When discussing strategy, especially military strategy, two foundational texts inevitably come to mind: On War by Carl von Clausewitz and The Art of War by Sun Tzu. Though separated by more than two millennia and rooted in vastly different cultures, both works continue to shape how we think about conflict, power, and decision-making. Quoting Clausewitz or Sun Tzu has become a kind of shorthand for strategic literacy. Clausewitz’s famous line, “War is nothing but a continuation of politics with the admixture of other means,” (On War, Book 8, Chapter 6, Section B.) remains central to modern strategic theory. His more cynical observation, “The conqueror is always a lover of peace; he would prefer to take over our country unopposed,” (On War, Book 6, Chapter 5, “Character of Strategic Defense”) still resonates in today’s geopolitical climate. Sun Tzu’s aphorisms, such as “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting” (The Art of War, Chapter 3) and “All warfare is based on deception,” (The Art of War, Chapter 1) are frequently cited to highlight the psychological and indirect dimensions of conflict.
These quotes reflect deeper philosophical differences. Clausewitz viewed war through the lens of European statecraft and total war, while Sun Tzu emphasized balance, subtlety, and preemption. Together, they form a strategic canon that continues to influence not only military thinking but also business and politics. In the digital age, strategic quotes are just a search away. While this accessibility democratizes strategic discourse, it also risks reducing complex ideas to soundbites. Yet beneath these well-worn phrases lies a deeper truth: in warfare, some elements change rapidly, while others remain remarkably constant. One of those constants is the role of logistics.
Regardless of the political narratives used to justify war, whether framed as national security, ideological struggle, or humanitarian intervention, the underlying motive is often economic. At its core, conflict frequently revolves around control: control of resources, control of trade routes, control of production, and ultimately, control of wealth. To state it simple, all wars are basically about money and wealth. How it is created, distributed, and maintained. Everybody wants a piece of the cake, relative to their understanding of their contribution to overall values and entitlement. This also includes limitation or destruction of wealth creation for a perceived enemy. If the enemy loses more than oneself, victory can be proclaimed. These economic drivers, however, rarely stir public emotion. They are abstract, systemic, and difficult to rally around. Instead, they are cloaked in more compelling stories of freedom, justice, or survival, which resonate with the human psyche and mobilize support. While the reasons for war may be dressed in rhetoric, the machinery of war is grounded in material reality. And that reality is shaped by technology. As new tools emerge, they do more than enhance firepower, they redefine how wars are fought, how armies are organized, and how societies prepare for conflict. The evolution of warfare is not just tactical; it is structural. It changes the very architecture of defense.
The Industrial Revolution offers a clear example. It didn’t merely alter how societies produced goods; it revolutionized the logistics of war. Mass production enabled the creation of standardized weapons, munitions, and uniforms. Railroads allowed rapid troop movement and supply distribution. Telegraphs accelerated command and control. The battlefield expanded beyond the front lines to include factories, rail yards, and ports. War evolved into war between supply chains, a contest of industrial production capacity and distribution capacity, as much as military strategy. This transformation continues today. Digital technologies, autonomous systems, and cyber capabilities are reshaping the landscape once again. But the principle remains unchanged: the tools of war evolve, and with them, the demands on logistics, coordination, and societal resilience.
The evolution of weaponry has always mirrored the evolution of logistics. Gunpowder weapons, once limited to cumbersome cannons, gradually became more portable and precise, culminating in the handheld rifle. The addition of the bayonet transformed this firearm into a hybrid tool, part projectile, part blade and thereby bridging the ancient art of close combat with the mechanized lethality of modern warfare. This fusion of old and new reflected a broader trend: as weapons became more sophisticated, so too did the systems required to support them.
The next great leap came with the invention of oil and gasoline engines. These technologies revolutionized mobility, enabling the rise of mechanized warfare. Trucks, tanks, aircraft, and naval vessels extended the operational reach of armed forces across vast terrains and oceans. But with this mobility came a new vulnerability: dependence. Fuel, spare parts, maintenance crews, and repair infrastructure became as critical to victory as soldiers and weapons. The battlefield was no longer just a place of combat; it was a network of supply chains.
