 May 21 June 1657
–
Rügen Germany Denmark June 12 Sept. –
Wismar Germany Sweden 23 Sept. 4 Nov. –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch Sept. 14 Nov. –
Wismar Germany Sweden winter winter –

continued
Naval wars in the Baltic 1522–1850 continued

Host Location (Current User Date begin Date end Year

designation)

Danzig Poland Sweden 3 June end June 1658

Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 29 Oct. Nov. –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch Nov. 5 Nov. –
Landskrona Sweden Dutch, Denmark 5 Nov. 22, 26 Nov. –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch winter winter –
Knudshoved Norway Sweden 29 Nov. – –
Trondhjem Norway Sweden Dec. Dec. –
Trondhjem Germany Dutch 11 Dec. 13 Mar. –
Flensburg Denmark Dutch, Denmark 26 Mar. 27 Mar. 1659
Kjöge Denmark Dutch 6 July 23 July –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 26 Aug. 23 Sept. –
Copenhagen Germany Dutch 23 Sept. 27 Aug. –
Wismar Denmark Sweden 27 Sept. Oct. –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 10 Oct. 22 Oct. –
Middelfart Denmark Dutch 3 Nov. Nov. 1–5 Dec. –
Travemünde-port of Lübeck Germany Dutch, Denmark 18 Nov. 1 Dec. –
Wismar Germany Sweden Nov. Nov. –
Kronborg Denmark Sweden 12 Mar. 23 Mar. –
Bergen Norway Britain 3 Aug. 3 Aug. 1665
Christiansand and Bergen Norway Dutch winter winter 1665–1666
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch winter winter –
Iceland Iceland Denmark early July – –
The Skane War and its antecedents, 1668–1679
[The Allies: Denmark–Dutch & U. Provinces, Spain, Brandenburg, German States]
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies June Aug. 1668–1675
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies 25 May – –
Copenhagen Denmark Brandenburg – – –
Kjöge Bay Denmark The Allies 19 June 21 June
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies 26 Aug. 6 Sept. 1677
Rügen Germany The Allies 8 Sept. mid-Oct. –
Kalmar Sound Sweden The Allies 9 Aug. 30 Sept. –
Rügen Germany Denmark 9 Aug. 30 Sept. –
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies 30 Sept. winter –
The antecedents and first stage of the Great Northern War, 1680–1709
Lagos Portugal Brandenburg 30-Sept. Sept.–Aug. –
Copenhagen Denmark France 1 July 2 Aug. –
Gothenburg Sweden Dutch 12 Oct. – –
Gothenburg Sweden Britain, Dutch 19 June 25 June 1700
The Second Stage of the Great Northern War, 1709–1714
Danzig Poland Denmark 14 Sept. 14 Sept. 1709
Danzig Poland Denmark, Sweden 6 Oct. 7 Oct. –
Petersburg, Archangel Russia Turkey – – 1696
Langesund Norway Denmark May-June 18 June –
Skagen Denmark Denmark 21 June 30 June –
Copenhagen Denmark Russia Dec. 22 Feb. –
Helsingfors Denmark Russia winter winter 1712–1713
Heligoland Germany Denmark Aug. Nov. –
Revel Estonia Denmark June 29 July –
The Third Stage of the Great Northern War, 1715–1719
[The Allies: Denmark, Dutch, English, Russia]
Kjöge Bay Denmark Britain, Dutch 12 July 17 July 1715
Råger Vik Estonia Russia 2 Aug. 4 Aug. –
Revel Estonia The Allies 4 Aug. 27 Aug. –
Revel Estonia Russia 2 Sept. Sept. –
Kjöge Bay Denmark Britain, Dutch 10 Sept. – –
Stralsund Germany Denmark, Britain Dec. 7 Dec. –
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies winter winter 1715–1716
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies winter winter –
Trondhjem Norway The Allies winter winter –

continued
Naval wars in the Baltic 1522–1850 continued

Host Location (Current User Date begin Date end Year

designation)

Revel Estonia Russia May 1 May 1716

Revel Estonia Russia 23 May May–June –
Copenhagen Denmark The Allies 7 June–7 Aug. 16 Aug. –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 13 July 16 Aug. –
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 17 July, 30 June 16 Aug. –
Hven Denmark Denmark Aug. Aug. –
Kjöge Bay Denmark Russia 25 Aug. 16 Oct. –
Rostock Germany Russia 23 Oct. 5 Nov. –
Copenhagen Denmark Britain, Dutch 9–12 Nov. 15–16 Nov. –
Revel Estonia Russia 21 Nov. winter 1716–1717
Rostock Germany Russia winter winter –
Norway Norway Britain Late Mar. Apr 1717
Kjöge Bay Denmark Britain, Denmark 7 May May –
Copenhagen Denmark Dutch 9 July 13 July –
Kjöge Bay Denmark The Allies 13 July 15 July –
Bornholm Denmark The Allies July 2 Sept. –
Danzig Germany The Allies Oct. winter –
Abo Finland The Allies winter winter –
Pomerania, Wismar Germany The Allies (Denmark alone) 14 May May–June –
Strömstad Sweden Britain, Denmark Nov. Nov. –
Kjöge Bay Denmark Britain, Denmark 9 June 15 July 1718
Bornholm Denmark The Allies June–July June–July –
Copenhagen Denmark Britain, The Allies 23 Oct. 2 Nov. –
Kotlin Russia Russia Mar.–July 27 July –
Revel Estonia Russia 26 Sept. winter 1718–1719
Björkö Sweden Russia Sept. winter –
Skagen Denmark Dutch, The Allies Mar. 27 Apr. 1718
Marstrand Sweden Sweden Apr. Apr. 1719
Stettin and Pomeranian Territory Germany Ceded to Prussia by Sweden 3 July 3 July 1720
Bremen & Verden Germany Ceded to Prussia by Sweden 20 July 20 July –
The final stage in the Great Northern War, 1719–1721
Kotlin Russia Russia June 20 June 1719
Revel Estonia Russia 30 June 1–2 July –
Copenhagen Denmark British 7 July July–Aug. –
Lemland Sweden Russia 18 July 21 July –
Lemland Sweden Russia 27 Aug. 31 Aug. –
Revel Estonia Russia Aug.–Sept. Aug.–5 Sept. –
Revel Estonia Russia mid-Aug. 22 Sept. –
North end of Öland Sweden Britain 5 Sept. Sept. –
Danzig Poland Sweden 30 Sept. 11 Oct. 1719–1720
Danzig Poland Russia winter winter –
Dalarö Sweden Britain Nov. 7 Nov. 1719
Copenhagen Denmark Britain 17 Nov. 23 Nov. –
Danzig Poland Sweden early1720–15 Apr. Apr. 1720
Danzig Poland Russia winter 18 Apr. –
Copenhagen Denmark Britain, Sweden 18 May May –
Kapelsvik Sweden Britain, Sweden 9 Aug. Aug. –
Dalarö Sweden Britain, Sweden 17 Aug. early Nov. –
Copenhagen Denmark Britain 12 Nov. Nov. –
Karlskrona Sweden Britain, Sweden 13 May 21 May 1721
Elfsnabben Sweden Britain, Sweden May–June 11 June –
Revel Estonia Russia 19 June 27 June –
Revel Estonia Russia winter winter 1721–1722
Elfsnabben Sweden Britain Aug.–Sept. 4 Oct. –
Copenhagen Denmark Britain 12 Oct. 17 Oct.
Events from 1722 to 1733. The wars of the Polish Succession and of the Austrian Succession
Copenhagen Denmark Britain 4 May 13 May –

continued
Naval wars in the Baltic 1522–1850 continued

Host Location (Current User Date begin Date end Year

designation)

Elfsnabben Sweden Britain 17 May 5 June –

Copenhagen Denmark Britain, Denmark 20 Oct. 30 Oct. –
Copenhagen Denmark Britain 23 May Oct. –
Copenhagen Denmark France 20 Sept. 8 Oct. –
Weichselmünde Poland France 11 May 15 May –
Danzig Poland France 24 May May–June –
Copenhagen Denmark France 10 June Aug. –
Revel Estonia Russia 9 July 9–13 July –
Revel Estonia Russia winter 11 May –
The Seven Year’s War, the first “armed neutrality,” and the other operations, 1755–1788
Copenhagen Denmark Sweden 28 Oct. Oct.–Nov. –
Danzig Poland Russia 15 July 19 Aug. 1757
Karlskrona, to cooperate with Sweden Sweden Russia Aug.–Sept. 3 Sept. –
Stralsund, Grosses Haff – Blockade Stettin Germany Denmark, Sweden Aug. Oct. 1758–1759
Copenhagen Denmark Sweden 14 Oct. Oct. –
Kjöge Bay Denmark Sweden, Russia 20 July 8 Sept. –
Revel Estonia Russia 3 Oct. 10 Oct. –
Kiel Germany Russia Apr.–May 13 May 1759
Danzig Poland Russia 23 May 29 May –
Karlshamn Sweden Russia 11 July end of July –
Danzig Poland Russia 17 Aug. 3 Sept. –
Stralsund, Stettin Germany Sweden – – 1760
Revel Estonia Russia 2 Nov. winter 1761–1762
Port Mahon, Minorca Spain Russia 1769–1770 Summer 1770 1770
Portsmouth U.K. Russia early Jan. – 1770–1779
Greek Archipelago Greece Russia June 5 July –
Port Mahon Spain Denmark 8 July 1770 1772 1770–1772
Kjöge Bay Denmark Russia 13 July 2 Aug. 1773
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 22 Sept. 3 Oct. 1774
Copenhagen Denmark Sweden Cruise-1779 Cruise-1779 1779
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 3 July 31 July 1780
The Tagus, Lisbon Portugal Russia 8 Sept. 19 Sept. –
Cape St. Vincent Portugal Russia 8 Sept. 17 Sept. –
Lisbon Portugal Russia 5 Nov./winter 15 May 1780–1781
Leghorn Italy Russia 6 Nov./winter 29 Apr. 1780–1781
Cadiz Spain Russia 29 Apr. 20 May –
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 28 July Early Aug. 1781
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 10 July 14 July –
Leghorn Italy Russia 26 Aug./winter 13 May 1781–1782
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 24 July 1 Aug. –
Leghorn Italy Russia 1783 1784 1783–1784
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 8 Aug. 25 Aug. 1784
The war between Sweden and Russia, 1788–1790
Viborg, Frederikshamn Finland Russia July Aug. –
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 8 July 30 July –
Karlskrona Sweden Denmark 1 Oct. 31 Oct. –
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 10 Nov. winter 1788–1789
Revel, Estonia Russia winter July 1788–1789
Karlskrona Sweden Russia Apr.–May 10 May 1789
Revel Estonia Russia summer summer –
The first stage of the Napoleonic Wars in the Baltic, 1791–1802
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 21 July July–Aug. 1793
Copenhagen Denmark Denmark, Sweden 10 June 2 Oct. (only 1795
Sweden)
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 12 July 22 July –
English Ports U.K. Russia winter winter 1795–1796

continued
Naval wars in the Baltic 1522–1850 continued

Host Location (Current User Date begin Date end Year

designation)

Copenhagen Denmark Russia early Oct. winter –

Copenhagen Denmark Sweden 9 June 9 Sept. 1796
The Texel Netherlands Russia 12 June 23 June 1797
St. Helena U.K. Denmark spring spring 1798
The Texel Netherlands Russia, Britain 1 June 13 June –
Lûbeck Germany Russia 6 July-visit 6 July-visit –
Kjöge Bay Denmark Russia 6 July 7 Aug. –
Revel Estonia Russia 13 Aug. 31 Aug. –
Various English Ports U.K. Russia Aug.–Sept. Aug.–Sept. –
Yarmouth U.K. Russia 10 Sept. 1 Oct. –
Yarmouth U.K. Russia 14 Nov. winter 1798–1799
Ancona Italy Russia, Turkey 18 May 18 May 1799–1800
(bombardment)
Naples, Genoa, and other Mediterranean Ports Italy Russia Oct.-visits Oct.-visits 1799–1800
Mediterranean U.K. Russia early May late May 1800
Yarmouth U.K. Russia May June –
Yarmouth U.K. Russia 7 Sept. Sept.–Nov. –
England U.K. Russia Nov. winter 1800–1801
Bergen Norway Russia winter winter 1800–1801
Hven Sweden Britain 30 Mar. 30 Mar. –
Kjöge Bay Denmark Britain 18 Apr. 7 May 1801
Kjöge Bay Denmark Britain 25 Apr. 5 May –
Rostock Germany Britain 24 May 17 June–July –
Danzig, Kjöge Bay Poland, Denmark Britain 24 May 17 June–July –
The second state of the Napoleonic Wars in the Baltic, 1803–1815
Copenhagen Denmark Russia 23 Sept. 5 Aug. 1803
Portsmouth U.K. Russia early Nov. end Dec. –
Rügen Germany Britain 16 July summer 1807
Copenhagen Denmark Britain summer summer –
Gothenburg Sweden Britain 1 Aug. 1–2 Aug. –
Norway Norway Denmark autumn autumn –
Heligoland Germany Britain 5 Sept. 1890 1807–1890
Gothenburg Sweden Britain winter winter 1807–1808
Gothenburg Sweden Britain Apr.–17 May early July 1808
Helsingborg Sweden Britain 21 Mar. summer –
Malmö Sweden Britain end May 9 June –
Gothenburg Sweden Spain 22 Aug. 27 Aug. –
Örö Roads Sweden Britain 20 Aug. 22 Aug. –
Råger Vik, Port Baltic Estonia Russia – withdrawal – 25 Aug. Aug.–Sept. –
ship blew up
Karlskrona Sweden Britain early Oct. 25 Oct. –
Gothenburg Sweden Britain 29 Nov. 3 Dec. –
Corfu Italy Russia Oct. 20 Oct. 1807
Lisbon Portugal Russia 9 Nov. winter 1807–1809
Venice, Adriatic Sea Italy Russia – surrendered to
Austria Oct.-Cruise winter 1807–1808
Gothenburg Sweden Britain 4 May May 1809
Anholt Denmark Britain 18 May 1814 1809–1814
Åbo Finland Russia winter 5 June –
Karlskrona Sweden Britain 4 June 20 June –
Nargen, Aspö, Porkala, Torsari, Ösel Finland Britain end July end July –
Nargen, Aspö, Porkala, Torsari, Ösel Finland Britain end July 28 Sept. –
Gothenburg Sweden Britain Dec. Dec. –
Swedish Ports Sweden Britain – Ordered out by
Sweden Jan. July 1810
Hanö Sweden Britain 12 Sept. 10 Oct. –
Gothenburg Sweden Britain 2 May end summer 1811
Hanö Sweden Britain summer summer –
Hanö Sweden Britain May–June 9 Nov. –

continued
Naval wars in the Baltic 1522–1850 continued

Host Location (Current User Date begin Date end Year

designation)

Danzig Poland Britain 20 June early July –

Gothenburg Sweden Britain, Russia 2 May June–July 1812
Norway Norway Russia winter winter 1812–1813
The Nore Norway Russia 13 Dec. winter 1812–1813
Stettin Poland Sweden, Russia Aug. 28 Oct. 1813
Paris – Napoleon’s Abdication France Peace Convention of Moss 11 Apr. 11 Apr. 1815
Dutch Coast Netherlands Russia – Britain – ships
returned to Russia early 1815 early 1815 –
Portsmouth U.K. Russia 7 Aug. 13 Oct. 1827

Source: Anderson, R.C. London: Francis Edwards Inc. 1969

III The interwar period

The interwar period: U.S.

Host (if different than today) Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for Type of base***
(nowadays) acquisition*

U.K. Antigua Antigua * – D air, radar

U.K. Bahamas Bahamas * – D air, radar
Natal-Fortaleza Brazil * 1945 D air
Belem Brazil * 1945 D air
San Luis de Maranhao Brazil * 1945 D air
Sao Paulo Brazil * 1945 D naval
Bahia Brazil * 1945 D naval
Gander Canada * – D air
Botswood Canada * – D naval air
St. Johns Canada * – D air
Argentia Canada * – D naval air
Stephenville Canada * – D air
Halifax Canada * – D air, naval
Labrador Canada * – D air, ferry
Northwest River Canada * – D air, ferry
Miraflores Dominican Republic* 1946 D air
Kilbourne Dominican Republic* 1946 D air
Dutch Guyana Zandery Surinam * 1946 D** air
Dutch Guyana Paramaribo Surinam * 1946 D** air
Galapagos Islands Ecuador * 1945 D air
Julianhaab Greenland ** – D** air
others Greenland ** – D** air ferry, communications
U.K. British Guyana Guyana * – D air
various Haiti * 1945 D air, naval
U.K. Kingston Jamaica * – D naval, air, radar
Jui Liberia ** – D naval air
Monrovia Liberia ** – D air
continued
The interwar period: U.S. continued

Host (if different than today) Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for Type of base
(nowadays) acquisition*

Marshall Liberia ** – D air

Guaymas Mexico * 1945 D naval
Acapulco Mexico * 1945 D naval
Mazatlan Mexico * 1945 D naval
Manzanillo Mexico * 1945 D naval
Tejeria Mexico * 1945 D air
various Panama ** – C various, sub bases
Azores Portugal ** – D air, naval
Terceira Portugal ** – D air, naval
Fayal Portugal ** – D communications
San Miguel Portugal ** – D communications
U.K. St. Lucia St. Lucia * – D air, radar
U.S. Cavite the Philippines ** – C naval
U.S. Subic Bay the Philippines ** – C naval
U.S. Clark, etc. the Philippines ** – C air
U.S. Corregidor, etc. the Philippines ** – C ground – army
U.K. Pt. of Spain Trinidad * – D air, radar
Bermuda U.K. * – D naval, air, radar
Guantanamo Bay U.S. * – D naval – major base

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy; ** = taken after fall of colonial power, outset of WWII
Interwar period: USSR

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Sofia Bulgaria ~1940 ~1940 D air, ground

Bourges Bulgaria ~1940 ~1940 D air, ground
Shanghai China – 1941 D naval
Czechoslovakia various Czech and Slovak Republics 1936 1936 D air, ground
Saaremaa Estonia 1939/1940 1990 C air, naval
Hiumaa Estonia 1939/1940 1990 C air, naval
Paldiski Estonia 1939/1940 1990 C air, naval
Tallinn Estonia 1939/1940 1990 C air, naval
Liepadja Latvia 1939/1940 – C naval
various Lithuania 1939/1940 1990 C ground – army
Kovdo Mongolia 1937 1990 D – puppet gov’t air, ground
others Mongolia 1937 1990 D – puppet gov’t air, ground
Urga Mongolia 1937 1990 D – puppet gov’t air, ground

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
The interwar period: Japan

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Manchuria Harbin China 1932 1945 C air, communications etc.

