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Another great article from wwiiafterwwii, wwii equipment used after the war

WWII guns of Mosfilm

This is a look at real WWII guns portraying postwar guns, or, real postwar guns portraying firearms of WWII.

(The M16 held by this actor in 1982’s Incident At Coordinate 36-80 is actually an authentic and fully functional WWII German StG-44.)

 

Before I begin I want to acknowledge the author Vladimir Onkoy, who wrote on this topic for The Firearms Blog earlier this year and sparked my interest in this.

Mosfilm

Each of the USSR’s 15 constituent republics had a “state movie studio”; Russia (the largest S.S.R.) had three of which Mosfilm in Moscow was the largest and also the largest overall.

(The statue filmed for both the black & white and color versions of Mosfilm’s opening credits title, which is on the wall behind.)

Mosfilm survived the transition to capitalism and is still making movies in 2026.

guns

(During filming of Copper Angel, an actor holds two WWII British Stens, a WWII German MP-38, an altered WWII Thompson as described later below, and a StG-44 fake M16 described later.)

Mosfilm had, and still has, a huge armory of firearms ranging from the 18th through 21st centuries. Obviously there was no problem getting Soviet guns of WWII. Via wartime capture or Lend-Lease, Mosfilm had access to a decent variety of German, American, and British weapons as well through Soviet military storage and disposal.

(Captured WWII German P.08 pistols still in Russian Federation military storage during the 2010s.)

(A Wagner Group mercenary with WWII Lend-Leased M1A1 submachine gun captured in Ukraine during 2023. It had been in storage since the 1970s.)

German weapons of WWII were widely represented in Mosfilm movies, both because the 1941 German invasion was a common plot and also because they were simply so widely available, they were utilized when a generic foreign gun of no particular backstory was called for.

(WWII German MP-38 and P.38 seen in Copper Angel.)

(WWII German MP-40 in Velvet Season. This is an anachronism as the movie is set in the 1930s, before MP-40s existed.) (photo via IMFDB website)

ammunition and blanks

This is not to insult the intelligence of readers familiar with small arms ammo, but perhaps of value for those less versed.

Armies use overwhelmingly ball (“regular”) ammunition: real warfare, marksmanship training, base security, etc. A far smaller percentage is inert shapes, non-firing but accurately-sized pieces of metal or plastic. Uses are, for example, safely training new recruits how to clear jams.

Blank cartridges have propellant powder and a primer but no bullet.

(7.92 Mauser blanks.) (photo via Western Stage Props)

Beyond ceremonial salutes there is surprisingly little military demand for blanks….most army needs call for either something genuinely lethal, or, something that absolutely isn’t dangerous at all. Some training exercises use blanks but overall there isn’t huge military usefulness.

Blanks are not toys, it is still primed and filled with gunpowder. American readers of a certain age perhaps recall CBS cancelling the TV show Cover Up during 1985. The lead actor was goofing around with a .44 Magnum blank on-set; the round expelled sufficient energy down the barrel to lethally push a chip of his skull into his brain.

Some Commonwealth armies use the nomenclature “Cartridge, Blank Firing” to reinforce the need to treat these with caution.

relevance here

For Mosfilm, obtaining blanks in Soviet calibers was never a problem. For years 7.92 Mauser blanks were also fairly attainable within the USSR (this changed for the studio in the Soviet Union’s final ten years or so). Obtaining 9mm Parabellum blanks was difficult and costly but not impossible. While 9mm Parabellum was not a “combloc caliber” it was manufactured in East Germany and Czechoslovakia throughout the Cold War era.

The real problem was distinctly western calibers: .45ACP, .303 British, 30-06 Springfield, and 5.56 NATO. These were hard for the USSR as a whole to get and with blanks being a niche within; it was more or less impossible for a civilian Soviet movie studio to get blanks of these calibers affordably in quantity. This resulted in the guns below.

WWII American M1928A1 Thompson submachine gun

portrayed by: M1928A1 Thompson with WWII German MP-40 magazine

(This scene from 1980’s Pirates Of The 20th Century shows the adapter which the WWII German magazine was welded onto.)

Because of the difficulty in sourcing .45ACP blanks, a WWII German MP-40 magazine was adapted – however instead of using 9mm Parabellum (as in the real MP-40) to replace .45ACP (as in the real M1928A1), Mosfilm altered the magazine for WWII Soviet 7.62 Tokarev blanks. This WWII cartridge was used in the TT-33 pistol and PPSh-41 submachine gun.

 

 

A metal device dimensioned like a real Thompson magazine was made, basically a rump section, enabling mounting. On the front of the rump section was welded an entire WWII German MP-40 magazine.