This shift elevated logistics from a supporting role to a strategic centerpiece. World War II exemplifies this transformation. The Allied victory in Europe was not solely the result of superior tactics or battlefield heroism; it was a triumph of industrial coordination and transcontinental supply. The ability to produce, transport, and sustain military operations across oceans and continents proved decisive. Entire factories, railways, and ports became instruments of war. Even earlier conflicts underscore this truth. Napoleon’s disastrous Russian campaign was not undone by enemy fire, but by logistical failure, his army starved and froze as supply lines collapsed. In each case, the outcome of war was shaped not just by who fought hardest, but by who planned furthest.
In recent years, especially following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, logistics has returned to the spotlight. One quote often attributed to Sun Tzu, “The line between disorder and order lies in logistics,” has gained popularity. It’s frequently cited in reference to the infamous stalled Russian convoy outside Kyiv, which became a symbol of poor planning and coordination. Interestingly, this quote doesn’t appear in canonical translations of The Art of War. It may be a modern reinterpretation, replacing Sun Tzu’s emphasis on “coordination” with the contemporary term “logistics” (The Art of War, Chapter 5, Verse 4). But the sentiment holds. Sun Tzu’s philosophy of preparation, foresight, and indirect action aligns well with the modern understanding of logistics as the backbone of operational success. Whether the quote is authentic or not, it captures a timeless truth: maintaining order in the chaos of war depends on the systems that support the fighting force. Logistics is not just about trucks and warehouses; it’s about enabling strategy.
In contemporary discourse, logistics is often reduced to technical domains such as production systems, transportation networks, and inventory management. These are the observable components, the infrastructure that moves goods and sustains operations. But in the context of warfare, logistics is far more than a supply chain, it is the architecture of order and synchronization. Its opposite is not inefficiency, but chaos, and in war, chaos is rarely accidental. It is often the deliberate objective of the adversary. Both Clausewitz and Sun Tzu understood this well. Clausewitz warned of the “fog of war,” the unpredictable friction that disrupts even the most meticulous plans. Sun Tzu, centuries earlier, emphasized deception as a strategic weapon, to confuse, mislead, and destabilize the enemy. Together, they reveal a timeless truth: war is not only fought with weapons, but with uncertainty, and logistics is the system designed to resist that uncertainty.
If logistics is the mesh that holds order together in war, then it must be woven into the fabric of society long before conflict begins. In today’s unpredictable world, where disruption is often a deliberate strategy, reactive logistics is no longer enough. Success depends on proactive planning and the creation of ability to handle most crises, either alone as a country or as a member of an alliance, like NATO. This is the essence of Article 3 in the North Atlantic Treaty. Logistics, including societal preparedness, should not be treated as a technical afterthought or a wartime emergency measure. Instead, it must be integrated into peacetime governance, civil preparedness, and infrastructure planning. The concept of total defense, where civilian institutions are ready to support military operations and respond to crises, becomes essential, not just in war, but also in everything from pandemics and natural disasters to cyberattacks and hybrid warfare.
Clausewitz’s enduring insight, that “War is nothing but a continuation of politics with the admixture of other means,” reminds us that strategy does not begin on the battlefield, but in the political arena. Every conflict is preceded by a series of political choices, including those made by potential adversaries seeking to impose their will. These choices shape not only the nature of war, but also the conditions for peace. To navigate this landscape, politics must evolve beyond rhetoric and ideology. It must become a mechanism for coordinating societal resources, building resilience, and investing in the capabilities required to deter aggression.
This includes recognizing that peace, while noble in aspiration, is fragile without preparation. In line with the Latin adage “Si vis pacem, para bellum,” which translates to “If you want peace, prepare for war,” the desire for peace must be matched by the willingness to defend it. Those who advocate for peace without investing in defense, however well-intentioned, risk leaving their societies vulnerable to coercion, or worse. In this light, the global peace movement, despite its moral clarity and humanitarian goals, has often found itself as an unwitting pawn in a larger geopolitical game. Its ideals are genuine, but its influence is limited when confronted by actors who view peace not as mutual understanding, but as submission.
True peace is not passive. It is not simply the absence of conflict, but the presence of strength. It is a condition built not on hope, but on capability and capacity. This begins with logistics: the systems, institutions, and foresight that transform political will into strategic preparedness. Logistics is the connective tissue between intention and action, between sovereignty and survival. Many dictators, through history, have started wars without considering the logistics aspect on war. Prioritizing offensive and impressive weapons, which look good on display, over support systems, like fuel trucks and maintenance units.