Manchuria Changchun etc. China 1932 1945 C air, communications etc.
Dairen China * 1945 C naval
Swatow China late 1930s 1945 C naval
Amoy China late 1930s 1945 C naval
Hainan Islands China late 1930s 1945 C naval, air, seaplane
Pescadores Islands Keino contested * – C naval, submarine
Pescadores Islands Bokotad contested * – C naval, submarine
Spratley Islands contested – C seaplane, naval, communications
Korea Pusan South Korea * 1945 C air, naval
Taiwan Formosa Taiwan * 1945 C air, seaplane
offshore islands Thailand 1934 1941 D air, naval
offshore islands Thailand 1941 1941 C air, naval
Indochina Camranh Vietnam 1941 1945 C naval
Indochina Saigon Vietnam 1941 1945 C naval
Indochina Haiphong Vietnam 1941 1945 C air
Indochina Hanoi Vietnam 1941 1945 C air
Indochina Gia Lam Vietnam 1941 1945 C air
Indochina Bien Hoa, etc. Vietnam 1941 1945 C air
Indochina Can Tho Vietnam 1941 1945 C seaplane
Indochina Cap Vietnam 1941 1945 C seaplane
Indochina St. Jacques Vietnam 1941 1945 C seaplane
Indochina Cat Lai Vietnam 1941 1945 C seaplane
Chinkai Bay Korea * 1945 C air, naval
League Mandate Wotje Micronesia 1919 1945 League Mandates air, naval
League Mandate Bikini Micronesia 1919 1945 League Mandates air, naval
League Mandate Truk Micronesia 1919 1945 League Mandates fuel depots
League Mandate Palaus Belau 1919 1945 League Mandates fuel depots
League Mandate Saipan, etc. Marshall Islands 1919 1945 League Mandates anchorages
League Mandate Marcus Island Japan 1919 1945 C air

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
The interwar period: Italy

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Sasseno, others Albania 1935 – Pact air

Italian E. Africa Eritrea/Massawa Eritrea * 1945 C ground, naval
Italian E. Africa Abyssinia Ethiopia 1935 1945 C air
Italy Dodecanese Islands Greece * 1945 C ground
Italy Leros, other Greece * 1945 C naval, air, weapons
Castel Benito Libya * 1945 C air
Benghazi Libya * 1945 C air
Tobruk Libya * 1945 C air
Bardia Libya * 1945 C air
Sidi Barrani Libya * 1945 C air
Canaries (Gando) Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) air, subs
Tetuan Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) air, subs
Ifni Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) air, subs
Majorca (Palma) Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) air, subs

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
The interwar period: France

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Shanghai China – late 1930s D naval

East Africa Djibouti Djibouti * – C naval
Martinique France * – C air, naval, comm, ground
Guadeloupe France * – C air, naval, comm, ground
Beirut Lebanon early 1920s – League Mandates air
Rayak Lebanon early 1920s – League Mandates air
Tripoli Libya early 1920s – League Mandates air
Ivato, others Madagascar * – C air
Diego Suarez Madagascar * – C naval
French W. Africa Bamako Mali * – C air, ground
French W. Africa Bafoulabé Mali * – C air, ground
Alicante Morocco * – C air
Agadir Morocco * – C air
Meknes Morocco * – C air
Fez Morocco * – C air
others Morocco * – C air
French W. Africa Dakar Senegal * – C –
Aleppo Syria early 1920s – League Mandates air
Damascus Syria early 1920s – League Mandates air
Tunis Tunisia * – C air, communications, seaplanes
others Tunisia * – C air, communications, seaplanes
Indochina Saigon Vietnam * 1954 C naval
Indochina Camranh Bay Vietnam * 1954 C naval
Indochina Bach Mai Vietnam * 1954 C air
Indochina Tong Vietnam * 1954 C air
Indochina Bien Hoa Vietnam * 1954 C air
Indochina Cat Lai Vietnam * 1954 C air
French W. Africa Seguedine – * – C air, ground
French W. Africa others – * – C air, ground

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
The interwar period: the Netherlands

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Netherland E. Indies Java Indonesia * 1942 C air

Netherland E. Indies Sumatra Indonesia * 1942 C air
Netherland E. Indies Borneo Indonesia * 1942 C ground – army
Netherland E. Indies Amboina Indonesia * 1942 C ground – army
Netherland E. Indies Soerabaja Indonesia * 1942 C naval – major base
Netherland E. Indies Lake Tosa Indonesia * 1942 C seaplane
Netherland E. Indies Maedan Indonesia * 1942 C air – major
Netherland E. Indies Batavia Indonesia * 1942 C air – major
Netherland W. Indies Curacao the Netherlands * – C air
Netherland W. Indies Aruba the Netherlands * – C air
Netherland W. Indies Bonaire the Netherlands * – C air
Dutch Guyana Paramaribo Suriname * – C air, ground

Note
*C = Conquest, colonialism
The interwar period: The U.K.

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Melbourne Australia * 1945 commonwealth naval and air – major bases

Sydney Australia * 1945 commonwealth naval and air – major bases
Darwin Australia * 1945 commonwealth naval and air – major bases
Brisbane Australia * 1945 commonwealth naval and air – major bases
Fremantle Australia * 1945 commonwealth naval
Darwin Australia * 1945 commonwealth naval
U.K. Barbados Barbados * – C naval
Halifax Canada * 1945 commonwealth naval
Esquimalt Canada * 1945 commonwealth naval
St. Johns Canada * 1945 commonwealth air, communications
Argentia Canada * 1945 commonwealth air, communications
Hong Kong China * 1945 C ground, naval – major base
Shanghai China * late 1930s D naval
Tientsin China * late 1930s D ground
Peking China * late 1930s D ground
Akrotiri Cyprus * – – air, naval
Suez Egypt * – Mily Agreement air, naval
Pt. Said Egypt * – Mily Agreement air, naval
Dehkla Egypt * – Mily Agreement ground
Ismailia Egypt * – Mily Agreement ground
Alexandria Egypt * – Mily Agreement ground
Almaza Egypt * – Mily Agreement ground
South Pacific Islands Fiji Fiji * – – air, naval, storage
Takoradi Ghana * – C airstrips
Crete Greece * – ATs, licensed arms air, naval access
production
others Greece * – ATs, licensed arms air, naval access
production
Bombay India * – C naval – main base
others India * – C ground, air
 North Borneo Indonesia * 1947 C ground
Basra Iraq * – Mily Agreement air, dirigible
Habbaniya Iraq * – Mily Agreement air, dirigible
Palestine Ramleh Israel 1919 – league mandate ground
Palestine Haifa Israel 1919 – league mandate naval
U.K. Kingston Jamaica * – C naval, ground
Trans-Jordan Aqaba Jordan * – C naval
Kluang Malaysia * – C air, seaplanes
Alor Star Malaysia * – C air, seaplanes
Kota Bahru Malaysia * – C air, seaplanes
others Malaysia * – C air, seaplanes
Malta Malta * – C naval – main base
– Mauritius * – C naval
Auckland New Zealand * 1945 commonwealth naval
Pt. Chambers New Zealand * 1945 commonwealth naval
African Possessions Lagos Nigeria * – C airstrips
Kano Nigeria * – C airstrips
Azores Portugal 1940 – D naval
South Pacific Islands W. Samoa Samoa * – – air, naval, storage
Freetown Sierra Leone * – C airstrips
Seletar Singapore * – C air and naval – major bases
Tengah Singapore * – C air and naval – major bases
Simonstown South Africa * – commonwealth naval
Durban South Africa * – commonwealth air, naval
Robbin Island South Africa * – commonwealth seaplane
Bathurst South Africa * – C airstrips
Khartoum Sudan * – C air, ferrying
Juba Sudan * – C air, ferrying
Pt. Sudan Sudan * – C naval

continued
The interwar period: The U.K. continued

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

South Pacific Islands Tonga Tonga * – – air, naval, storage

Gulf of Paria Trinidad * – C naval
Falkland Islands U.K. * – C air, naval, commo
Bermuda U.K. * 1945 C air, naval
Gibraltar U.K. * – C naval
Ascension Island U.K. * – C air
Aden Yemen * – C air, naval
Tanganyika several Tanzania * – C airstrips

Notes
*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy
The interwar period: Germany

Host (if different than today) Base name Country (nowadays) Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Italy Rhodes Greece 1939 1942 D (alliance) air

Portugal Bissagos Guinea-Bissau 1937 1940 D sub, coal and oil
Budapest Hungary 1940 – D forward air bases
Debrecen Hungary 1940 – D forward air bases
Szeged etc. Hungary 1940 – D forward air bases
Italy Libya/Cyrenaica Libya 1939 1942 D (alliance) air
Pasages Spain 1937 1940 – –
Marin Spain 1937 1940 – –
Rio de Oro Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) submarines, ground, air
Cp. Finesterre Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) submarines, ground, air
Melilla Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) submarines, ground, air
Ceuta Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) submarines, ground, air
Malaga Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) submarines, ground, air
Vigo Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) submarines, ground, air
Las Palmas Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) submarines
Gando Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) air
Tenerife Spain 1937 1940 D (after civil war) air

Note
*D = Access via diplomacy
IV The Cold War period

Cold War period: U.S.

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Antigua Antigua 1940 1960 – air

West I (Cocos Islands) Australia 1970 – – air – ASW
Cockburn Sound Australia – – – naval
Al Jufair Bahrain 1949 (expanded in 1987) – naval
Al Muharraq Bahrain – – – air
Florennes Belgium – 1987 – missiles – BGM 1099
Maisieres Belgium – – – ground, Pershing II, air, AWACs
Rio de Janeiro Brazil 1960s – – air
Churchill Canada – – – air – tankers
Cold Lake Canada – – – air – tankers
Frobisher Canada – – – air – tankers
Goose Bay Canada – – – air – tankers
Harmon Canada – – – air – tankers
Namao Canada – – – air – tankers
Guantanamo Bay Cuba 1903 – – ground, naval
Akrotiri Cyprus – – – air – recon
Alborg Denmark – – – air – contingency
Karup Denmark – – – air
Skrydstrup Denmark – – – air
Vandel Denmark – – – air
Djibouti Djibouti – – – naval, ASW
Guayaquil Ecuador WWII – – naval
Seymour Island (Galapagos Islands) Ecuador 1942 1946 – air
Cairo West Egypt 1980 – – air
Qena (Kenna) Egypt 1979 – – air
Mits’iwa (Massawa) Ethiopia 1969 1977 – naval
Nadi IAP Fiji 1960s 1970s – air
Clipperton Island France 1940s 1940s – air
Ahlhorn Germany – – – air – fighters
Bad Tolz Germany – – – ground – Special Forces
Berlin Germany – – – ground – Special Forces
Bitburg Germany – – – air – fighters
Geilenkirchen Germany – – – air – AWACS
Sylt Germany – – D communications and control
– transmitters and monitoring stations
Augsburg Germany – – D communications and control
– Land-based SIGINT facilities
Hof Germany – – D communications and control
– Land-based SIGINT facilities
Hahn Germany – – – air – fighters
Leipheim Germany – – – air – fighters
Neu Ulm Germany – 1987 – missiles – Pershing II
Norvenich Germany – – – air – fighters
Ramstein Germany – – – air – fighters
Rhein Main Germany – – – air – transport
Schwabish – Gmund Germany – 1987 – missiles – Pershing II
Sembach Germany – – – air – fighters
Spangdahlen Germany – – – air – fighters
Waldheide – Neckarsulm Germany – 1987 – missiles – Pershing II
West Berlin Germany – – – ground
Wiesbaden Germany – – – air – recon
Wuschheim Germany – 1987 – missiles – BGM – 1100
Zweibrucken Germany – – – air – fighters, Nike Hercules, Pershing II
Athens/Piraeus Greece – – – naval
Hellenikon Greece – – – air – AWACS
Souda Bay Greece – – – naval, ground, Nike Hercules

continued
Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Thule Greenland – – – missiles – Nike-Hercules, tankers

Georgetown AFB Guyana WWII 1970s – air
Lac Cieba Honduras – – – air – communications
Palmerola Honduras – – – air – communications
San Lorenzo Honduras – – – air – communications
Keflavik Iceland – – – air – ASW, AWACS, fighters, tankers
Bandar Abbas Iran 1975? 1979 – air – ASW, naval
Haifa Israel – – “de facto U.S. base” naval
Hatserim Israel 1973 – – air
Aviano Italy – – – air – fighters
Comiso Italy – 1987 – missiles – BGM – 1098
Gaeta Italy – – – naval
La Maddalena Italy – – – naval – subs
Naples Italy – – – naval
– – – – air – fighters
Sigonella (Sicily) Italy – – – air – ASW
Trapani Italy – – – air – AWACS
Verona Italy – – – ground
– – – – missiles – Jupiter, Nike-Hercules, Pershing II
Atsugi Japan 1950 – D (after occupation) air – recon
Camp Butler (Okinawa) Japan 1955 – D (after occupation) ground – marines
Camp Courtney (Okinawa) Japan 1955 – D (after occupation) ground – marines
Camp Haigue (Okinawa) Japan 1955 – D (after occupation) ground – marines
Camp Hansen (Okinawa) Japan 1955 – D (after occupation) ground – marines
Camp Schwab (Okinawa) Japan 1955 – D (after occupation) ground – marines
Camp Zama Japan 1945 – D (after occupation) ground – army HQ
Chitose Japan 1945 – D (after occupation) air
Futenma Marine Air Facility Japan 1960 – D (after occupation) marine air – major base
(Okinawa)
Itazuke Japan 1950 – D (after occupation) air
Iwakuni Japan 1954 – D (after occupation) air – fighters, ASW
Iwo Jima Japan 1945 (major till 1960) D (after occupation) air
Kadena (Okinawa) Japan 1945 – D (after occupation) air – major base
Kawasaki Japan 1970s 1970s – ground – army
Misawa Japan 1946 – D (after occupation) air – fighters, ASW
Naha Airport (Okinawa) Japan – 1975 D (after occupation) air
Narita Japan – – – air
Okinawa Japan 1960s 1960s – missiles – MACE
Oppama Japan 1972 1972 – naval air
Sasebo Japan 1945 – D (after occupation) naval
Tachikawa Japan 1945 1977 D (after occupation) air – major base
Torishima I (Okinawa) Japan – – D (after occupation) air
Wakkanai Japan 1972 1972 – air
White Beach (Okinawa) Japan – – D (after occupation) naval
Yokosuka Japan 1952 – – naval
Yokota Air Base Japan 1946 – D (after occupation) air – fighters, transport
Emba/Zasi/Nairobi Kenya – – – air – ASW
Mombasa Kenya – 1964 – naval
Nanyuki Kenya 1970 – – air
Canton Island Kiribati – 1979 – army air
Kuwait – – D naval-refueling
Roberts IAP Liberia 1970s 1970s – air
Wheelus AFB (Tripoli) Libya WWII 1969 – air – major base
Bikini Atoll Marshall Islands 1950s – – air
Kwajalein Atoll Marshall Islands 1944 – – air
Sidi Slimane Morocco 1951 1959 B-36 and B-47 bombers, tankers, nuclear weapons
storage
Nouasseur Morocco 1954 1959 B-47 bombers, tankers, nuclear weapons storage
Ben Guerir Morocco 1954 1959 B-47 bombers, tankers, nuclear weapons storage
Maputo Mozambique 1965 1972 – naval
Soesterberg Netherlands – – – air – fighters

continued
Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Managua IAP Nicaragua 1974 1979 – air – MAC

Bodo Norway – – – air – recon
Oerland Norway – – – air – AWACS
Masirah Oman 1976 – – air – ASW
Mina Raysutt Oman – – – naval
Muscat Oman 1976 – – air – transport, ASW
Muscat (Mina Qaboos) Oman – – – naval
Peshawar Pakistan 1959 1969 – air – recon
Albrook AFB Panama 1953 1979 – air
Army Defense Positions Atlantic Panama 1947 (Hawks removed by 1973) – missiles – Hawks, SAM
Army Defense Positions Pacific Panama 1950 (Hawks removed 1977) – missiles – Hawks, SAM
Balboa Panama 1942 – – naval
Fort Clayton Panama 1919 – – ground
Fort Davis Panama 1919 – – ground
Fort Gulick Panama 1941 – – ground
Fort Kobbe Panama 1928 – – air
Howard AFB Panama 1954 – – air
Panama Canal Zone Panama – – – missiles – SAM
Rodman Naval Station Panama – – – naval
Manus Island Papua New
Guinea – 1947 – air, naval
Clark AFB Phillipines 1903 – – air – major base
Cubi Point Phillipines 1956 – – air – ASW, naval air
Mactan Phillipines 1958 1971 – air
Manila Phillipines – – – ground
Sangley Point Phillipines – 1971 – naval air
Subic Bay Phillipines 1901 – – naval – major base
Ponta Delgada (Azores) Portugal – – – naval
The Azores Portugal – – – air – ASW
Dhahran Saudi Arabia – (reduced presence in 1962) – air
Riyadh Saudi Arabia 1965 – – ground, air
Machrihanish Scotland (U.K.)– – – naval – SEALs
Dakar Senegal – – – air – ASW
Mahe Seychelles – – – air – ASW
Changi Singapore 1970 1978 – air
Sembawang Singapore – – – naval
Tengah Singapore 1976 – – air
Berbera Somalia 1981 – – naval, air
Mogadiscio Somalia 1980 – – air – ASW, naval
Pretoria South Africa 1970s 1970s – air
Angsong-up South Korea 1961 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Anyang-up South Korea 1961 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Bupyon South Korea 1951 – – ground – MP
Chunchon South Korea 1958 – – air
Hongson South Korea 1964 – – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Kimpo South Korea – 1971 – air, Nike and Hawk missiles
Kumchon-ni South Korea 1953 – – ground, air
Kunsan South Korea 1962 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Kunsan AFB South Korea 1951 – – air – major base
Osan AFB South Korea 1952 – – air – major base
Pusan South Korea 1962 – – air
Pyong Taek South Korea 1961 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk, air
Sachon South Korea 1968 1968 – air
Seoul South Korea 1951 – – ground
Seoul (site 33) South Korea 1963 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Seoul (site 74) South Korea 1952 – – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Sochon South Korea 1961 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Suwon South Korea 1961 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk, air
Taegu AFB South Korea – – – air – major base

continued
Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Tangjin-up South Korea 1962 – – missiles – Nike and Hawk