The way a Tommy (a normal one) operates is shown below. The bolt moves forward and strips the top round out of the magazine, pushing it up a slight incline until it chambers, upon which the firing pin inside the bolt fires it.

What Mosfilm did was to cut out metal under the inclined “chute”, so it basically became an “arch”, forming a new makeshift magazine well, about 1½” ahead of where it should be. Tokarev blanks fed from the MP-40 magazine into this “arch”. The advancing bolt passed right over the original magazine well, stripped a Soviet blank round out of the German magazine, and shoved it forward putting the gun into battery.

Looking at the earlier photo, the MP-40 magazine was welded on to the rump Thompson magazine at a gentle angle to assist with this.

The Tokarev cartridge already had a slightly (3⁄32″ or 2.27mm) smaller base diameter so no reaming was needed in the M1928A1. It didn’t really matter if the round seated perfectly or not. As long as the process ended with sufficient centricity for the firing pin to contact somewhere on the blank’s primer, that was good enough. The Thompson is a blowback design and both the .45ACP and Tokarev are rimless cartridges. Thus, ejection was not affected.

This allowed cheap filming with a caliber of blanks readily available within the Soviet Union. Besides Pirates Of The 20th Century this gun appeared in 1982’s Fall Of The Condor, 1984’s Copper Angel, 1987’s Jaguar, and other movies.

(This scene from 1980’s Santa Esperanza shows how the MP-40 magazine was welded at a very slight angle onto the rump of the American magazine to facilitate Mosfilm’s new feed method. Santa Esperanza was a drama critical of the Pinochet regime in Chile.)


WWII American M1919A4 machine gun

portrayed by: WWII Soviet SG-43 machine gun

This creation was seen in 1970’s Chyornoye Solntse (Black Sun) which is a semi-fictionalized telling of the 1960s events in the former Belgian Congo. This was not a Mosfilm studio production but rather Belarusfilm, its Minsk-based counterpart.

The WWII American M1919 was popular in real-life Africa of that time, obtained both as western military aid and via arms dealers like Major Turp and Sam Cummings. Due to the difficulty in sourcing .30-06 Springfield blanks, a combloc machine gun would be used for filming Black Sun, the SG-43. This belt-fed WWII weapon fired the 7.62x54mm(R) cartridge at 600rpm. During WWII it was commonly seen on a wheeled carriage with gunshield, however it could also be used on a simpler infantry tripod or as a vehicular weapon.

(SG-43 at top and M1919A4 at bottom.)

The alteration involved removing the SG-43’s front sight, carry handle, and flash hider. The M1919A4’s cooling jacket was simulated by two perforated metal cylinders, joined behind and ahead of the gas port, then appearing to be one continuous perforated tube.

(The SG-43’s spade grips and push-trigger can be seen here. The actress is Gemma Firsova, a longtime star from the 1950s – 1980s and later a director. She passed away in 2012.)

Nothing else was changed. The SG-43’s spade grips and push-trigger remained, not authentic to a M1919’s pistol grip. The gun continued to be chambered for 7.62x54mm(R). The SG-43’s gas tube remains visible under the fake cooling jacket; this missing on a real M1919A4 which operates via the short-recoil principle.


WWII British Lewis machine gun

portrayed by: WWII Soviet DP-27 machine gun or WWII Soviet DT-29 machine gun

(A fake Lewis machine gun in 1985’s A Trap For Jackals.) (image via IMFDB website)

The Lewis machine gun fought in both world wars. Its distinctive feature is the outer sheath. In combination with a finned aluminum heat sink inside it, this was designed to act as a plenum with the gun’s muzzle flash inducing airflow over the heat sink. Modern diagnostic equipment has shown that the net effect was negligible, however the gun was a success in several roles including World War One fighter planes. During WWII, it was used as a vehicular weapon in the North African theatre and by the Royal Navy as a AA weapon aboard PT boats and other smallcraft. The magazine was a 97rds overhead pan.

(Lewis Mk.III* pair on a British Fairmile-B class motor launch during WWII.)

Lewis guns originally came to Russia via a 10,000-gun order by the czar’s buyers during the 1910s. Mosfilm movies often used Lewis guns as a plot device denoting criminality or “a shady vibe” for decades past. In any case the problem of getting sufficient blanks remained, as the Lewis was chambered in either .303 British or .30-06 Springfield depending on its origin.

DP-27 stand-in

One method was to use a DP-27. This WWII Soviet light machine gun fired the 7.62x54mm(R) cartridge from a 47rds overhead pan.

(DP-27 during WWII.)