In this context, disruption becomes a weapon of choice. One of the most effective ways to undermine an opponent’s ability to organize, mobilize, and defend is not through direct confrontation, but through the strategic targeting of logistics and infrastructure. This form of warfare does not seek victory through overwhelming force, it seeks erosion. It dismantles the enemy’s capability to resist, piece by piece, until conflict becomes unnecessary or one-sided. It is a war of attrition fought in silence, where the battlefield is the supply chain, the power grid, the digital backbone of society. This is the timeless truth: war is often won before the first shot is fired. Victory belongs to those who prepare, who anticipate, and who build systems that can withstand pressure.
History offers abundant proof that logistics is not merely a support function, it is a strategic weapon. In the Peloponnesian War, Sparta did not seek to annihilate Athens through direct confrontation. Instead, it pursued a campaign of attrition, systematically ravaging Athenian farmland and severing supply routes. The goal was not destruction, but exhaustion, to force surrender by eroding the city’s ability to sustain itself. A few centuries later, the Roman Republic demonstrated the power of logistics on a grand scale. During the Second Punic War, Rome’s ability to endure Hannibal’s invasion was not solely due to battlefield tactics, but to its logistical depth. While Hannibal famously crossed the Alps and won dramatic victories at Trebia, Lake Trasimene, and Cannae, he was ultimately unable to capture Rome. Why? Because Rome’s vast network of roads, fortified supply depots, and resilient agricultural base allowed it to replenish armies and sustain prolonged resistance. The Roman strategy of attrition, the Fabian tactics, avoiding direct confrontation while gradually cutting off Hannibal’s access to reinforcements, was a logistical triumph. Rome’s infrastructure was not just a symbol of civilization; it was a weapon of endurance.
The Crimean War (1853–1856) further exposed the critical role of logistics in modern warfare. British and French forces, though technologically advanced and tactically capable, suffered immense setbacks due to poor supply chains, inadequate medical support, and mismanaged transport. The harsh winter of 1854-55 revealed the vulnerability of armies unprepared for sustained operations. Soldiers froze and starved in a scale that the own logistics failures killed more of the own soldiers then the enemy. The war prompted sweeping reforms in military supply systems and medical care, including the pioneering work of Florence Nightingale, whose efforts highlighted the link between logistics and medical care all the way to effect operational effectiveness. The Crimean War was not just a clash of empires; it was a turning point in recognizing that victory depends as much on sustaining troops as deploying them. In World War II, the Allies employed a similar logic on a vastly larger scale. Strategic bombing campaigns targeted the lifeblood of the German war machine: oil refineries, rail hubs, and industrial factories. These strikes were not just tactical, they were existential. By 1944, the Luftwaffe was no longer grounded by superior Allied air combat, but by a lack of fuel, spare parts, and production capacity. The skies were cleared not by dogfights, but by logistics.
These examples reveal a consistent pattern: wars are shaped, and often decided, by the ability to sustain effort over time. The battlefield may capture headlines, but the supply line determines outcomes. And in today’s world, where hybrid threats target infrastructure rather than armies, the lessons of history are more relevant than ever. The rise of autonomous and semi-autonomous systems, including drones, has blurred the line between military and civilian domains. Criminals and non-state actors now exploit these technologies to challenge law enforcement, disrupt logistics, and intimidate communities. The use of drones to attack police convoys or smuggle weapons into prisons illustrates how logistical disruption is no longer confined to wartime. It is a daily reality in urban security, demanding a redefinition of resilience and preparedness.
True peace is not the absence of war; it is the presence of resilience. It is not silence, but preparedness. It is not a passive state to be preserved, but an active condition to be cultivated. The myth of peace as quiet must be replaced with the reality of peace as resilience: the ability to absorb shocks, adapt under pressure, and recover from disruption. In a world where threats are increasingly asymmetric, covert, and infrastructural, deterrence is no longer defined by military might alone. It is defined by the ability to mobilize, sustain, and regenerate, across all sectors of society.
Logistics, in this context, is no longer a military concern confined to wartime operations. It is a societal imperative. It is the architecture of sovereignty, the invisible framework that enables a nation, or an alliance of nations, to function under stress. In the age of hybrid warfare, where the first strike may be silent, digital, or disguised as malfunction, the first line of defense must be embedded in every system we rely on: energy grids, communication networks, transportation corridors, healthcare systems, and governance structures. These are not just civilian assets; they are strategic terrain.