Tongduchon South Korea 1962 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Tongduchon-ni South Korea 1953 – – air/ground
Uijongbu South Korea 1951 – – ground, air
Uinjongbu (site 34) South Korea 1950 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Uinjongbu (site 36) South Korea 1961 1981 – missiles – Nike and Hawk
Rota Spain – – – air – ASW, naval, SSBN
Torrejon Spain – 1988 – air – fighters
Zaragoza Spain – – – air – tankers
Ching Chuan Kang Taiwan 1956 – – air
Quemoy and Matsu Islands Taiwan 1952 1976 – ground – advisors
Sung Shan Taiwan 1956 1979 – air
Tai-nan Taiwan 1956 1975 – air
T’ai-pei Taiwan – 1979? – naval
Taiwan 1950s 1960s – missiles – Matadors
Ban Ta Khli Thailand 1964 (reduced in 1976) – air – major base
Chaing Mai Thailand 1964 1970 – air
Don Muang Thailand 1964 1972 – air – major base
Kanchanaburi Thailand – 1972 – ground
Lop Buri Thailand 1960 1973 – ground
Nakhon Phanom Thailand 1964 1975 – air – major base
Nakhon Ratchasima Thailand 1964 1976 – air – major base
Nam Phong Thailand 1965 1973 – air
Nam Pung Dam Thailand 1965 1972 – ground
Sakon Nakhon Thailand 1966 – – ground
Sattahip Thailand 1965 1976 – naval
Tahkli Thailand – – – air – ASW
U Tapao Thailand 1966 1976 – air – major base
Ubon Ratchathani (Muang Ubon) Thailand 1964 1975 – air – major base
Udorn Thani Thailand 1964 1976 – air – major base
Chaguaramas Trinidad &
Tobago 1939 1961 – naval
Waller Field Trinidad &
Tobago WWII 1960 – air
Diyarbakir Turkey – – – air – AWACS
Incirlik Turkey – – – air – fighters
Konya Turkey – early 60s – air – AWACS, Jupiter missiles
Doha (Qatar) UAE 1980 – – naval
Alconbury U.K. – – – air – communications
Bedford U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Benson U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Bentwaters U.K. – – – air – fighters
Bermuda U.K. – – – air – ASW
Boscombe Down U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Brize Norton U.K. – – – air – Forward Operating Bases
Coltishall U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Cranwell U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Diego Garcia U.K. 1971 – – air – ASW, tankers, bombers, naval
Fairford U.K. – – – air – Forward Operating Bases, tankers
Finningley U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Gibraltar U.K. – – – air – ASW
Greenham Common U.K. – 1987 – air – Stand by Operating Base, CLCONs
Holy Loch U.K. – – – naval – subs
Lakenheath U.K. – – – air – fighters
Leeming U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Machrihamish U.K. – – – naval – SEALs
Marham U.K. – – – air – Forward Operating Bases
Mildenhall U.K. – – – air – AWACS
Mildenhall U.K. – – – air – recon, tankers, transport
Molesworth U.K. – 1987 – missiles – BGM – 1097
Odiham U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases

continued
Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Sculthorpe U.K. – – – air – Stand by Operating Bases

Upper Heyford U.K. – – – air – fighters, forward operating base
Waddington U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Wethersfield U.K. – – – air – Stand by Operating Bases
Wittering U.K. – – – air – Collocated Operating Bases
Woodbridge U.K. – – – air – fighters, Jupiter and Thor, Pershing II
Maiguetia Venezuela – – – air
An Khe Vietnam 1965 1972 – ground – major army, air
Ban Me Thuot Vietnam 1961 1968 – ground – special forces, air
Bao Loc Vietnam 1965 1972 – ground – major army, air
Bien Hoa Vietnam 1961 1974 – air/army air
Bon Sar Par Vietnam – – – ground – special forces
Cam Ranh Bay Vietnam 1965 1974 – major port, air
Can Tho Vietnam 1965 1972? – ground – major army, air
Chi Linh Vietnam – 1970s – air
Chu Lai Vietnam 1965 1972 – marine air
Con Thien Vietnam 1965 1967 – ground – major marine base
Da Nang Vietnam 1965 1974 – major port, air
Dak Sut Vietnam 1965 1965 – ground – special forces
Dak To Vietnam – 1970s – air, ground
Dong Tam (My Tho) Vietnam 1967 1972 – naval – major base
Hue Vietnam – 1970s – air, marines
Khe Sanh Vietnam 1965 1968 – ground – major marine base, air
Long Binh Vietnam 1965 1972 – ground – major army
Newport (Saigon) Vietnam 1967 1975 – major port
Nha Trang Vietnam 1965 1972 – air, ground
Phan Thiet Vietnam 1966 1972? D ground – major army, air
Phu Cat Vietnam 1965 1972 D air/army air
Plei Mei Vietnam 1965 1965- D ground – special forces
Pleiku Vietnam 1964 1972 D ground – major army, air
Quang Ngai Vietnam 1965 1972 D ground – major army, air
Qui Nhon Vietnam – 1970s D ground – major army, air
Saigon Vietnam 1961 1975 D ground, air, naval, intel
Sui Da Vietnam – – D ground – special forces
Tan Son Nhut Vietnam 1961 1972 D air/army air/naval air
Tuy Hoa Vietnam 1965 1972 D air/army air
Vung Tau Vietnam – 1970s D ground – major army, air
Golfo Nuevo Argentina 1975 Present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Trelew Argentina – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Woodside Australia – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
North West Cape Australia 1963 Present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Witney’s Bay Bermuda – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
St. George Bermuda – – D CC – VLF transmitter sites
South Hampton Bermuda – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Cape Race Canada – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Fox Harbor Canada – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Montagu Canada – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Port Hardy Canada – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
St. Anthony Canada – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Sandspit Canada – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Williams Lake Canada – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Massett Canada – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Argentia Canada – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Whitehorse Canada – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Leitrim Canada – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Korla China – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Qitai China – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Guantanamo Cuba 1903 Present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Five Stations Cyprus – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Ejde Denmark – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations

continued
Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Bornholm Denmark – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities

Nea Makri Greece – – D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Kato Souli Greece – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites, VLF
transmitter sites
Iraklion Greece – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities/land-based
SIGINT
Angissoq Greenland – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Thule Greenland – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Palmerola Honduras – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Keflavik Iceland – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Sandur Iceland – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Grindavik Iceland – – D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Sandgerdhi Iceland – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Keflavik Iceland – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Stokknes Iceland – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Crotone Italy – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Lampedusa Italy – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Sellia Marina Italy – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Naples Italy – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Licola Italy – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
San Vito Italy – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Vicenza Italy – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Treviso Italy – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Tavolaru Italy – – D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Tsushima Island Japan 1972 present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Gesaski Japan – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Iwo Jima Japan 1960s present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Marcus Island Japan 1968 present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Tokachibuto Japan – present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Yokota Japan 1946 present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Yosami Japan 1950 1980 D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Totosuka Japan 1960 present D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Iruma Japan – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites\land-based
SIGINT
Kamiseya Japan – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Totosuka Japan 1960 present D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Owada Japan – present D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Tokorozawa Japan – 1975 D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Yokota Japan – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Misawa Japan – present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Camp Zama Japan 1945 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Hakata Japan 1971 1971 D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Sakata Japan – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Wakkanei Japan 1972 1972 D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Kamiseya Japan – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Kadena Japan – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Torii Japan – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Hanza Japan – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Sobe Japan – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Onna Point Japan – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Paynesword Liberia – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Yap Island Micronesia 1972 present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Kenitra Morocco – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Bratland Norway – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Jan Mayen Island Norway – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Helgeland Norway – – D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Vardo Norway – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Vadso Norway – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities

continued
Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Viksjofjellet Norway – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities

Al Khasab Oman 1981 1981 D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Umm Al-Ranam Island Oman 1981 1981 D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Bada Biea Pakistan 1959 1969 D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Summit Panama n/a n/a D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Howard Air Base Panama 1954 present D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Albrook Air Base Panama 1953 1979 D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Corozol Panama 1960s 1960s D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Fort Clayton Panama 1919 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Galeta Island Panama 1917 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Capas Tarlac Philippines – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
St. Miguel Philippines 1957 present D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Clark AFB Philippines 1903 present D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Cubi Point Philippines 1956 present D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Camp O’Donnell Philippines – present D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
San Miguel Philippines 1957 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Clark AFB Philippines 1903 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
John May Camp Philippines 1970 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Lajes Portugal – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Cinco Pincos Portugal – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Cinco Pincos Portugal – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Vila Nova Portugal – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Sebana Seca Puerto Rico 1940 present D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Isabella Puerto Rico 1964 1964 D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Aguada Puerto Rico – 1974 D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Mafate Reunion 1976 present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Changsan South Korea 1953 present D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Yonchon South Korea 1954 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Camp Humphreys South Korea – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Pyongtaek South Korea 1951 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Sinsan-ni South Korea 1970 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Kangwha South Korea 1954 1969 D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Estartit Spain – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Guardamar del Segura Spain – – D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Rota Spain – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Torrejon Spain – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Rota Spain – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
El Casar del Talamanca Spain – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Shou Lin Kou Taiwan 1956 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Taipeh Taiwan 1963 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Nan Szu Pu Taiwan 1956 1956 D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Vila Nova The Azores – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Tobago 1966 1977 D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Trinadad WWII 1960 D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Kargabarun Turkey – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Incirlik Turkey – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Sinop Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Dyarbakir Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Samsun Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Karamursel Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Antalya Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Agri Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Kars Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Edirne Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Ankara Turkey – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Thurso U.K. – – D CC – VLF transmitter sites
Edzell U.K. – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
Thurso U.K. – – D CC – HF transmitter and receiver sites
RAF Croughton U.K. – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station

continued
Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

RAF Mildenhall U.K. – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station

Bradford St. John U.K. – – D CC – Giant Talk/Scope Signal III station
Cheltenham U.K. – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Wincombe U.K. – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Morwenstow U.K. – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Kirknewton U.K. – – D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities
Sullum Voe U.K. – – D CC – transmitters and monitoring stations
Diego Garcia West Indies 1971 present D CC – land-based SIGINT facilities

*D = Access via diplomacy

Cold War period: USSR

Base name Country Date start Date end Type of base Notes

Afghanistan – – Technical Satellite ground station

Afghanistan – – Technical SIGINT
Kabul Afghanistan – – Aircraft
Kandahar Afghanistan – – Aircraft
Bagram Afghanistan – – Aircraft
Shindand Afghanistan – – Aircraft
Jalalabad Afghanistan – – Aircraft
Afghanistan 1979 1988 Ground Forces
Annaba Algeria – – Naval – subm
Algeria – – Ground Forces
Angola – – Technical Satellite ground station
Luanda Angola – – Naval
Luanda Angola – – Aircraft
Mirnyy Antarctica – – Technical Tracking station – optical
Bolivia 1970s – Technical Tracking station
Plotchik Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Markovo Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Plovdiv Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Shabla Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Petritch (near Karnobat) Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Kavarna/ Kyutstendil Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Haskovo Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Harmanli Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Vidin Bulgaria Cold War 1990 Missile
Kompong Som Cambodia 1960s 1990 Naval
Chad 1960s 1970s Technical Tracking station
Chile 1970 1973 Technical Tracking station
Chile 1970 1973 R&D

continued
Cold War period: USSR continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Type of base Notes

Santiago de Cuba Cuba 1960s – Technical Tracking station

Santiago Cuba 1960s – Technical Tracking ships
Lourdes Cuba 1960s – Technical SIGINT, satellite ground
station
Cienfuegos Cuba 1960s – Naval
Nipe Bay Cuba 1960s – Naval
Havana Cuba 1960s – Naval, tracking ships
Santiago de Cuba Cuba 1960s – Naval
Jose San Marti Airport Cuba 1960s – Aircraft
S. Antonio de los Banos Cuba 1960s – Aircraft
Cuba 1960s – Ground Forces
Bruntal Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Ceske-Budejovice Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Havlickuv Brod Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Milovice, Prague Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Pilsen Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Susice Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Tabor Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Vysoke Myto Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Missile
Prague Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Technical Satellite ground station
Panska Ves Czech Republic Cold War 1990 R&D
Prague Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Milovice Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Cheb/Horni Dvory Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Dobrany Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Karlovy Vary Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Zatec Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Mimon Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Tchorovice Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Panensky Tynec Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Ground forces
Mlada-Boleslav Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Pilzen-Dobrany Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Milovice Czech Republic Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Topolcany Slovakia Cold War 1990 Missile
Zvolen Slovakia Cold War 1990 Missile
Slovakia Cold War 1990 Technical Tracking station
Presov Slovakia Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Sliac Slovakia Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Kosice Slovakia Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Zvolen Slovakia Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Helwan Egypt – – Technical Tracking station
Aswan Egypt – – Technical Tracking station
Egypt 1970 1970 Ground forces
Ethiopia 1978 1990 Technical Satellite ground station
Ethiopia 1978 1990 Technical SIGINT
Dahlak Archipelago Ethiopia 1978 1990 Naval
Assab Ethiopia 1978 1990 Naval
Massawa Ethiopia 1978 1990 Naval
Perim Island Ethiopia 1978 1990 Naval
Asmara Ethiopia 1978 1990 Aircraft
Ethiopia 1978 1990 Ground forces
Bernau GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Dallgow-Doberitz GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Dresden GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Dresden-Klotzche GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Eggesin GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Erfurt GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Grimma GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Halle GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Hillersleben GDR Cold War 1990 Missile

continued
Cold War period: USSR continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Type of base Notes
(nowadays)

Jena GDR Cold War 1990 Missile

Jüterborg GDR Cold War 1990 Missile, aircraft
Krampnitz GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Naumburg-Saale GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Neuruppin GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Neustrelitz GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Ohrdruf GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Perleberg-Prignitz GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Riesa (Sachsen Zeithain) GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Schwerin GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Stendal-Altmark GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Vogelsang-Templin GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Wittenberg-Lutherstadt GDR Cold War 1990 Missile
Furstenwald GDR Cold War 1990 Technical Satellite ground station
GDR Cold War 1990 Technical SIGINT
GDR Cold War 1990 Ground forces
Finsterwalde AB GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related, aircraft
Mirow-Rechlin Larz AB GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related
Grossenhain AB GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related, aircraft
Neuruppin AB GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related, aircraft
Templin-Gross Dolln AB GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related
Parchim GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related, aircraft
Rechlin-Larz GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Sondershausen GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Mockrehna-Brandis GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Dresden-Hermsdorf GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Neubrandenburg GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Dessau-Zerbst GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Brand-Breisen AB GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Riesa-Grossenhain GDR Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related (CW/BW)
Zossen-Wiensdorf GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Stralsund GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Peenemunde GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Finow GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Werneuchen GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Oranienburg GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Wittstock GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Zerbst GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Kothen GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Welzow GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Merseburg GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Alternburg GDR Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Guinea – – Technical Tracking station
Conakry Guinea – – Technical Tracking ships, naval
R&D, aircraft
Esztergom Hungary Cold War 1990 Missile
Kecskemet Hungary Cold War 1990 Missile
Szekesfehervar Hungary Cold War 1990 Missile
Szombathely Hungary Cold War 1990 Missile, aircraft
Tatabanya Hungary Cold War 1990 Missile
Veszprem Hungary Cold War 1990 Missile
Tokol Hungary Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Kaposvar Hungary Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Papa Hungary Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Veszprem Hungary Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Debrecen Hungary Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Mezokovesd Hungary Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Pecs Hungary Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Hungary Cold War 1990 Ground forces

continued
Cold War period: USSR continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Type of base Notes
(nowadays)

Debrecen Hungary Cold War 1990 Nuclear-related

Kavalur India – – Technical Tracking station
Vishakhapatnam India – – Naval – visits
Indonesia – – Technical Tracking station
Umm Quasr Iraq – 1980 Naval
Az Zubayr Iraq – 1980 Naval
Al Fao Iraq – 1980 Naval
Eterofu Island Kuriles – USSR – – Aircraft
Laos – – Technical SIGINT
Libya – 1990 Technical SIGINT
Tripoli Libya – 1990 Naval
Benghazi Libya – 1990 Naval
Bardia Libya – 1990 Naval
Okba ben Nafi Libya 1981 – Aircraft
Libya – 1990 Ground forces
Mali – 1977 Technical Tracking station
Mongolia Cold War 1990 Technical Satellite ground station
Choybalsan Mongolia Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Ulan Bator Mongolia Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Nalayh Mongolia Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Bayan Suma Mongolia Cold War 1990 Aircraft
Mongolia Cold War 1990 Ground forces
Maputo Mozambique – – Technical Tracking ships, aircraft
Beira Mozambique – – Aircraft
Nicaragua – – Technical Tracking ships
Najin North Korea – – Naval
North Yemen – – Ground forces
Calleo Peru Cold War 1990 Naval
Borne Poland Cold War 1990 Missile
Swiebodzin Poland Cold War 1990 Missile
 Poland Cold War 1990 Technical Tracking station
Kielce Poland Cold War 1990 Technical Satellite ground station
Sinajscie Poland Cold War 1990 Technical SIGINT
Bierdzany Poland Cold War 1990 Technical SIGINT
Poland Cold War 1990 R&D
Zagan Poland Cold War 1990 Aircraft, nuclear-related
Szprotawa Poland Cold War 1990 Aircraft, nuclear-related
Poland Cold War 1990 Ground forces
Mangalia Romania – – Naval
Sulina Romania – – Naval
São Tomé and Príncipe São Tomé and Príncipe – – Technical SIGINT
Afgoi Somalia – – Technical Tracking station
Birihao Somalia – 1977 Aircraft
Hargeisa Somalia – 1977 Aircraft
Gallaci Somalia – 1977 Aircraft
Amin Somalia – 1977 Aircraft
Uanle Somalia – 1977 Aircraft
Belet Uen Somalia – 1977 Aircraft
South Yemen – 1990 Technical SIGINT
Aden South Yemen – 1990 Naval
Socotra Island South Yemen – 1990 Naval
Aden Int’l Airport South Yemen 1978 1990 Aircraft
South Yemen – 1990 Ground forces
Khartoum Sudan – 1990 Technical Tracking station
Syria – – Technical SIGINT
Latakia Syria – – Naval
Tartus Syria – – Naval – submarine
Ras Shamra Syria – – Naval
Tiyas Syria – – Aircraft
Umm Aitigah Syria – – Aircraft
Syria – – Ground forces
Vietnam 1975 1990 Technical Satellite ground station
Cam Ranh Bay Vietnam 1975 1990 Technical SIGINT
Cam Ranh Bay Vietnam 1975 1990 Naval, aircraft
Cape Verde West coast of Africa – – Technical Fishing fleets
Tivat Yugoslavia – – Naval, R&D
Cold War period: U.K.

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Perth Australia C naval

Darwin Australia 1974 Present C CC – (GCHQ) SIGINT
Pearce Australia 1967 1975 C CC – nuclear detection
Jufayr Naval Station Bahrain 1971 – naval
Belize City Airport Belize 1975 1980– C (until independence) air
Holdfast Camp Belize 1975 1980– C (until independence) stet
Kindley Naval Air Station Bermuda – – – air
Bermuda – D CC – LF transmitters
Serai Brunei – 1983 C ground, air
Hong Kong China – – D air, naval
Pergamos/Dhekelia Cyprus – – D CC – C3I
Akrotiri Cyprus – – D air
Sornfelli Denmark – – D CC – LF transmitters
Port Stanley Falklands – – C CC – LF transmitters
Bruggen Germany – – D air
Gutersloh Germany – – D air
Laarbruch Germany – – D air
Wildenrath Germany – – D air, missiles – SAM
Diepholz Germany – – – CC – SIGINT
Teufelsberg Germany – – – CC – SIGINT
Jever Germany – – – CC – SIGINT
Celle Germany – – – CC – SIGINT
Darnenberg Germany – – – CC – SIGINT
Gorleben Germany – – – CC – SIGINT
Gibraltar Gibraltar – – C CC – COMINT, HF/DF, LF
Little Sai Wan Hong Kong – – C CC – SIGINT
Tai Mo Shan Hong Kong – – C CC – SIGINT
Keflavik Iceland – – D air
Habbaniyah Iraq 1932 1959 D air – major base
Shu’aiba Iraq 1932 1959 D air
Umm Qasr Iraq 1932 1959 D naval
Sigonella (Sicily) Italy – – D air
El Adem Libya 1969 D air – major base
Idris el Awal Libya 1970 D air
Tubruq Libya 1971 D naval, ground
Mahajanga Madagascar 1966 1975 D air, ground, naval
Addu Maldives 1956 1976 D naval
Gan (Addu Island) Maldives 1956 1976 D air
Luqa Malta WWII 1979 D air – major base
Grand Harbour (Valetta) Malta WWII 1979 C naval – major base
Port Louis Mauritius 1976 D naval
Masirah Oman 1958 1977 D air
Muscat (Mina Qaboos) Oman 1980 D naval
Salalah Oman 1958 1977 D air
Mahe Seychelles 1971 1976 D air, naval
Changi Singapore – 1976 C air – major base
Serangoon Singapore – 1976 C naval – major base
Singapore Singapore – 1976 C ground
Durban South Africa – 1976 D naval
Simonstown South Africa – 1976 D naval – major base
Walvis Bay (Namibia) South Africa – 1975 naval
Youngsfield Air Base (Cape Town) South Africa – – D air
Aden South Yemen – 1967 naval – major base
Kamaran Island South Yemen – 1967 air
Khormaksar South Yemen – 1967 air
Konya Air Base Turkey – – air
Sharjah UAE 1966 1971 D air

*C = Conquest, colonialism; D = Access via diplomacy

Cold War period: France

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Algiers Algeria – 1962 C air – major, ground

Blida Algeria – 1962 C air – major
Bone Algeria – 1962 C air – major
Bonfarik Algeria – 1962 C air – major
Bou Sfer Algeria – 1970 D (post-independence) air – major
Constantine Algeria – 1962 C air – major
Fort Flatters Algeria – 1962 C ground
Laghouat Algeria – 1962 C air, ground
Lartique Algeria – – C naval
Mers el Kebir Algeria – 1968 C naval – major
Oran Algeria – 1962 C air – major
Ouargla Algeria – 1962 C ground
Tlemcen Algeria – 1962 C air – major
Port Louis Antilles – – – naval, ground
Cotonou Benin – 1960 C naval
Douala Cameroon 1947 – C ground
Koutaba Cameroon – 1974 – ground
Central African Republic – – – air, ground
N’Djamena (Ft. Lamy) Chad WWII 1980 D (post-independence) air, ground
Sarh (Ft. Archambault) Chad – 1975 D (post-independence) air
Camp Voidjou (Moroni) Comoros Islands 1975 – C ground
Dzaoudzi (Mayotte) Comoros Islands – – C air, naval
Mayotte (Pamanzi I.) Comoros Islands – – C ground
Djibouti Djibouti – – – naval, air, ground
Hao I (Tuamotu Group) France 1964 – C air
Kourou (French Guiana) France – – C ground, naval, missile launchers
Le Port (Réunion) France – Overseas Dept 1973 – C naval
Mangareva I France 1960s – C naval
Mayotte France – – C naval
Noumea (New Caledonia) France – Overseas Dept 1970s – C naval, ground
Papeete France – Overseas Dept 1962 – C naval, ground, air
Pattle Island (Paracel Islands) France 1947 1950 C (no permanent occupation)
Point des Galeta (Réunion) France – Overseas Dept – – C ground – army
Points a Pitre(Guadeloupe) France – Overseas Dept – – C air
Port Louis (Guadeloupe) France – Overseas Dept – – C naval
Saint Denis (Réunion) France – Overseas Dept – – C air
Tahiti France – – C naval, ground
Tontouata (New Caledonia) France – Overseas Dept 1974 – C air, ground
Wallis Island France 1970s – C ground
Muroroa France – – – naval, nuclear testing
Papeete (Tahiti) France – – C communications – LF
Martinique France – – C communications – LF
Djibouti France – – C communications – HF
Guadeloupe France – Overseas Dept – – C communications – HF

Réunion France – Overseas Dept – – C communications – HF, LF

Kerguelen Island France C communications – HF

Bourail (New Caledonia) France – Overseas Dept – – C ground – paratroopers

Fort de France (Martinique) France – Overseas Dept – – C air, ground
Guyana France – Overseas Dept – – C naval
Libreville Gabon – – D (post-independence) air, ground
Baden Germany – – – ground
Pfalz Germany – – – ground
Saarland Germany – – – ground
Abidjan Ivory Coast – – D (post-independence) naval, ground
Port Bouet (Abidjan) Ivory Coast 1978 1978 D (post-independence) air
Diego Suarez Madagascar – 1973 – naval
Bamako Mali – 1966 C (lost at independence) air

continued
Cold War Period: France continued

Base name Country Date start Date end Basis for acquisition* Type of base
(nowadays)

Gao Mali – 1968 C (lost at independence) ground

Tessalit Mali – 1967 C (lost at independence) ground
Nouadhibou Mauritania 1977 1980 D ground
Tromelin I Mauritius 1954 – C air
Mayotte – – – ground
Juan de Nova Mozambique Channel Islands 1978 – C ground, air
Niamey Niger – 1974 – ground
Brazzaville Republic of Congo – 1960 – important base
Point Noire Republic of Congo – 1960 – important base
Bel Air Camp (Dakar) Senegal – – – ground
Goree (Dakar) Senegal – – D (post independence) naval – major base
Quakam (Yoff) Senegal – – D (post independence) air
Thies Senegal – – D (post independence) air

Dakar Senegal – – C communications – HF

Pago Pago (American Samoa) USA 1966 1974? D air
Da Nang Vietnam 1945 1954 C air – major base
Dien Bien Phu Vietnam 1953 1954 C ground

*C = Conquest, colonialism; *D = Access via diplomacy

V The post-Cold War period

Post-Cold War period: U.S.

Base name Country (now) Start date End date Type Notes

Bosnia Albania – – Peacekeeping

Kosovo Albania – – Peacekeeping
Lajes AFB Azores – – Nuclear (now) Arms resupply (during Cold War)
Sinai Egypt – – Peacekeeping
Ramstein AFB Germany – – air base main operating base
Baumholder Germany – – air base main operating base
Wurzburg Germany – – air base main operating base
Wiesbaden Germany – – air base main operating base
Friedberg Germany – – air base main operating base
Schweinfurt Germany – – air base main operating base
Vilsech Germany – – air base main operating base
Thule Greenland – – nuclear BMEWS radar
Anderson AFB Guam – – naval main operating base
Soto Cano Air Base Honduras – – air base Forward Operating Site
Hungary – – peacekeeping –
Keflavik Iceland – – air base forward operating site
Sigonella Italy – – naval forward operating site
Kadena AFB Japan – – air base main operating base
Yokosuka Japan – – naval main operating base
Camp Humphreys Korea – – air base main operating base
Thumrait Oman – – air base main operating base
Seeb Oman – – air base main operating base
Masirah Oman – – air base main operating base
Al Udeid Qatar – – air base main operating base
Dakar Senegal – – peacekeeping –

continued
Post-Cold War period: U.S. continued

Base name Country (now) Start date End date Type Notes

Sembawang Port Singapore – – naval forward operating site

Fylingdale Moor United Kingdom – – nuclear BMEWS radar
RAF Lakenheath United Kingdom – – air base forward operating site
Diego Garcia United Kingdom – – naval main operating base
Bagram Afghanistan 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Kandahar Afghanistan 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Mazar e Sharif Afghanistan 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Exmouth Australia 1950s – naval –
Pine Gap Australia 1950s – naval –
Chad 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Djibouti 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Spangdahlem Germany 1940s – air base forward operating site
Aviano Italy 1950s – air base forward operating site
Atsugi Japan 1950s – air base forward operating site
Kenya 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Marias Kyrgyzstan 2001 – air base –
Mali 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Mauritania 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Niger 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Dakar Senegal 2001 – air base cooperative security location
Utapao Thailand – – air base forward operating site
Incirlik Turkey – – air base forward operating site
Uganda 2001 – air base cooperative security location
RAF Mildenhall U.K. 1940s – air base forward operating site
Khanabad Uzbekistan 2001 – air base –
Post-Cold War Russia

Armenia 1999 3100 ground troops; 1 air defense squadron with 14 MiG-29s
Azerbaijan 1999 Russians occupy ABM radar station at Gabala
Georgia 1999 5000 ground troops; 1 air regiment with cargo planes, helicopters
Kazakhstan 1999 Russians operate ABM radar station at Balkhash
Kyrgyzstan 1999 Russian officers command Kyrgyz Border Guard forces
Tajikistan 1999 8200 ground troops of the 201st MRD plus other units
Present USA

Base name Country (nowadays) Start date End date Basis for acquisition* Type of base

Ramstein Air Base Germany 1954 present D airfield

Grafenwoehr Germany – – D ground force
Soto Cano Air Base Honduras 1965 present D airfield
Katena Air Base Japan 1975 present D airfield
Camp Humphreys Korea – – D ground force
Camp Ripper Kuwait – – D ground force
Camp Arifjan Kuwait – – D ground force
Diego Garcia U.K. – – D airfield
RAF Fairford U.K. 1944 present D airfield

Note
*D = Access via diplomacy
Present USA

Base name Country (now) Start date End date Type Notes

Fujairah Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor

Asadabad Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Bamian Afghanistan 2001 – air base major
Bagram Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Gardez Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Farah Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Ghazni Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Heart Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Jalalabad Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Khost Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Lashkar Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Mazar-e-Sharif Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Qalat Afghanistan 2001 – air base minor
Manama Bahrain 1950s – naval
Manta Ecuador 1999 – airbase AWACs, P-3s, drug
surveillance
various Egypt 1950s – air and naval overflights, refueling,
Suez Canal transit,
use of military hospital
Ahmed Al Jaber Kuwait 1991 – air base –
Ali Al Salem Kuwait 1991 – air and land pre-positioning of matériel
Camp Arifjan Kuwait 1991 – air base –
Camp Doha Kuwait 1991 – naval –
Manas Kyrgyzstan 2001 – air base major
Seeb Oman – – air base –
Masirah Oman – – air base –

continued
Present USA continued

Base name Country (now) Start date End date Type Notes

Masna’ah Oman – – air base –

Thumrait Oman – – air base –
Jacobabad Pakistan 2001 – air base major
Dalbandin Pakistan 2001 – air base minor
Shamsi Pakistan 2001 – air base minor
Pasni Pakistan 2001 – air base minor
Al Udeid Qatar – – – –
Shaikh Isa Saudi Arabia – – air base –
Eskan Village Saudi Arabia – – air base –
Prince Sultan Saudi Arabia – – air base –
Incirlik Turkey 1950s – air base –
Jebel Ali United Arab Emirates – – naval –
Al Dhafra United Arab Emirates – – air base –
Khanabad Uzbekistan 2001 – air base major
Notes

1 Introduction
1 The only database, for 1945–1982, was compiled by Owen Wilkes and is in unpub-
lished form at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI).
2 Thucyides, History of the Peloponnesian War, translated by Crawley (New York:
Random House, 1951).
3 See Bruce Swanson, Eighth Voyage of the Dragon: A History of China’s Quest for
Seapower (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1982).
4 D.S. Benson, Six Emperors: Mongolian Aggression in the Thirteenth Century
(Chicago: D. Benson, 1995).
5 For the basics, see Nicholas Spykman, The Geography of the Peace (New York: Har-
court Brace, 1944); Halford Mackinder, Democratic Ideals and Reality (New York:
Norton, 1962); Saul Cohen, Geography and Politics in a World Divided (New York:
Random House, 1963); and Hans Weigert, V. Stefansson and R. Harrison, eds., New
Compass of the World (New York: Macmillan, 1949).
6 A.N. Porter, ed., Atlas of British Overseas Expansion (London: Routledge, 1991);
P.M. Kennedy, the Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery (New York: Scribner’s,
1976); and Gerald Graham, The Politics of Naval Supremacy: Studies in British Mar-
itime Ascendency (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965).
7 Robert E. Harkavy, Bases Abroad: The Global Foreign Military Presence (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1989), p. 99.
8 Robert E. Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases (New York: Perga-
mon, 1982), pp. 73–74.
9 See Department of Defense, Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, Final Report to Con-
gress Pursuant to Title V of the Persian Gulf Conflict Supplemental Authorization and
Personnel Benefits Act of 1991 (Public Law 102–125), Washington, DC, April 1992.
10 Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 189–190.
11 See “Crouching Tiger, Swimming Dragon,” New York Times, April 11, 2005, p. A23.
12 Harkavy, Bases Abroad, p. 136.
13 Ibid., p. 82, See also, Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases, p. 116.
14 D. Campbell, The Unsinkable Aircraft Carrier: American Military Power (London:
Paladin, 1986).
15 These definitional problems are discussed in Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 7–8.
16 Ibid., p. 17.
17 C.R. Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire: 1415–1825 (New York: Knopf,
1969), especially p. 28.
18 J.R. Blaker, S.J. Tsagronis and K.T. Walter, U.S. Global Basing: U.S. Basing
Options, Report for the U.S. Department of Defense, HI-3916-RR, Hudson Institute,
Alexandria, October 1987.
19 See, for instance, Frank Barnaby, “On Target with an Omega Station,” New Scientist,
254 Notes
Vol. 109, No. 993 (25 March 1976), pp. 671–672; or Desmond Ball, A Case for
Debate: The U.S. Satellite Station at Nurrungar (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1987).
20 See Jacqueline K. Davis, Forward Presence and U.S. Security Policy: Implications
for Force Posture, Service Roles and Joint Planning (Cambridge: Institute for
Foreign Policy Analysis, 1995), National Security Paper no. 16.
21 Hans W. Weigert, “U.S. Bases and Collective Security,” Foreign Affairs, Vol. 25,
No. 2 (January 1947), pp. 250–262.
22 Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire, op. cit., and Boxer, The Dutch Seaborne
Empire 1600–1800 (New York: Knopf, 1969).
23 J.H. Parry, The Spanish Seaborne Empire (New York: Knopf, 1967).
24 Paul Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery (New York: Scribner’s,
1976); and Gerald Graham, The Politics of Naval Supremacy (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1965).
25 A.N. Porter, ed., Atlas of British Overseas Expansion (London: Routledge, 1991).
26 Frederick Lane, Venice: A Maritime Republic (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1973).
27 Peter Padfield, Tide of Empires, Vols. 1, 2 and 3 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul,
1979, 1982).
28 Jack S. Levy, “War in the Modern Great Power-System, 1495–1975,” in William R.
Thompson, Contending Approaches to World System Analysis (Beverly Hills: Sage,
1983), Chapter 8.
29 R.C. Anderson, Naval Wars in the Baltic (London: Francis Edwards, 1969).
30 Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases, op. cit.
31 Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases, op. cit., p. 74.
32 Harkavy, Bases Abroad, op. cit. The unpublished Wilkes dataset, covering the period
1945–1982, is available at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute.
33 For the thesis that system structure has historically alternated between bipolarity and
multipolarity, see Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (New York:
McGraw-Hill, 1979), pp. 70–71, 161–163, 168–169; and various selections in Robert
O. Keohane, Neo-Realism and Its Critics (New York: Columbia University Press,
1986).
34 Levy, op. cit., especially pp. 11–19.
35 Jeffrey Richelson and Desmond Ball, The Ties That Bind (Boston: Allen and Unwin,
1985).
36 Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Seapower Upon History, 1600–1783 (Boston:
Little, Brown, 1980), revised edition; Clark G. Reynolds, Command of the Sea (New
York: William Morrow, 1974) and Colin Gray, The Leverage of Sea Power (New
York: The Free Press, 1992).
37 William Thompson, “Passing the Torch in a Manner of Speaking: The System Leader
Lineage,” paper presented at annual meeting of International Studies Association,
Toronto, Canada, 1997.
38 Robert E. Harkavy, “Global and Sub-Global Reach: An Initial Effort at Scope and
Definition,” paper presented at annual meeting of International Studies Association,
Montreal, Canada, 2004.
39 B. Swanson, Eighth Voyage of the Dragon, op. cit.
40 D.S. Benson, Six Emperors, op. cit.
41 Information on Ottoman basing drawn from Padfield, Tides of Empires, Vol. I; John
Guilmartin, Gunpowder and Galleys (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1974); and also, replete with maps, Karen Farrington, Historical Atlas of Empires
(New York: Checkmark Books, 2002), pp. 144–147.
42 Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire, op. cit., p. 49, wherein Portuguese dock-
yard facilities in Goa are cited.
43 Parry, The Spanish Seaborne Empire, op. cit., and G.V. Scammell, The First Imperial
Age: European Overseas Expansion c. 1400–1715 (London: Unwin Hyman, 1989).
 Notes 255
44 Boxer, The Dutch Seaborne Empire, op. cit. On Wallerstein’s view that the Nether-
lands was the first global hegemon, see the discussion in Peter J. Taylor, Political
Geography, 2nd edn (New York: Longman, 1989), pp. 33–34, 62–63.
45 See, among others, A.N. Porter, ed., Atlas of British Overseas Expansion, op. cit.
46 See Bruce W. Watson, Red Navy at Sea: Soviet Naval Operations on the High Seas
1956–80 (Boulder: Westview, 1982).
47 Spain’s shipyards in Havana are noted in J. Parry, op. cit., p. 249 and p. 255.
48 This thesis is elaborated on in Chalmers Johnson, The Sorrows of Empire (New York:
Henry Holt, 2004), especially Chapter 6 under “The Empire of Bases.”
49 See among others, Don C. Seitz, Under the Black Flag (New York: The Dial Press,
1925).
50 Peter Padfield, Tide of Empires (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979), p. 4.
51 Regarding the station fleets, see S.S. Roberts, “The Decline of the Overseas Station
Fleets: The United States Asiatic Fleet and the Shanghai Crisis, 1932” (Arlington:
Center for Naval Analyses, 1977), Professional Paper No. 208, November.
52 Robert E. Harkavy, The Arms Trade and International Systems (Cambridge:
Ballinger, 1975), pp. 154–155.
53 A.N. Porter, ed., Atlas of British Overseas Expansion, 1991, p. 118.
54 Ibid.
55 R. Harkavy, Bases Abroad, op. cit., p. 17.
56 Ibid., Chapter 5.
57 Robert E. Harkavy, The Arms Trade and International Systems (Cambridge:
Ballinger, 1975), Chapter 2.
58 See Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (New York: McGraw-Hill,
1979), especially pp. 70–71, 130, 168–169.
59 A good review of this is in David Sacko, “Re-tailoring the Emperor: Hegemonic Gov-
ernance and the Process of Conflict,” Ph.D. Thesis, Penn State University, October
2002.
60 Ted Hopf, “Polarity, the Offense Defense Balance and War,” The American Political
Science Review, Vol. 85, No. 2 (June 1991), pp. 475–493.
61 See, among others, George Modelski, Long Cycles in World Politics (London:
Macmillan, 1987) and George Modelski and William R. Thompson, Seapower in
Global Politics, 1494–1993 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1988).
62 See P.J. Taylor, Political Geography, 3rd edn (Essex: Longman, 1993), especially
pp. 64–76, in comparing long cycle and world systems theories, and Immanuel
Wallerstein, The Politics of the World Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1984), Chapter 3, under “the three instances of hegemony in the history of the
capitalist world – economy.”
63 Levy, op. cit., pp. 11–19.
64 Ibid., p. 47.
65 Gray, The Leverage of Seapower, op. cit., and Mahan, The Influence of Seapower
Upon History 1600–1783, op. cit.
66 Oywind Osterud, “The Uses and Abuses of Geopolitics,” Journal of Peace Research,
Vol. 25, No. 2, pp. 191–199.
67 Peter Padfield, Tides of Empires, Vol. 1, “Introduction.”
68 William Thompson, “Passing the Torch in a Manner of Speaking, The System Leader
Lineage,” paper presented at meeting of the International Studies Association,
Toronto, Canada, 1997, p. 19.
69 Ibid.
70 Ibid.
71 Nicholas Spykman, America’s Strategy in World Politics (New York: Harcourt,
Brace 1942); Nicholas Spykman, The Geography of the Peace (New York: Harcourt,
Brace, 1944) and Saul Cohen, Geography and Politics in a World Divided (New
York: Random House, 1963).
256 Notes
72 R.E. Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases, op. cit., p. 111.
73 Bradford Dismukes and Jamie McConnell, Soviet Naval Diplomacy (New York:
Pergamon, 1979).
74 Geoffrey Kemp and R.E. Harkavy, Strategic Geography and the Changing Middle
East (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1997), Chapter 2.