In the twenty-first century, the logic of logistics extends far beyond the battlefield. The same principles that determine victory in war, like redundancy and preparedness which we can call societal resilience, now govern the stability of global economies. The supply chain has become the new frontline of geopolitics. States no longer seek to seize territory alone, but to control the flows of energy, data, minerals, and technology that sustain modern life. The concept of security of supply emerges precisely from this realization: that strategic autonomy depends not only on defense capabilities, but on the ability to procure and sustain critical goods and services under stress.
The globalization of production that once promised efficiency has instead created a web of vulnerabilities. The concentration of semiconductor production in Taiwan, rare earth elements in China, and pharmaceuticals in India and China has transformed trade into a strategic weapon. In peacetime, these dependencies appear benign, the natural outcome of comparative advantage. In crisis, however, they become instruments of coercion. Just as Napoleon’s army starved on the road to Moscow, modern societies risk paralysis when the flow of critical inputs is disrupted, whether by blockade, sanctions, cyberattack, or political leverage.
Recent crises have revealed the fragility of this system. The COVID-19 pandemic exposed how even advanced economies lacked secure access to vaccines, protective equipment, and basic medicines. The pure lack of localized production capacity opened a new field of competition between friendly countries, who all wanted equipment to help their own citizens first. The Russian invasion of Ukraine showed that Europe’s dependence on Russian gas was not merely an economic issue, but a strategic vulnerability that shaped foreign policy itself. Meanwhile, China’s dominance in refining critical minerals such as lithium and rare earth elements grants it immense leverage over global green-energy transitions. Each of these cases demonstrate that logistics, and the security of supply chains, are now central to the conduct of statecraft.
Recognizing these dynamics, NATO and the European Union have begun to integrate security of supply into their strategic doctrines. NATO’s Article 3 emphasizes national resilience as the foundation of collective defense, while the EU’s initiatives under the Strategic Compass, the Critical Entities Resilience Directive (CER) directive, and the Critical Raw Materials Act seek to diversify sources and build redundancy across essential sectors. These frameworks reflect an emerging understanding that deterrence no longer depends solely on military preparedness, but on economic continuity, the ability to sustain societies and armed forces when the global market fractures.
This is the paradox of imposed stability: peace offered not as mutual understanding, but as submission. Clausewitz understood this dynamic well when he wrote, “The conqueror is always a lover of peace; he would prefer to take over our country unopposed.” In this view, peace is not a shared goal, it is a strategic condition engineered by the stronger party. It demands silence, not strength. And it is precisely this kind of peace that must be resisted, not with rhetoric, but with preparedness.
In this sense, security of supply is the geopolitical manifestation of logistics. It is the architecture of sovereignty in an age of interdependence, where control over supply chains equates to control over nations’ freedom of action. The contest of our time is not only over territory or ideology, but over who commands the nodes, chokepoints, and standards of production that sustain civilization itself. Those who master logistics in its modern, systemic form, spanning energy, data, materials, and manufacturing, will define the boundaries of order in the twenty-first century and beyond.
Sun Tzu’s wisdom, though ancient, continues to illuminate the foundations of modern strategy. The one quote, “The line between disorder and order lies in logistics,” captures the essence of what makes a society resilient in the face of conflict. Its sentiment is unmistakably aligned with Sun Tzu’s philosophy: victory is not won through brute force alone, but through preparation and strategic foresight. Logistics is the dividing line between chaos and control. Far from being a simplistic soundbite, this quote encapsulates the complexity of modern defense. It reminds us that without a coherent and resilient logistical foundation, the threshold for defeat lowers dramatically, even in the absence of a visible enemy. If the full complexity of modern logistics is not in order, then the need for an adversary to cause collapse is diminished. In today’s interconnected world, the difference between resilience and vulnerability is often just a thin line and that line is logistics.
Freddy Jönsson Hanberg, Director of Security of Supply Centre of Excellence & Member of the Royal Academy of War Sciences
Daniel Ekwall, PhD, Professor at University of Borås and Swedish Defense University
Per Skoglund, PhD, Lieutenant Colonel, and senior lecturer at Swedish Defense University
Thomas Ekström, PhD, Senior consultant at Rote Consulting AB