2 The Mongols and the Mings: naval basing during an earlier age of sail
1 Peter Padfield, Tides of Empire, Vol. 1, 1481–1654 (London: Routledge and Kegan
Paul, 1979), Introduction, pp. 1–18.
2 For a geographic picture of the expanse of the Mongol Empire, see Karen Farrington,
Historical Atlas of Empires: From 4000 BC to the 21st Century (Dulles:
IPM/Mercury, 2004), Chapter 5.
3 Among other sources, see D.S. Benson, Six Emperors: Mongolian Aggression in the
Thirteenth Century (Chicago: D.S. Benson, 1995).
4 Ibid., pp. 347, 367–368.
5 Ibid., pp. 361–362.
6 Ibid., pp. 369–370.
7 Bruce Swanson, Eighth Voyage of the Dragon: A History of China’s Quest for
Seapower (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1982), p. 33.
8 Ibid., pp. 36–40.
9 Again, this concept comes from William Thompson, “Passing the Torch in a Manner
of Speaking: The System Leader Lineage,” paper presented at meeting of Inter-
national Studies Association, Toronto, Canada, 1997.
10 Swanson, op. cit., p. 42.

3 The Mediterranean basing competition and galley warfare: Venice,

Genoa, Ottoman Empire, Spain, circa 1200–1600
1 See George Modelski and William R. Thompson, Leading Sectors and World
Powers: The Coevolution of Global Politics and Economics (Columbia: University of
South Carolina Press, 1996), Table 8.5, p. 137.
2 Frederick C. Lane, Venice (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1973), p. 126.
3 G.V. Scammell, The First Imperial Age: European Overseas Expansion c.1400–1715
(London: Unwin Hyman, 1989), p. 15.
4 A good general work on Mediterranean galley warfare is John F. Guilmartin, Gun-
powder and Galleys (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974).
5 Frederick C. Lane, op. cit., pp. 128–132; and Peter Padfield, Tides of Empires, Vol. 1
(London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979), Chapter 3 under “Mediterranean
Centre.”
6 Lane, op. cit., pp. 13–80, 174–179; and Padfield, Vol. 1, Chapter 3.
7 Lane, op. cit., especially Chapter 7 and 14.
8 See the map in Lane, Venice, op. cit., p. 71 and also pp. 128–129, 174–175.
9 Ibid.
10 Ibid., pp. 68–69.
11 Ibid., p. 68.
12 Ibid., p. 177.
13 Ibid., p. 43.
14 Ibid., p. 70.
15 Ibid., pp. 73–75.
16 Ibid., pp. 82–85.
17 Ibid., pp. 174–179.
18 Ibid., pp. 126–128.
19 Ibid., pp. 228–231.
 Notes 257
20 Ibid., chapter 16, pp. 288, 349.
21 Padfield, Tide of Empire, Vol. 1, op. cit., pp. 88–95.
22 Padfield, op. cit., pp. 88–89, for discussion of the battle of Goleta.
23 Ibid., pp. 91–95, for discussion of the battle of Prevesa.
24 Ibid., p. 89.
25 Guilmartin, Gunpowder and Galleys, op. cit., Chapter 1.
26 Ibid., p. 96.
27 Ibid., p. 98.
28 Ibid., pp. 101–102.
29 Ibid., p. 105.

4 Basing systems in the age of empire and sail

1 The best overall source is C.R. Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire (New
York: Knopf, 1969). See also Jan Glete, Warfare at Sea, 1500–1650 (London: Rout-
ledge, 2000), Chapter 5 under “The Portuguese in Maritime Asia, 1498–1600”; G.V.
Scammell, The First Imperial Age: European Overseas Expansion c.1400–1715
(London: Unwin Hyman, 1989), especially Chapter 1; and J.H. Parry, Europe and a
Wider World, 1415–1715 (London: Hutchinson, 1949).
2 See George Modelski and William R. Thompson, Leading Sectors and World
Powers: The Coevolution of Global Politics and Economics (Columbia: University
of South Carolina Press, 1996). See in particular table on p. 137.
3 Peter J. Taylor, Political Geography, Second Edition (London: Longman, 1989),
Chapter 1 under “The World System Approach to Political Geography.”
4 Jack S. Levy, “World System Analysis: A Great Power Framework,” in William R.
Thompson, Contending Approaches to World System Analysis (Beverly Hills: Sage,
1983), Chapter 8.
5 Boxer, op. cit., pp. 25–29.
6 Ibid., pp. 25–31.
7 Glete, op. cit., Chapter 1, and Peter Padfield, Tides of Empires, Vol. 1 (London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979), Chapters 1 and 2.
8 Ibid.
9 For details of these Portuguese acquisitions, see Boxer, op. cit., Chapter 1–4, Pad-
field, Chapters 1 and 2, and Scammell, op. cit., Chapter 1 under “Imperial Begin-
nings.”
10 See the map in Padfield, p. 20, entitled “Wind and current systems of the Atlantic.”
11 Nagasaki and Macao are discussed in Boxer, op. cit., pp. 63–64.
12 Boxer, p. 61, notes that “for most of the 16th century Antwerp was the principal
entrepot for the Lisbon pepper.”
13 Padfield, Vol. 1, p. 64.
14 Ibid., pp. 70–72.
15 Boxer, op. cit., pp. 49, 209–210.
16 Ibid., Chapter 2, and Padfield, Chapter 2.
17 The best overall coverage, from which much of the subsequent data is drawn, is J.H.
Parry, The Spanish Seaborne Empire (New York: Knopf, 1967).
18 Ibid., pp. 40–44.
19 Padfield, Vol. 1, pp. 88–96.
20 Ibid., p. 76.
21 Parry, op. cit., Chapters 3 and 4.
22 Parry, p. 249, who says that “in 1650 less than a third of the ships in the Carrera
were Spanish-built.”
23 Padfield, Vol. 1, p. 131, who notes the great Spanish Armada in 1587 was assembled
at Lisbon and other ports. Glete, pp. 163–164, notes the landing of 3400 Spanish sol-
diers at Kinsale, who later surrendered. See also Glete, op. cit., p. 157.
258 Notes
24 Scammell, op. cit., p. 135.
25 Parry, p. 117.
26 Ibid., p. 121.
27 Ibid., p. 123.
28 Ibid., p. 131.
29 Ibid., p. 132.
30 Ibid., p. 134.
31 Ibid., p. 135.
32 Wallerstein’s thesis is discussed in Peter J. Taylor, Political Geography (London:
Longman, 1989), Chapter 1, under “A world-systems approach to political geo-
graphy.”
33 Jack S. Levy, “World System Analysis: A Great Power Framework,” in William
Thompson, ed., Contending Approaches to World System Analysis (Beverly Hills:
Sage, 1983), Chapter 8.
34 Ibid., especially pp. 190–196.
35 Padfield, Vol. 1, p. 158, regarding the Dutch driving the Portuguese from the Moluc-
cas, chief source of the most valuable spices, and also from the smaller islands of
Tidore and Ternate.
36 The data here is drawn from C.R. Boxer, The Dutch Seaborne Empire, 1600–1800
(New York: Knopf, 1965); Glete, op. cit., Chapters 8–10; and Padfield, Vol. l, Chapter
5 under “The Dutch Empire of the Oceans,” Padfield, p. 180, refers to Dutch
Caribbean entrepôts at Curacao, St. Eustatius, St. Martin’s, Aruba and Buen Ayre.
37 The Dutch Asian network, involving Zeelandia and Nagasaki, is discussed in Glete,
op. cit., p. 172.
38 Boxer, The Dutch Seaborne Empire, pp. 87–89. Glete, pp. 173–176; Padfield, Vol.
1, pp. 170–171.
39 R.C. Anderson, Naval Wars in the Baltic, 1522–1850 (London: Francis Edwards,
1910), p. 100.
40 Ibid., p. 60.
41 Boxer, The Dutch Seaborne Empire, p. 69; George Modelski and William Thomp-
son, Seapower in Global Politics, 1494–1993 (Seattle: University of Washington,
1988), pp. 187–193.
42 Boxer, The Dutch Seaborne Empire, p. 69; Modelski and Thompson, Seapower in
Global Politics, pp. 187–193.
43 The fluit, or flute-ship, is discussed in Boxer, The Dutch Seaborne Empire, pp. 20
and 68, and Scannell, op. cit., p. 226.
44 The following analysis of the evolvement of the British basing structure over several
centuries is based primarily on Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of British Naval
Mastery (New York: Scribner’s, 1976); Gerald Graham, The Politics of Naval
Supremacy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965); Richard Harding,
Seapower and Naval Warfare, 1650–1830 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1999);
Jan Glete, Warfare at Sea, 1500–1650 (London: Routledge, 2000); Peter Padfield,
Tides of Empires, 1481–1654, Vol. 1 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979);
Peter Padfield, Tides of Empire, Vol. 2 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1982);
Peter Padfield, Maritime Power and the Struggle for Freedom (London: John
Murray, 2003); and A.N. Porter, ed., Atlas of British Overseas Expansion (London:
Routledge, 1991).
45 Porter, op. cit., pp. 24–25.
46 Kennedy, op. cit., Chapter 2, under “The Stuart Navy and the Wars with the Dutch
(1603–1688)”; Padfield, Vol. 1, Chapters 1, 2 and 4.
47 J.H. Parry, Trade and Dominion (New York: Praeger, 1971), p. 74; Porter, op. cit.,
pp. 10–13.
48 Padfield, Vol. 2, p. 76, notes British acquisition of Goree and Brielle in 1670; Scam-
mell, op. cit., p. 120; Porter, op. cit., pp. 14–15, 56.
 Notes 259
49 Kennedy, p. 55, notes British access to Lisbon in 1656–1657, op. cit., p. 86, dis-
cusses the Methuen Treaty with Portugal, whereby Lisbon became a “wintering base
vital for the supply of Gibraltar.” See also Padfield, Vol. 2, p. 167. British access to
Lisbon during the Napoleonic Wars is noted in Padfield, Maritime Power and the
Struggle for Freedom, p. 127.
50 Porter, pp. 22–25, discusses British naval access in Ireland.
51 Ibid., pp. 182–184, 256; Porter, p. 18.
52 The strategic importance of Trincomalee is discussed in Graham, pp. 45–46. See
also Porter, pp. 122–127.
53 Kennedy, op. cit., pp. 129, 154, in the latter, Cape Town (Simonstown) is described
as “perhaps the most important strategical position in the world in the age of sea
power.” See also Porter, pp. 80–81.
54 Kennedy, op. cit., p. 130; Porter, pp. 55–56, 64.
55 Porter, op. cit., map on p. 42.
56 Ibid., p. 134.
57 Ibid., pp. 167–168, 180 (deployments on the China Station); Graham, op. cit., pp.
42, 53; and Padfield, Vol. 3, p. 353; and Porter, pp. 93–94.
58 Kennedy, op. cit., pp. 155, 166 (annexation of Lagos); Porter, pp. 103–104.
59 Porter, pp. 142–143.
60 Ibid., pp. 137–138.
61 Lawrence Sondhaus, Naval Warfare, 1815–1914 (London: Routledge, 2001), p. 28.
62 Porter, op. cit., p. 119. A similar snapshot for the year 1881 is provided on p. 120.
63 Generally speaking, information on the elaboration of a French basing structure over
several centuries can be gleamed from Padfield, Vol. 2, op. cit., Chapters 3 and 5
under “Colbert and the Rise of France” and “The Maritime Powers Against the Sun
King;” Kennedy, op. cit., particularly in connection with the wars against Great
Britain; Sondhaus, Naval Warfare, 1815–1914; Padfield, Vol. 1, especially Chapter
5; J.H. Parry, Trade and Dominion, Chapter 7; and Scammell, op. cit., The First
Imperial Age, especially Chapters 3 and 4.
64 See Padfield, Vol. 1, “Introduction,” p. 10, where France is described as a hybrid
between land and sea power:
France was at least two nations, a centralized territorial power controlled from
Paris and a centrifugal fringe of seaports, some like Le Havre, St. Malo, La
Rochelle facing the Atlantic, a vigorous part of the system of Western oceanic
powers, others, notably Marseille, cut off from there by the Iberian peninsula
and facing the Mediterranean.
65 Padfield, op. cit., Vol. 1, p. 89.
66 Scammell, op. cit., p. 39.
67 Padfield, Vol. 2, Chapter 5, under “the Maritime Powers Against the Sun King.”
68 Padfield, Vol. 1, p. 164.
69 Padfield, Vol. 2, Chapter 7.
70 Ibid., p. 246, which discusses the British capture of Pondicherry in 1761.
71 France’s loss of Nova Scotia is noted in Scammell, op. cit., p. 36. Kennedy, op. cit.,
p. 130.
72 Padfield, Maritime Power, p. 276.
73 Kennedy, op. cit., p. 195, notes in relation to Britain’s control of crucial sea lines of
communication, the French threats from Dakar, Bizerte and Diego Suarez.
74 Padfield, Vol. 2, pp. 228–231.
75 Ibid., pp. 243–245, discusses the crucial naval battle at Quiberon Bay.
76 A very detailed coverage is in R.C. Anderson, Naval Warfare in the Baltic,
1522–1858 (London: Francis Edwards, 1910), reprinted with new introduction in
1969. An additional source of information on basing diplomacy during the long
period of Baltic naval warfare is in Jan Glete, op. cit., pp. 116–130, under “The rise
260 Notes
of Nordic sea power, 1500–1700.” See also Richard Harding, Seapower and Naval
Warfare, 1650–1830 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1999), pp. 18, 19.
77 For a good summary over several centuries, see Ludwig Dehio, The Precarious
Balance: Four Centuries of the European Power Struggle (New York: Knopf,
1962). Anderson, op. cit., provides a lot of politico-diplomatic context at the begin-
ning of each of his chapters devoted to phases of naval warfare.
78 Anderson, op. cit., p. 242, regarding the war between Sweden and Russia.
79 Ibid., 159, 160.
80 Ibid., p. 237.
81 For a review of formal rules regarding neutrality during wars, see the Encyclopedia
of Public International Law, Vol. 3 (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 1997), pp. 544–570,
especially pp. 558–567, under “Neutrality in Sea Warfare.”
82 Anderson, p. 64.
83 Ibid., p. 74.
84 Ibid., p. 102.
85 Ibid., p. 171.
86 Ibid., p. 177.
87 Ibid., p. 221.
88 Ibid., p. 268.
89 Ibid., p. 297.
90 Ibid., p. 315.
91 Ibid., Introduction.
92 Ibid., Section I.
93 Ibid., Section II.
94 Ibid., Section III.
95 Ibid., Section IV.
96 Ibid., Section V.
97 Ibid., p. 103.
98 Ibid., Section VI.
99 Ibid., pp. 128–129.
100 Ibid., Section VII.
101 Ibid., Section VIII.
102 Ibid., Section XIX.
103 Ibid., Section X.
104 Ibid., pp. 206–207.
105 Ibid., Section XI.
106 Ibid., pp. 212–213.
107 Ibid., p. 222.
108 Ibid., Section XII.
109 Ibid., pp. 224–226.
110 Ibid., Section XIII.
111 Ibid., Section XIV.
112 Ibid., Section XV.
113 Ibid.
114 Ibid., Conclusion.

5 The interwar period: a transitional era

1 Much of the material in this chapter is drawn from the author’s previously published
Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases: The Geopolitics of Access Diplomacy
(New York: Pergamon, 1982).
2 For comparisons of differing perspectives on definitions of the structure of the inter-
war international system, see R.E. Harkavy, The Arms Trade and International
Systems (Cambridge: Ballinger, 1975), Chapter 2.
 Notes 261
3 Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases, Chapter 2.
4 Ibid., pp. 48–50.
5 Ibid., Chapter 3.
6 Ibid., p. 86.
7 See, in this regard, the discussions of Tirpitz’s “risk theory” in Herbert Rosinski,
The Development of Naval Thought (Newport, RI: Naval War College Press, 1977),
pp. 54–55; and Leonard Wainstein, “The Dreadnought Gap,” in Robert Art and
Kenneth Waltz, eds., The Use of Force (Boston: Little, Brown, 1971), pp. 153–169.
For the impact of World War I on military technology, see Bernard Brodie,
Sea Power in the Machine Age (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1941),
pp. 248–251, 379–383.
8 See Rosinski, Development of Naval Thought, Chapter 4.
9 This is discussed in detail in the Military Intelligence Division, National Archives of
the United States, MID 2075–57 and in 265-T-398, wherein is noted the British
desire not to see any other nation’s naval bases en route from the Mediterranean to
India, which required British control over Palestine and a protectorate over Egypt,
and restriction of France to a weak presence in Lebanon. The British are here indi-
cated as uneasy over the French presence in Syria under the League Mandate.
10 See MID 2667–14, which discusses Conservative resistance to Labour Party pro-
posals for closing British bases in the Western hemisphere in 1930. The discussion
was related to the then recently consummated Kellogg–Briand Pact intended to
“outlaw” war, in which context the Labour government considered dismantling the
British naval base at Kingston as a goodwill gesture.
11 For instance, MID 2667-H-58 discusses Japanese seaplane facility requirements in the
Palaus and on Saipan; 2081–1380 discusses a network of French seaplane stations in
Indochina; 272–61 refers to facilities for Sikorsky flying boats; 2081–1061 discusses
German access in Brazil to a facility for its dirigibles. In 1941, according to 1840–1,
the United States was very interested in a flying boat base under construction at Jui in
Liberia as a staging point between northeast Brazil and East Africa. For a more com-
plete analysis of the basing requirements for airships during the interwar period, cru-
cially involving large mooring masts, see Basil Collier, The Airships: A History (New
York: Putnam, 1974). Airships were heavily used in World War I for bombing, ASW,
even for transport of arms (the Germans tried during the war to ferry arms to Eire).
Collier (pp. 202–203) notes a British mooring mast network en route to Karachi, using
facilities at Ismailia, Baghdad, Basra, Athens and Malta.
12 MID 2083–1403 and 2714–5.
13 MID 253–261.
14 Ibid.
15 Ibid. Further regarding British interwar basing policies in the Pacific and Indian
Ocean areas, see Stephen Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars, Vol. 1,
1919–1929 (New York: Walker & Co., 1969), Chapter 7.
16 MID 2083–1610.
17 MID 265–261.
18 MID 2083–1702.
19 See MID-2083 for information on the RAF station, at Ramleh in Palestine.
20 During the 1930s, as noted in Harkavy, The Arms Trade and International Systems
(Cambridge: Ballinger, 1975), p. 153, Greece was producing on license the Atlas
Reconnaissance, Avro 626, Avro Tutor and Blackburn Velos aircraft. See also MID
2017–1270 regarding British use of Greek facilities.
21 MID 2083–1448, 2083–1573 and 2667–14. Kingston then had considerable naval
repair capability; Halifax also had extensive drydocking capability.
22 MID 2667–14.
23 MID 2657–122 lists Prince Rupert as well as Esquimalt as a British facility on the
western coast of Canada.
262 Notes
24 See MID-2017–1270/44 regarding British facilities at Freetown; 2083–1731 on
British air bases in West Africa; and 2086–738 regarding British bases in East
Africa.
25 See MID 2667-ZZ-30, 2657–3–27, 2535–28, and 242–96 regarding the Azores facil-
ities. For more extensive detail regarding British and American activities directed at
acquiring access to facilities in the Azores in the early phases of World War II, see
Kenneth G. Weiss, “The Azores in Diplomacy and Strategy, 1940–1945,” Profes-
sional Paper 272 (Alexandria: Center for Naval Analyses, March 1980).
26 See MID 2840–1 and 183–69 regarding Bolama in Portuguese Guinea.
27 See MID 2331–272 and 272–61 for a discussion of French bases in the Caribbean area
at the outset of World War II – i.e., Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guyana.
28 See Samuel Huntington, “Arms Races: Prerequisites and Results,” in Art and Waltz,
Use of Force, pp. 365–401, who discusses the Anglo-French naval race between
1840 and 1866, and one pitting England vs. France and Russia from 1884 to 1904.
29 MID 265–261.
30 Ibid.
31 MID 2081–1380, 2714–4, and 2081–1273.
32 MID 263–261 and 183–167.
33 MID 2351–7.
34 See MID 2081–1062 and 2610-E-66 regarding development of air bases at Bizerte
and Tunis.
35 MID 2083–1731, 2081–193, and 2081–1352.
36 MID 2081/1352.
37 MID 183–354 and 2637–298.
38 MID 2637–281.
39 MID-2087–152 and 2087–207.
40 MID 2667–81, 2652–298, 2087–211 and 265–261.
41 See George A. Weller, Bases Overseas: An American Trusteeship in Power (New
York: Harcourt, Brace, 1944); and Hans Weigert, “Strategic Bases,” in H. Weigert,
V. Stefansson and R. Harrison, eds., New Compass of the World (New York:
Macmillan, 1949), pp. 219–237.
42 MID 20674–37, 20987–298, and 6270–345. These report on rumors that the
Germans were buying up coffee plantations and other such assets in Central
America to be used for clandestine military purposes.
43 MID 2017–1009. Michael Howard, The Continental Commitment (London: Temple,
Smith, 1972), pp. 29–30, notes earlier decisions, in 1902 and 1907, which were
precedental in terms of the British Atlantic bases.
44 See Richard Millett, “The State Department’s Navy: A History of the Special
Service Squadron, 1920–1940,” The American Neptune, 35 (1975), pp. 118–138.
45 Stephen S. Roberts, “The Decline of the Overseas Station Fleets: The United States
Asiatic Fleet and the Shanghai Crisis, 1932,” Professional Paper no. 208, Center for
Naval Analyses (Arlington: November 1977).
46 See, inter alia, MD 2574–1308 and 300-B-574.
47 MID 2667-ZZ-27.
48 Ibid.
49 MID 2667-ZZ-27.
50 Ibid.
51 MID 2667–21 and 2667-ZZ-27.
52 MID 272–61.
53 MID 2667-ZZ-28. Then, MID 2257-ZZ-275 and 2257-ZZ-30 report on the import-
ance of Greenland at the outset of World War II for meteorological stations.
54 MID 2667-ZZ-30.
55 Regarding early development of radar, prior to and during World War II, see John
Carroll, Secrets of Electronic Espionage (New York: E.G. Dutton, 1966), book 2.
 Notes 263
56 See Harkavy, Arms Trade, Chapter 4. Ecuador and Paraguay among the Latin Amer-
ican states then acquired the highest proportion of their arms from the Axis Powers.
57 See MID 2637-K-93, which reports, “Teuto-Brazilians” taking jobs as bartenders
etc. around Natal and Fortaleza, and about German control of Brazil’s Condor
Airline.
58 MID-2637–241. Regarding possible German U-boat bases, fears were expressed
particularly about locales in Peru and Chile.
59 MID 2657-M-292.
60 See MID 2665–15, which in particular notes the activities of the German firm,
Sedta; and 2667–33–29, which discusses a U.S. offer to build up the Ecuadorean air
force in exchange for Galapagos bases at a time when Ecuador was deemed unhappy
with the aircraft it had purchased from Italy.
61 The state of technology for aerial reconnaissance during this period is examined in
Glenn B. Infield, Unarmed and Unafraid (London: Macmillan, 1970), Chapter 4.
62 MID 2637-M-292. By August 1940, all Latin American countries except Argentina
and Uruguay had agreed to military staff conversations along these lines. For
instance, MID 2657-Q-188 discusses General Marshall’s discussions with Chile
about U.S. access to emergency landing fields and POL storage dumps at a time
when Chile was looking for the United States to pressure the U.K. about expedited
arms shipments – those arms requests were said to conflict with allied priorities.
63 MID 183-Z-130 and 10987–73. Herein is related an alleged Nazi plot to take over
Vichy French communications facilities, resulting in cancellation of the French con-
cession and subsequent granting to the United States of air and naval access.
64 MID 2667-ZZ-31.
65 See MID-2537–103, 183-Z-130, and 10541–1007, the latter reporting on access
granted to U.S. mechanics needed for servicing P-40 fighter aircraft being ferried to
the Panama Canal via Mexico.
66 See MID-242–196 for discussion of U.S. consideration of purchase or lease of the
Galapagos to preempt similar Japanese designs on them.
67 MID-2052–121, 2637-M-292, and 10919–48.
68 See MID 183–354, and 2657–298 which also discusses occupations of Curacao,
Aruba and Bonaire, involving British forces also.
69 MID 2657-M-292, 183-Z-130, and 2340–64. Mexico was an exception here in
requiring special, ad hoc permission for each overflight.
70 See MID 300-B-572, and 2840–1, discussing among other things clandestine U.S.
surveys of possible facility sites, and the possibility of use of a Firestone rubber
plantation.
71 One possible partial exception, noted by Collier, The Lion and the Eagle (New
York: Putnam, 1972), p. 336, was the basing of U.S. bombers at Clark Field,
intended to knock out Japanese airfields on Formosa in the case of war. This strategy
was, of course, preempted by the Japanese raids on the Philippines simultaneous
with the assault on Pearl Harbor.
72 See MID 302-B-574 and 10582–59, which also discuss possible U.S. base sites at
Jolo, Halsey Harbor and Cebu City, the latter deemed important because of its loca-
tion in relation to the Japanese base at Yap in the Caroline Islands.
73 MID 2657–298.
74 See, in particular, Claudio G. Segre, Fourth Shore: The Italian Colonization of
Libya (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974).
75 MID 2086–362 and 2086–635.
76 MID 2086–460.
77 MID 2779–2 and 2018–358.
78 MID 2657-V-296 also reports on the Germans’ use of air facilities on Rhodes and
other Italian-controlled Aegean Islands.
79 MID 2086–847 and 2022–611.
264 Notes
80 However, as noted in MID 2022–611/28, Britain did refuse overflights for the ferry-
ing of Italian warplanes from Tripoli over Sudan, after initially permitting some.
81 See, in particular, MID 2791–8 and 2657-E-336.
82 MID 2267-A-37 reports the destruction of the Italian Red Sea navy in February
1940 and the shipping of 20,000 Italian prisoners to India.
83 See MID 2657–241 and 2048–182.
84 See MID-2637-S-144.
85 See MID 2657-S-144, 2093–203, and 2093–112. Also, as noted in MID 2637–230,
Italy apparently had some air access to the Cape Verde Islands at the war’s outset.
86 See Howard, Continental Commitment, p. 59.
87 See Rosinski, Development of Naval Thought, Chapter 4. Howard, Continental
Commitment, p. 67, reports on British fears that Germany would establish submarine
bases on the Indian Ocean after gaining control of the Caucasus, Armenia, Persia
and Mesopotamia.
88 MID-2266-E-4.
89 The MID files report Allied fears of such German access in numerous places, but
particularly in Panama, Venezuela, Ecuador, Colombia and several other Central
American countries, all within close proximity to the Panama Canal. Portuguese and
Spanish territories at home and abroad were also very frequently the subjects of
speculation and analysis.
90 See, regarding the importance of the Low Countries for fighter and bomber bases at
the outset of World War II, Howard, Continental Commitment, p. 117.
91 See Harkavy, Arms Trade, Chapter 4, for data regarding Axis arms supplies to
Nationalist Spain.
92 MID 2637–230 and 2657-S-144.
93 Ibid., and MID 2093–191.
94 MID 2081–1061.
95 MID 2637–244, 2472–129, and 2459–145.
96 This is discussed in great detail in MID-242–96.
97 Ibid., which notes that Germany and Italy, with between them some 14,000 bombers
and 8000 fighter aircraft in 1939, were trying to maintain a 3:2 superiority ratio over
the combined U.K.-France-USSR airforces.
98 MID 2041–121 and 2657-J-27, the latter discussing the possibility in 1941 of a
German invasion of Portugal to secure bases there and in Madeira, Cape Verde and
Portuguese Guinea.
99 MID 2677–22 reports on German access to forward air bases in Bulgaria in 1939. In
1940 Germany also apparently acquired access to several forward air bases in
Hungary, according to MID 2082–981.
100 MID 2093–203 and 2072–482, the latter reporting on the use by German submarines
and surface raiders of the Bay of El Rio between the islands of Lanzarote and Gra-
ciosa. But German requests for a radio facility at Tangiers were apparently denied.
101 MID 2317-H-24.
102 See MID 2280-J-97.
103 MID 2667-D-1061, regarding the repair of Soviet merchant ships at British-owned
dockyards at Shanghai in 1941 at a time when Soviet diplomacy was steering
between a Chinese and Japanese orientation.
104 MID 2657–166.
105 MID 2063–357, 2724-H-58.
106 MID 2667-H-29.
107 MID 2085–885.
108 MID 2657-H-528 reports on a Japanese ultimatum to Vichy France in July 1941
regarding eight air bases and two naval bases, which were characterized as
“strategically defensive” in character, to prevent British and American influence
from shutting off supplies of rubber, tin and rice from Thailand and Indochina. See
 Notes 265
also 2081–1380 for an analysis of Japanese plans to use Indochina bases for an
assault against Malaya; as well as Collier, The Lion and the Eagle, p. 335.
109 MID 2073–673.
110 See Mid 2124–77, which has Siam denying rumors about Japanese use of some of
its islands for submarines, ascribing the rumors to the “Third International.” See also
2085–898 regarding Japanese aircraft access to Siam.
111 MID 176-S-30.
112 MID 2667-H-58 reports on the informant’s role of a Filipino missionary, one of only
a few missionaries allowed in the Palau Islands by the Japanese, and who also
reported on the dredging of lagoons to allow for mooring of battleships. See also
MID 2342–174 and 2657–411 for developments on Mortlock around 1933.
113 MID 2085–957.
114 MID 2667-H-58 and 2085–957.
115 MID 2085–957.
116 See, among others, John Toland, The Rising Sun, Vol. 1 (New York: Random
House, 1970), Chapter 6, “Operation Z,” for an analysis of this strategy, and of
Admiral Yamamoto’s cautious pessimism regarding its eventual success, even as he
enthusiastically planned the Pearl Harbor raid.
117 MID 2667-D-1061.
118 MID 2090–323 reports on Soviet survey personnel in Czechoslovakia in 1935 and
plans to construct there facilities for 1000 aircraft.
119 MID 2657–230.
120 MID 2090–390, Collier, The Lion and the Eagle, p. 313, also states that the Russians
gave up 50,000 lives to “get bases on Finnish as well as Estonian soil,” implying
that such access was a primary rationale for the Winter War.
121 MID 2657-I-281 reports on Soviet interwar bases in Mongolia and on alleged virtual
control of that country by the Soviet military.
122 See Harkavy, Arms Trade, Chapter 4, for discussion of Soviet arms sales policies
and patterns during the interwar period. The Soviets had some access to shipyards in
China as well as to airfields in Czechoslovakia, in both cases concurrent with arms
sales to those countries.

6 Bases during the Cold War: the bipolar base race

1 Hans Weigert, “U.S. Strategic Bases and Collective Security,” Foreign Affairs, Vol.
25, No. 2 (January 1947), pp. 250–262. See also, George Weller, Bases Overseas
(New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1944).
2 R.E. Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases: The Geopolitics of
Access Diplomacy (New York: Pergamon, 1982), Chapter 4.
3 Ibid.
4 For a review of this breakdown, see Geoffrey Kemp and Robert E. Harkavy, Strategic
Geography and the Changing Middle East (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1987),
Chapter 7.
5 Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases, op. cit., pp. 128, 149.
6 Information on U.S. basing during the Gulf War is in Department of Defense, Conflict
of the Persian Gulf War, Final Report to Congress, Pursuant to Title V of the Persian
Gulf Conflict, Supplemental Authorization and Personnel Benefits Act of 1991
(Public Law 102–05), Washington, DC, April 1992.
7 R.E. Harkavy, Bases Abroad: The Global Foreign Military Presence (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1989), p. 137.
8 Ibid., pp. 15, 75, 87.
9 Ibid., pp. 79, 85.
10 Ibid., pp. 75, 79.
11 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 43–50.
266 Notes
12 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 80–88.
13 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 95–100.
14 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 250–272.
15 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 255–262.
16 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 262–263.
17 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 156–158.
18 Paul Kennedy, “Imperial cable communications and strategy, 1870–1914,” The
English Historical Review, Vol. 86, No. 141 (1971), pp. 728–752 (748).
19 Ibid., p. 749. See also J.M. Caroll, Secrets of Electronic Espionage (E.P. Dutton: New
York, 1966), pp. 19–21, who cites the German chain of global radio stations keyed on
a transmitter near Berlin and involving overseas stations at Kamina, Togo and Wind-
hoek, Southwest Africa.
20 Kennedy (note 15), p. 751.
21 This discussed in Harkavy, Great Power Competition for Overseas Bases, pp. 68–69.
22 Harkavy ibid., p. 77.
23 Ibid., p. 27. J. Bamford The Puzzle Palace (Boston: Houghton-Mifflin, 1982), pp.
32–33, discusses some of pre-World War II SIGINT activities, involving facilities in
Panama and the Philippines as well as along both U.S. coasts.
24 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 158–174.
25 See also, for the pluses and minuses of various frequency ranges, D. Ford, The Button
(New York: Simon and Schuster, 1985), especially pp. 152–157.
26 Will Arkin and R. W. Fieldhouse, Nuclear Battlefields: Global Links in the Arms
Race (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1985), p. 28.
27 Ibid.
28 Ibid.
29 Ibid.
30 Bruce Blair, Strategic Command and Control (Washington, DC: Brookings Institu-
tion, 1985), pp. 103–104, 265 and 278.
31 See Ford, op. cit., p. 155; and Blair, op. cit., pp. 198–199.
32 Ford, op. cit., pp. 225–227; Arkin and Fieldhouse (note 1), pp. 31–32; Blair (note 1),
especially pp. 254–255; and E. Ulsamer “C3I survivability in the budget wars” Air
Force Magazine, June 1983, pp. 39–40.
33 Arkin and Fieldhouse (note 1), p. 33; and Blair (note 1), p. 279.
34 That in Liberia is noted in “U.S. ties with Liberia put under new strain,” New York
Times, May 16, 1987, p. 2
35 Jane’s Military Communications, 1982 (note 66), p. 589.
36 J.T. Richelson and D. Ball, The Ties that Bind (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1985),
p. 201.
37 P.B. Stares, Space and National Security (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution,
1987), p. 188.
38 Defense Communications Agency, “Defense Communications Systems/European
Communications Systems: Interoperability Baseline,” Washington, DC, February
1981, unclassified paper, p. S-1.
39 Jane’s Military Communication, 1981 (note 66), p 579.
40 SIPRI data.
41 SIPRI data on Iceland.
42 See, for instance, regarding negotiations over a VOA station in Greece, “Greek leader
asserts the U.S. shows favoritism to Turkey,” New York Times, 9 March 1987, p.
A11. Such broadcasts are also often jammed – see “Soviet ‘Voice’ jammers shift to
‘Liberty’,” New York Times, 2 June 1987, p. A12. Some are run on a more or less
clandestine basis – see “The trail so far,” New York Times, 8 May 1987, p. A14,
which discusses the plan for a broadcasting station in an unnamed Caribbean station
intended to beam programmes into Cuba.
43 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 174–184.
 Notes 267
44 The typology is drawn from J.T. Richelson, The U.S. Intelligence Community, (Cam-
bridge, MA: Ballinger, 1985), chapters 7 and 8; and Richelson, “Technical Collection
and Arms Control,” in W. Potter, ed., Verification and Arms Control (Lexington, MA:
D.C. Heath, 1985), pp. 169–216.
45 Richelson and Potter (note 28), p. 185; Richelson and Ball (note 1), pp. 184–185.
46 Richelson in Potter (note 28), p. 185; Richelson in Ball (note 1), pp. 184–185; and
Richelson, The U.S. Intelligence Community (note 1), pp. 126–127.
47 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 184–185.
48 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 185–187.
49 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 187–188.
50 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 189–192.
51 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 192–196.
52 Richelson and Ball, pp. 200–202.
53 Richelson and Ball, p. 200.
54 Richelson and Ball, p. 200. See also W. Burrows, Deep Black (New York: Random
House, 1985), p. 178 who states that the first SOSUS hydrophones laid on the contin-
ental shelf along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts of the USA in the 1950s and 1960s were
code-named “Caesar.”
55 Richelson in Potter, op. cit., p. 189. See also Arkin and Fieldhouse, op. cit.,
pp. 72–73.
56 Harkavy, Bases Abroad, p. 193.
57 Burrows, op. cit., p. 179.
58 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 196–199.
59 Richelson in Potter, op. cit., pp. 195–196; and Burrows, op. cit., pp. 183–184. The
latter notes three components of the programme:
1 Vela Uniform’s seismic detectors for underground and underwater explosions;
2 Vela Sierra’s riometers and other equipment to detect atmospheric and space-
related detonations; and
3 Vela Hotel’s pairs of satellites to detect nuclear explosions in space or on the
earth’s surface.
60 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 50–56.
61 Ford, op. cit., p. 224; Stares, op. cit., pp. 193–194; and Blair, op. cit., pp. 204–205.
62 “Satellite Delays May Erode U.S. Warning System,” Washington Post, May 12,
1986, p. A16.
63 Ford (note 1), p. 224.
64 Jane’s Military Communications, 1981, op. cit., p. 589.
65 “Satellite Delays May Erode U.S. Warning System,” Washington Post, May 12,
1986, p. A16.
66 See “Military role widened by an aggressive G.E.,” New York Times, 27 March 1985,
p. D9; and “4th space shuttle starts secret mission,” New York Times, 4 October 1985,
p. B5, which reports on the space shuttle Atlantic carrying two DSCS III satellites.
67 Arkin and Fieldhouse, op. cit., p. 79. Further regarding GWEN, see Ford, op. cit.,
pp. 225–226.
68 Arkin and Fieldhouse, op. cit., p. 79. Further regarding GWEN, see Ford, op. cit.,
pp. 225–226.
69 “Pentagon plans for WW IV,” Centre Daily Times, February 22, 1987, p. B7. See also
Arkin and Fieldhouse, op. cit., p. 80; and “U.S. prepares for protracted nuclear war,”
International Herald Tribune, July 29, 1986, p. 1, in which Milstar is described as “the
first communications satellite able to support a multiple-exchange campaign, in which
adversaries would fire nuclear weapons in salvos.”
70 This material is drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 88–95.
71 “Our spy on high” New York Times Magazine, May 10, 1987, pp. 30–34.
72 Ibid., p. 32. See also Richelson in Porter, op. cit., p. 177.
268 Notes
73 Burrows, pp. 153–169. See also “Second SR-71 deployed to England,” Aviation Week
& Space Technology, January 31, 1983, p. 59; and “Spy planes sent to Britain,” Daily
Telegraph, March 13, 1979.
74 “Civilians use satellite photos for spying on Soviet military,” New York Times, April
7, 1986, p. A1; Burrows, pp. 324–327. U.S. provision of data to China from the
Landsat D satellite is mentioned in “US looks to China for aid to Pakistan,” New York
Times, January 3, 1980, p. 9. See also “U.S. designs spy satellites to be more secret
than ever, New York Times, November 3, 1987, p. C1.”
75 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 114–116.
76 SIPRI data International Institute for Strategic Studies, which gives the following
numbers of Lance missiles in W. Europe, Belgium 5, Britain 12, FR Germany
26, Italy 6, Netherlands 6, for a total of 55 in addition to 36 U.S. launchers. See also,
T.B. Cochran, W.M. Arkin and M.M. Hoenig, Nuclear Weapons Databook, Vol. 1:
U.S. Nuclear Forces and Capabilities (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1984),
pp. 285–286.
77 Harkavy, Bases Abroad, p. 115.
78 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 199–208.
79 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 136–140.
80 This material drawn from Harkavy, Bases Abroad, pp. 58–59 and 93–95.

7 After the Cold War: basing in a unipolar system

1 Some of the material in this section is drawn from R.E. Harkavy, “Thinking About
Basing,” in Carnes Lord, ed., Reposturing the Force: U.S. Overseas Presence in the
Twenty-First Century (Newport: Naval War College Press, 2006), Newport Paper No.
26. All of the remaining contributions to this volume are pertinent to the post-Cold
War U.S. basing posture.
2 International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance, 2006
(London, 2006), pp. 162–163.
3 “A Georgian Victory as Russia will quit 2 Bases,” International Herald Tribune, May
31, 2005, p. 3.
4 “U.S. tries to shore up Kyrghizstan base deal,” International Herald Tribune, July 26,
2005, p. 3; and “Rice Reaches Pact on Keeping Central Asia Base,” New York Times,
October 12, 2005, p. A8; “2 Countries Extend U.S. Use of Bases,” International
Herald Tribune, July 27, 2005, p. 3.
5 Philip Bowring, “China’s growing might and the spirit of Zheng He,” International
Herald Tribune, August 2, 2005, p. 7.
6 “Crouching Tiger, Swimming Dragon,” New York Times, April 11, 2005, p. A23.
7 “Chinese Navy Buildup Gives Pentagon New Worries,” New York Times, April 8,
2005, p. A3; “A New Global Energy Game,” Washington Post National Weekly
Edition, July 25–31, 2005, p. 20.
8 IISS, The Military Balance, op. cit., pp. 110–111.
9 Ibid., pp. 72–74.
10 The extent of the U.S. basing network near the end of the Cold War in the 1980s can be
gleaned from R.E. Harkavy, Bases Abroad (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989).
11 “U.S. weighs cutback in forces in Germany,” International Harold Tribune, June 4,
2004, p. 1.
12 For information on basing in the 1990–1991 Gulf War, Department of Defense,
Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, Final Report to Congress, Pursuant to Title V of the
Persian Gulf Conflict Supplement Authorization and Personnel Benefits Act of 1991
(Public Law 102–25), Washington, DC, April 1992.
13 Harkavy, “Thinking About Basing,” pp. 10–11.
14 H. Levins, “B-2 Bombers Will Stay Near Afghanistan Pentagon Source Says,” St.
Louis Post Dispatch, October 8, 2001, p. A12.
 Notes 269
15 Vernon Loeb, “Fill’er Up: In the Nation’s First ‘Tanker War’ Every Mission Needs
Midair Refueling.” Washington Post, April 21, 2002, p. F-1.
16 “Enduring Freedom: U.S. Facilities,” www.globalsecurity.org/military/facility/
afghanistan.htm, as of January 1, 2005; and www.globalsecurity.org/military/facility/
centcom-map2.htm, as of January 1, 2005.
17 Ibid.
18 Ibid.
19 Stephen Blank, “Central Asia’s great base race,” Asia Times, December 19, 2003.
20 CENTCOM facilities, www.globalsecurity.org/military/facility/centcom-map1_2002.
htm. Locations as of December 31, 2002.
21 Department of Defense, Office of the Undersecretary for Policy, “Strengthening U.S.
Global Defense Posture,” September 2004, Report to Congress, p. 10. See also, “The
U.S. Global Posture Review,” Strategic Comments (London: IISS), Vol. 10, Issue 7,
September 2004; Andrew Krepinevich, “The New Pax Americana,” Defense News,
20 September, 2004; and “Prepared Testimony of U.S. Secretary of Defense, Donald
H. Rumsfeld before the Senate Armed Services Committee,” Global Posture, Sep-
tember 23, 2004.” “Small but Mightier: The Military is planning a far-flung base
network with rapid-strike capability,” Washington Post National Weekly Edition,
June 16–22, 2003, p. 29.
22 DOD, “Strengthening U.S. Global Defense Posture,” p. 10.
23 Ibid.
24 Ibid.
25 “U.S. Engages Africa in Terror Fight,” The Christian Science Monitor, September 17,
2004, p. 6.
26 Robert E. Harkavy, “Images of the Coming International System,” Orbis, Vol. 41, 4
(Fall 1997), pp. 569–590.
27 The data in the following paragraphs are drawn from The DISAM Journal, Spring
2004, pp. 1–59.
28 “U.S. engages Africa in terror fight,” The Christian Science Monitor, September 17,
2004, p. 6.
29 DOD, “Strengthening U.S. Global Defense Posture,” op. cit., p. 10.
30 J. David Singer and Melvin Small, The Wages of War, 1816–1965 (New York:
Wiley, 1972).
31 For some typologies, see Ernest Evans, Wars Without Splendor: The U.S. Military
and Low Level Conflict (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987); and Richard Shultz,
“The Low Intensity Conflict Environment of the 1990s,” The Annals, AAPSS 517,
September 1991, pp. 127–132.
32 Sam Sarkesian, The New Battlefield (New York: Greenwood Press, 1986), p. 110.
33 Robert E. Harkavy, “Arms Resupply During Conflict: Framework for Analysis,” The
Jerusalem Journal of International Relations, 7, 3 (1985), pp. 5–41.
34 Barry M. Blechman and Stephen S. Kaplan, Force without War (Washington, DC:
Brookings Institution, 1978); and Stephen S. Kaplan, Diplomacy of Power (Washing-
ton, DC: Brookings Institution, 1971).
35 James Cable, Gunboat Diplomacy: Political Applications of Limited Naval Force
(New York: Praeger, 1971).
36 See, for instance, “To Supply China, African Mines Want More Trains,” New York
Times, December 21, 2004, p. W1.
37 “Canada’s Oil: China in Line as U.S. Rival,” New York Times, December 23, 2004, p. A1.
38 Vernon Loeb, “Fill’er Up: In the Nation’s First ‘Tanker War’ Every Mission Needs
Midair Refueling,” Washington Post, April 21, 2002, p. F1.
39 Susan Glassner and Vernon Loeb, “225,000 U.S. and British Troops Are Now Within
Striking Distance,” Washington Post, March 2, 2003, p. A1.
40 Vernon Loeb, “Fill’er Up: In the Nation’s First “Tanker War” Every Mission Needs
Midair Refueling,” Washington Post, April 21, 2002, p. F-1.
270 Notes
41 Ibid.
42 Vernon Loeb, “Intense, Coordinated Air War Backs Baghdad Campaign,” Washing-
ton Post, April 6, 2003, p. A24.
43 Admiral Vern Clark, “Sea Power 21,” Proceedings, U.S. Naval Institute, October
2002; and, among numerous writings, Lt. Cmdr. John T. Klein and Major Rich
Morales, “Sea Basing Isn’t Just About the Sea,” The Proceedings, U.S. Naval Insti-
tute, Vol. 130, January 2004, pp. 32–35.
44 The Congress of the United States, Congressional Budget Office (CBO), “The Future
of the Navy’s Amphibious and Maritime Prepositioning Forces,” November 2004, p.
IX.
45 Data for subsequent three paragraphs taken from ibid. pp. ix–xii.
46 Ibid., p. ix.
47 Ibid., p. xiii.
48 Ibid., p. 12.
49 Congress of the United States, Congressional Budget Office (CB0), “Options for
Changing the Army’s Overseas Basing,” Washington, DC, May 2004.
50 Ibid., p. XII, which specifically mentions Nigeria and Azerbaijan as possible future
sites of conflict.
51 Robert E. Harkavy, “Triangular or Indirect Deterrence/Compellence,” Comparative
Strategy, Vol. 17, 1 (Jan.–Mar. 1998), pp. 63–81.
52 A good discussion of these issues is in Setsuo Takeda, U.S. Missile Defense and East
Asian Security: A Policy Analysis, forthcoming book, now unpublished manuscript.
Index
access: generic routes to 173–4; proliferation
of types of 16–17; Soviet Union 147–8;
U.S. loss of 151–5; U.S. requirements for
160–4
ACE HIGH system 118, 119
acquisition, bases 17–19
Afghanistan: bases in 135, 137, 140, 237,
241; U.S. invasion of 156, 167
AFSATCOM system 115, 116, 117
air force bases: overview 26; Soviet Union
134–6; U.S. 102–3, 167–8
air-based intelligence 165
air-cushion landing craft 170
Airborne Warning and Control Systems
(AWACS) 103, 165
aircraft carriers 110–11
aircraft overflights 103–5
airspace: use of 151–2, 164–5; violation of
104
Albania, bases in 86, 187, 231, 240
Algeria, bases in 180, 182, 187
alliance structures 18–19; U.S. 95–6, 156–8,
160–1
amphibious ships 168–9
Anderson, R.C. 59–60, 62–3
Angola, bases in 131, 132, 176, 178
Angolan War (1975) 3
anti-missile defenses 171–3
anti-submarine warfare 127–8
Antigua, bases in 211, 226
Arab–Israeli War (1973) 3
Argentina, bases in 180, 192, 220
Armenia, bases in 239
arms resupply function 14–15, 103, 164–5
asymmetric: multipolarity 157; power 21–2
Athens, basing access 2
Australia, bases in 76, 192, 211, 220, 233,
241
Austrian Succession, War of 66, 205–6
AUTOSEVOCOM system 117–18
Azerbaijan, bases in 239
Azores, bases in 178, 224, 234, 240
Bahamas, bases in 192, 226
Bahrain, bases in 211, 237
Baker-Nunn optical cameras 123
ballistic missile defense (BMD) 171–3
ballistic missiles, medium-range 96–7
Baltic, naval warfare in (1522–1850) 59–70,
200–10
Barbados, bases in 192, 233
bases: acquisition/retention of 17–19; France
182–5, 232; Genoa 199; Germany 236;
Great Britain 192–8, 233–5; Italy 231;
Japan 229; Mongol Empire 186;
Netherlands 176–7, 230; Ottoman Empire
187–8; Portugal 178–9; proliferation of
types of 16–17; shifts in function 14–15;
Soviet Union 228; Spain 179–81; U.S.
211–27, 237–42; Venice 189–91
basing structure: France 55–9; Great Britain
51–5; Netherlands 49–51; Portugal 44–7;
serial hegemons 16–17; Soviet Union
147–8; Spain 47–9; U.S. 129–34
basing systems/strategies, interwar period:
France 78–80, 232; Germany 87–9, 236;
Great Britain 73–8, 233–5; Italy 86–7,
231; Japan 89–91, 229; Netherlands 80,
230; overview 72–3; Soviet Union 91–2,
228; U.S. 80–5, 96–8, 226–7
basing: networks 26–7, 87–9, 91–2; patterns
during Cold War 145–6; requirements
25–6
Belgium, bases in 189, 211
Bermuda, bases in 220
bipolar base race: aircraft overflights 103–5;
anti-submarine warfare 127–8; basing
patterns 145–6; British/French basing
141–5; functions of U.S. basing system
96–8; intelligence 119–21; nuclear
detection 128–9; nuclear-related bases
105–8; ocean surface surveillance 121–2;
overseas “technical” facilities 112–13;
overview 19–23, 94–6; satellite control
stations 124–5; Soviet air bases 134–6;
Soviet ground force bases 136–7; Soviet
naval basing structure 129–34; Soviet
forward-based missiles 141; Soviet
272 Index
bipolar base race continued
forward-based nuclear-capable aircraft
111–12; Soviet technical facilities abroad
137–41; space surveillance 122–3;
strategic early warning 125–7; strategic
nuclear forces 108–11; U.S. Air Force
bases 102–3; U.S. communications
113–19; U.S. Navy surface fleet bases
98–102
Blechman, Barry 165
Bosnia crisis 152
Boxer, C.R. 6
Brazil, bases in 176, 182, 211, 226
broadcast communications 118–19
Brunei, bases in 192
Bulgaria, bases in 228
Burma, bases in 192
CADIN Pinetree lines 126–7
Cambodia, bases in 132
Cambrai, League of 38
Canada, bases in 182, 192–3, 211, 220, 226,
233
Cape Verde, bases in 176, 178
caravels 45
case study, intra-European basing
(1522–1850) 59–70
catastrophic conflicts 162–4, 171
Chad, bases in 241
Chile, bases in 180
China: bases in 54, 90, 176, 178, 186, 193,
221, 228, 229, 232, 233; Ming dynasty 11,
24, 29–31; as rising superpower 147–9;
trade routes to 33
client states 3, 18
coaling stations 54–5, 56
coercive diplomacy function 14–15, 165
Cold War: functions of bases 17; naval bases
24; Soviet naval basing structure 129–34;
U.S. bases 211–25; see also unipolar base
race
colonial control 17–19
COMINT 107–8
“command of the sea” 26–7
commercial: competition 33–4, 36; function
15, 16, 48, 61
communications 112–13; Great Britain 74;
Soviet Union 138–9; U.S. 107, 113–19
competition for basing 26–8, 32–43; phases
of 94–5
conceptual issues 9–11
conflict: arms resupply during 164–5;
typology of 160–4
Congo, bases in 133
conquest, bases acquired by 17–19
Constantinople, bases in 35, 36, 37
contingency rights 84–5
CONUS 152, 167–8, 170, 171–2, 174
conventional power projection function
14–15
conventional warfare 161, 162–4
Cooperative Security Locations (CSLs)
155–6
Correlates of War project (COW) 20, 161
Cuba, bases in 131, 133, 139–40, 180, 211,
221
Cuban missile crisis 107
Cyprus, bases in 76, 187, 189, 193, 199, 211,
221, 233
Czechoslovakia, bases in 135, 136, 228
Danish–Dutch War against Sweden–England
63–4, 201–2
data 6–9
definitions 5–6, 19–23
Denmark, bases in 193, 200, 201, 202–3,
204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 211, 221
Desert Shield/Desert Storm 151–2, 160
DF systems 122
disruptive scenarios 162–4
Distant Early Warning (DEW) 126–7
Djibouti, bases in 211, 232, 241
domestic policies, host countries 156–8
Dominican Republic, bases in 84, 180, 226
DSP satellite systems 4, 124, 125–6
Dutch Guyana, bases in 226
Economic Support Fund (U.S.) 158–60
Ecuador, bases in 180, 211, 226
Egypt–Israel Camp David accords 159
Egypt, bases in 182, 187, 189, 193, 211, 233,
237, 240
electronic communications 113–19
Eritrea, bases in 231
Estonia, bases in 200, 203, 204, 205, 206,
207, 208, 209, 228
Ethiopia, bases in 131, 132, 211, 231
Ethiopian War (1935) 87
Europe: anti-missile systems 172; U.S. bases
in 98, 102, 109–10, 153
expeditionary strike group, U.S. 169
Fairgrieve, James 29
feitoria (factories) 6, 45, 49
Fiji, bases in 193, 211, 233
Finland, bases in 200, 204, 207, 209
FLTSATCOM system 117
Fluit, The 51
Foreign Military Financing Program, U.S.
158–60
Formosa, bases in 90
fortified ports 41–2
Forward Operating Sites (FOSs) 155–6
France: acquisition/retention of bases 18;
bases 182–5, 232; bases in 182, 187,
193–4, 210, 212, 232; basing in unipolar
system 149–50; Cold War basing 142,
143–4; interwar basing system 78–80, 232;
as long-cycle hegemon 14; maritime
power of 28; post-Cold War basing

structure 149–50; seaborne empire/basing
structure 55–9
Frederickshamn, Treaty of 69
French Guyana, bases in 182
French Indochina, bases in 90–1
French Samoa, bases in 182
functions of bases, shifts in 14–15
galley warfare 2, 32–43
Gambia, bases in 194
Genoa: (1200–1600) 32–43;
acquisition/retention of bases 18; bases
199
GEODSS systems 123
geopolitical theory 19–23
Georgia, bases in 239
Germany: bases 236; bases in 134–5, 143,
194, 200–1, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 208,
209, 212, 240, 241, 242; interwar basing
network 87–9, 236; as long-cycle hegemon
13; ship production 14
Ghana, bases in 176, 178
“Giant Talk/Scope Signal III” stations 115,
117
global networks 25–6
global presence, future of 167
global reach 11–14
Graham, Gerald 6
Gray, Colin 21–2
Great Britain: acquisition/retention of bases
18, 19; bases 192–8, 233–5; bases in 105,
189, 197, 207, 208, 210, 215, 218–19, 225,
227, 235, 240–1, 242; basing in unipolar
system 149–50; Cold War basing 142, 143,
144–5; functions of bases 16, 17; interwar
basing system 73–8, 233–5; as long-cycle
hegemon 12–13; maritime power of 27–8;
naval bases 3; post-Cold War basing
structure 149–50; seaborne empire/basing
structure 51–5; ship production 14;
technical facilities 112, 113, 144
Great Northern War (1680–1721) 64–6,
203–5
great power status, definition of 19–23
Greece, bases in 35, 133, 187, 189–90, 191,
194, 199, 207, 212–13, 221, 231, 233, 236
Greenland, bases in 83, 213, 221, 226, 240
Grenada, bases in 182
Guam, bases in 240
Guinea-Bissau, bases in 236
Guinea, bases in 131, 182
Gulf War (1990–1991) 3, 96, 104–5, 151–2,
167
Guyana, bases in 213, 226
Haiti, bases in 84, 182, 226
Havana, bases in 48
hegemonic: seapower regimes 22–3;
transitions 27–8
historical bases 5–6
Index 273
historical-developmental issues 9–11
Honduras, bases in 213, 221, 240, 242
Hong Kong, bases in 76
“Horn War” (1977–78) 3
host countries, domestic policies of 156–8
Hungary, bases in 135, 137, 236, 240
hybrid powers 22–3
Iceland, bases in 202, 213, 221, 240
“imperial pick-off” 27–8, 53, 57, 77–8
imperial: control 6, 15, 17–19; decline 73–4
India: bases in 176, 178, 182–3, 194–5, 233;
trade routes to 33
Indonesia, bases in 50, 176–7, 178, 180, 183,
195, 230, 234
intelligence 5, 97, 104, 107, 112–13, 119–21,
139–41
International Military Education and Training
(IMET) Program, U.S. 158–60
international relations theory 19
international system: changes in 156–8;
future of 173
international systems analysis 20
international systems theory 8
interwar basing systems/strategies: France
78–80, 232; functions of bases 17;
Germany 87–9, 236; Great Britain 73–8,
233–5; Italy 86–7, 231; Japan 89–91, 229;
Netherlands 80, 230; overview 72–3;
Soviet Union 91–2, 228; U.S. 80–5, 226–7
intra-European basing: (1522–1850) 59–70,
200–10; acquisition/retention of bases 19
Iran, bases in 195, 213
Iraq: bases in 132, 187, 234; SCUD attacks
(1991) 172; U.S. invasion of 156
Ireland, bases in 180, 183, 195
Israel, bases in 190, 195, 199, 213, 234
Italy: bases 231; bases in 177, 180, 183, 187,
190, 195, 199, 207, 208, 209, 213, 221,
240, 241; interwar basing system 86–7,
231; see also Genoa; Venice
Jamaica, bases in 180, 195, 226, 234
Japan: bases 229; bases in 177, 178, 213–14,
221–2, 240, 241, 242; interwar basing
system 89–91, 229; as long-cycle hegemon
13
Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAMs) 167
Jordan, bases in 234
Kalmar War 63, 200–1
Kaplan, Stephen 165
Kazakhstan, bases in 239
Kellogg–Briand Pact 75
Kennan, George 6
Kennedy, Paul 6
Kenya, bases in 195, 214, 241
Kiribati, bases in 214
Kissinger, Henry 22
Korean War 160
274 Index
Kosovo crisis (1999) 152, 167
Kuwait, bases in 214, 237, 242
Kyrgyzstan, bases in 237, 239, 241
land empires 29–31
landpower–seapower rivalry 21–2
Lane, Fredrick 6
Latvia, bases in 200, 201, 228
launchers 108–11
League of Nations 75, 79, 89–90, 113
Lebanon, bases in 187, 190, 199, 232
Lend-Lease Act (1940) 82, 83, 113, 160
Levy, Jack 20–1, 23, 49
Liberia, bases in 85, 214, 222, 226–7
Libya, bases in 86–7, 133, 183, 187, 214,
231, 232, 236
literature 6–7
Lithuania, bases in 228
long-cycle hegemons 11–14
long-cycle theory 7–8, 20, 32
long-range CONUS-basing 167–8, 174
LORAN radio-navigation systems 115, 116
Louisiana Treaty 58
low-intensity conflicts 161, 162–4
Madagascar, bases in 133, 195, 232
Madeira, bases in 178
Mahan, Alfred T. 21–2, 34–5, 41, 52, 141
Main Operating Bases (MOBs) 155–6
Malaysia, bases in 234
Maldives, bases in 195
Mali, bases in 183, 232, 241
Malta, bases in 76, 180, 195, 199, 234
Manchuria 90
maritime: power 26–8; rivalry 33–4
Marshall Islands, bases in 91, 214
Masan, Korea 29–30
Mauritania, bases in 178, 241
Mauritius, bases in 183, 195, 234
Mediterranean basing: (1200–1600) 32–43;
access competition 24–5
Mexico, bases in 84, 180, 227
Micronesia, bases in 222
MIDAS satellite program 106
Ming China 11, 29–31
missile defense basing 171–3
missile-gap scare 106–7
Modelski, George 20, 21, 44, 49
Monaco, bases in 190
Mongol Empire 11, 29–31;
acquisition/retention of bases 18; bases
186
Mongolia, bases in 137, 228
Monroe Doctrine 81
Morocco, bases in 178, 180, 195–6, 223, 232
Mozambique, bases in 132, 178–9, 214
multipolar systems 60–1, 157–8
“naos” 45, 48
Napoleonic Wars (1791–1815) 68, 207–9
naval basing: Mongols/Ming China 29–31;
structure, Soviet Union 129–34
naval propulsion 25–6
naval surface fleet bases, U.S. 98–102
naval warfare, Baltic (1522–1850) 59–70,
200–10
Naval Wars in the Baltic 1522–1850 59–60,
62–3
NAVSTAR global positioning systems 115
Netherlands: acquisition/retention of bases
18; bases 176–7, 230; bases in 196, 201,
208, 210, 214, 230; functions of bases 16;
interwar basing system 80, 230; as long-
cycle hegemon 12; maritime power of
27–8; seaborne empire/basing structure
49–51
networks 23–7, 87–9, 91–2
New Zealand, bases in 196, 234
Newfoundland, bases in 83
Nicaragua, bases in 180, 215
Niger, bases in 241
Nigeria, bases in 196, 234
NORAD 125–6
North Korea: bases in 132; missile tests 172
Northern Seven Years War (1563–1570) 200
Norway, bases in 177, 200, 202, 203, 204,
208, 209, 210, 215, 223
nuclear capable aircraft 111–12
nuclear detection 128–9
nuclear deterrence function 14–15, 97
nuclear forces 108–11
nuclear-related bases 3–4, 105–8, 151–5
ocean surface surveillance 121–2
Oman, bases in 179, 215, 223, 237, 240
Omega VLF facilities 115
Operation Enduring Freedom 152–3
Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) 153–4
Ottoman Empire: (1200–1600) 11, 32–43;
acquisition/retention of bases 18; bases
187–8
overflights 103–5
P3C Orion 122
Padfield, Paul 22, 45
Pakistan, bases in 215, 223, 237–8
Panama Canal 77, 80, 81, 83, 84
Panama, bases in 180–1, 215, 223, 227
Papua New Guinea, bases in 215
Paris, Treaty of 59
peacekeeping 166
Peloponnesian Wars 2
permanent bases 16–17
Peru, bases in 131, 133, 181
Philippines, bases in 181, 215, 223, 227
pirates/privateers 15
platforms 108–11
Poland: anti-missile systems 172; bases in
135, 136–7, 200, 201, 202, 203, 205, 208,
210

polarity 19–23
Polish Succession, War of 66, 205–6
port visits 165–6
Portugal: acquisition/retention of bases 18,
19; bases 178–9; bases in 177, 178, 181,
183, 190, 196, 203, 207, 215, 223, 224,
227, 234, 240; functions of bases 16; as
long-cycle hegemon 11–12; maritime
power of 27; seaborne empire/basing
structure 44–7; ship production 14
power projection: offshore ship production as
14; slow speed of 35–6
power, comparisons of 19–23
presence 14–15, 165–6, 167
Puerto Rico, bases in 181, 223
Qatar, bases in 238, 242
regional reach 11–14
retention, bases 17–19
Reunion, bases in 223
rimland basing structure 154
rival basing networks 26–7
Romania, bases in 133, 190
Russia see Soviet Union
Russo-Swedish Wars 200–1
Saigon, bases in 78
sail, age of 29–31; see also France; Great
Britain; intra-European basing;
Netherlands; Portugal; Spain
sailing vessels: British empire/basing
structure 51–5; Dutch empire/basing
structure 49–51; French empire/basing
structure 55–9; intra-European
basing/warfare in Baltic 59–70; overview
44–7; Spanish empire/basing structure
47–9
St. Lucia 227
SALT I Treaty 106–7
SALT II Treaty 137
Samoa, bases in 234
Sao Tome, bases in 179
satellite control facilities: Soviet Union
138–9; U.S. 124–5
SATRAN systems 122–3
Saudi Arabia, bases in 187, 215, 238, 242
sea basing 168–71, 174
seaborne empire: France 55–9; Great Britain
51–5; Netherlands 49–51; Portugal 44–7;
Spain 47–9
sealift ships 170
seapower–landpower rivalry 21–2
security assistance, U.S. 158–60
security provision, U.S. 156–8
Senegal, bases in 183, 215, 232, 240, 241
serial basing networks 23–5
serial hegemons 8–9, 21; basing structures of
16–17
Seven Years’ War 53, 66–7, 206–7
Index 275
Seychelles, bases in 183, 216
ship production 16, 30, 46–7; as power
projection 14
“showing the flag” see presence
Sierra Leone, bases in 234
SIGINT system 107, 120–1, 122–3, 139–40
Singapore, bases in 75–6, 216, 234, 240
Skane War 64, 202–3
Somalia, bases in 216
SOSUS system 4, 127–8
South Africa, bases in 177, 183, 196, 216,
234
South Korea, bases in 186, 216–17, 224, 229
sovereignty 5
Soviet Union: acquisition/retention of bases
18; air bases 134–6; bases 228; bases in
177, 199, 203, 204, 205; and client states
3, 18; collapse of 148–9; forward-based
missiles 141; forward-based nuclear-
capable aircraft 111–12; ground force
bases 136–7; interwar basing network
91–2, 228; as long-cycle hegemon 13, 14;
maritime power of 28; naval basing
structure 129–34; post-Cold War bases
239; strategic nuclear forces 108; technical
facilities abroad 137–41
space: surveillance 122–3, 138–9; technical
facilities 112–13
Spain (1200–1600) 32–43;
acquisition/retention of bases 18, 19; bases
179–81; bases in 177, 181, 183, 187, 190,
196, 206, 207, 217, 224, 231, 236; as long-
cycle hegemon 12; maritime power of 27;
seaborne empire/basing structure 47–9;
ship production 14
Spanish Civil War 88
Sparta, basing access 2
Sri Lanka, bases in 177, 183, 196
STADAN network 123
Stockholm International Peace Research
Institute (SIPRI) 5, 7, 17
submarines: operating bases, U.S. 99–101;
Polaris 106–7; Soviet Union 130–1
Sudan, bases in 234
Suez Canal 86, 152
Sunnyvale satellite control facility, U.S.
124–5
surface fleet bases, U.S. 98–102
Surinam, bases in 177, 196, 230
surveillance: ocean surface 121–2, 140–1;
space 122–3, 139
Sweden, bases in 177, 200, 201, 202, 203,
204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210
Swedish–Danish War (1643–1645) 63, 201
Swedish–Russian War (1788–1790) 67–8, 207
Syria, bases in 232
system leader lineage 23–5, 31
system structure 19–23
Taiwan, bases in 177, 217, 224, 229
276 Index
Tajikistan, bases in 239
Tanzania, bases in 132, 179, 197
technical facilities 112–13; Great Britain
144; overview 3–4, 26; Soviet Union
137–41; U.S. 83, 112–13
technological: change 25–6; innovation 23
Test Ban Treaties (1963/1974) 128–9
Thailand, bases in 177, 217, 229, 241
Thirty Years’ War 63, 200–1
Thompson, William 20, 21, 23, 31, 44, 45, 49
threat environment 173
threat scenarios 160–4
Tobago, bases in 217, 224
Tomahawk missiles 152, 165
Tonga, bases in 197, 235
traditional conflicts 161, 162–4
Trinidad, bases in 197, 217, 224, 227, 235
tripolar systems 19–23
Tunisia, bases in 181, 183, 187–8, 190, 199,
232
Turkey, bases in 153–4, 188, 190, 199,
217–18, 224–5, 238, 241
typology: basing 155–6; conflict 160–4; of
power 22–3
Uganda, bases in 241
Ukraine, bases in 191, 199
unipolar system: air-based intelligence 165;
arms resupply during conflict 164–5; basis
of basing 156; British/French basing
structure 149–50; China as rising superstar
147–9; coercive diplomacy 165; collapse
of Soviet Union 147–8; future of global
presence 167; future scenarios 160–4;
long-range CONUS-basing 167–8, 174;
loss of access 151–5; missile defense
basing 171–3; new U.S. typology of basing
155–6; overview 19–23; peacekeeping
166; presence 165–6, 167; sea basing
168–71, 174; security assistance 158–60;
security provision 156–8; U.S. empire 150
United Arab Emirates, bases in 238
U.S. National Archives 7
U.S.: in 21st century 156, 237–8, 242;
acquisition/retention of bases 18; air force
bases 102–3; air-based intelligence 165;
aircraft overflights 103–5; anti-submarine
warfare 127–8; arms resupply during
conflict 164–5; bases 211–27, 237–42;
bases in 177, 181, 183–4, 197, 227;
coercive diplomacy 165; Cold War basing
system 96–8, 211–25; communications
113–19; future of global presence 167;
future scenarios 160–4; intelligence
119–21, 165; interwar basing system 80–5,
226–7; as long-cycle hegemon 13–14;
long-range CONUS-basing 167–8, 174;
loss of access 151–5; maritime power of
28; missile defense basing 171–3; naval
surface fleet bases 98–102; new typology
of basing 155–6; nuclear detection 128–9;
nuclear-related bases 105–8; ocean surface
surveillance 121–2; peacekeeping 166;
post-Cold War empire 150; presence
165–6, 167; satellite control stations
124–5; sea basing 168–71, 174; security
assistance 158–60; security provision
156–8; ship production 14; space
surveillance 122–3; strategic early warning
125–7; strategic nuclear forces 108–11;
technical facilities 112–13
Utrecht, Treaty of (1714) 53, 58
Uzbekistan, bases in 238, 241
Vasa Succession, War of 63, 200–1
Venezuela, bases in 181, 219
Venice: (1200–1600) 32–43;
acquisition/retention of bases 18; bases
189–91; functions of bases 16
Venice–Genoa Wars 37
Versailles, Treaty of 14
Vienna, Congress of (1815) 54
Vietnam War 160
Vietnam, bases in 132, 136, 184, 219–20,
229, 232
Voice of America (VOA) 119
Wallerstein, Immanuel 20, 21
warfare, Baltic (1522–1850) 59–70, 200–10
Washington Naval Agreement (1922) 89
West Indies, bases in 77, 79, 176, 177, 182,
184, 192, 225
White Cloud satellite system 122
“wintering of fleets” 62
World War II 83–5, 89
Yemen, bases in 132, 179, 188, 197, 235
Yugoslavia, bases in 133, 188, 191, 199
Zheng He 30, 45