For the alteration, the DP-27’s bipod legs and front sight were removed. A sheet metal cylinder was attached to the front of the DP-27’s action. A bipod was welded to a common screw-gear clamp which then secured onto the cylinder.

(This scene from 1970’s Beloye Solntse Pustyni (White Sun Of The Desert) shows the DP-27’s flash hider still on, inside the fake Lewis plenum.)

White Sun Of The Desert was a huge hit in the Soviet Union. It is sometimes mistakenly called an Ostern, that being a form of East German cinema set in the USA’s wild west but with roles reversed; where cowboys and sheriffs were colonialist oppressors and indians and outlaws were the good guys. However this was not the format of this movie. Voice-dubbed American westerns were allowed into the USSR and popular. Mosfilm and other Soviet studios sought to emulate that by using the same formula: a heroic rugged leading man, but instead of being a cowboy; being a Red Army soldier. These were set in the central Asian S.S.R.s which legitimately were lawless between the world wars as explained below.

(image via IMFDB website)

The scene above is from Poslednyaya Inspektsiya (The Last Inspection), a 1985 tv miniseries from Uzbekfilm, Mosfilm’s counterpart in Tashkent. Here the DP-27’s flash hider has also been removed.

DT-29 stand-in

The other method was to use a DT-29.

This was a vehicular weapon in Soviet tanks and armored cars of WWII. It fired the 7.62x54mm(R) cartridge from a 63rds overhead pan. The two spiked legs were a crude bipod so that if the vehicle was destroyed, it could be used by the crew for dismounted combat.

The DT-29’s sights were removed. Other alterations were similar to that described above for the DP-27, however here a new buttstock was needed as well. If there was an advantage to using a DT-29, it was that its “fatter” pan magazine looked more authentic to a real Lewis. The scene above is from 1989’s Iskusstvo Zhit v Odesse (The Art of Living In Odessa). The revolver the other actor is holding is a real WWII Soviet Nagant M-1895.

Above is a scene from Kapkan Dlya Shakalov (A Trap For Jackals), a 1985 movie from Tajikfilm, Mosfilm’s counterpart in Dushanbe. This shows that the DT-29’s 7.62x54mm(R) blanks created an impressive muzzle flash as a fake Lewis.

A Trap For Jackals involves a part of military history not well-known outside central Asia. Under the czar, petty sheiks and mullahs in this region were allowed some agency, in that as long as they paid taxes and stayed loyal to Moscow, the czar largely left them to their own devices.

After the 1917 revolution these local chieftains sought goals from the new communist government, ranging from sharia law, to preservation of their personal fortunes, to outright independence. From 1918 onwards there was significant fighting in what is today Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Turkmenistan with the USSR not fully regaining control until 1922. One of the rebel leaders was Shir Muhammad-bek Gazi (nom de guerre Korshirmat) who sought reestablishment of the extinct Emirate Of Bukhara, an ethnic-Uzbek kingdom in the region.

Korshirmat fled to Afghanistan after the final defeats in 1922. During September 1941, agents of Abwehr (the Third Reich’s military intelligence agency) at the German embassy in Kabul contacted Korshirmat and urged him to rile up a jihad within the Asian S.S.R.s to tie down Soviet troops. Korshirmat agreed however this second rebellion in the region never amounted to much more than sabotage and pinprick nuisance raids; and by late 1942 had been suppressed. Korshirmat fled again to Afghanistan where he passed away in 1970.

The plot of A Trap For Jackals is that a 1980s Soviet detective is investigating a homicide. He reveals that the crime might be linked to the 1920s upheaval, where local legend said an emir hid his treasure in a cave. The movie alternates between the 1980s and 1920s, the latter where the fake Lewis is seen. The 1920s chieftain had made a medallion broken in half, which when reunited in the 1980s, is a map to the cave. After an investigation and a fairly insane car chase scene with two boxy little Moskvitch sedans, the film climaxes at the cave, where the treasure chests are filled with stones.

real-life Soviet interaction with the Lewis

The USSR used some Lewis guns during the Winter War against Finland and then the opening stages of the German invasion in 1941. They were usually discarded as soon as something better was available. Mosfilm had a genuine Lewis in its expansive collection after WWII however it was not fired on screen, the problem of obtaining blanks necessitating the stand-in’s.

(photo via War Noir website)

The Lewis above is in Ukraine and genuine. It was being reactivated in 2024 for use in the current Russo-Ukrainian conflict. The box is commercial .303 British blanks so perhaps this was a more recent movie prop gun in the area.


postwar Belgian Vigernon submachine gun

portrayed by: WWII German StG-44 assault rifle

From here on out are all alterations of WWII German Sturmgewehrs. The first example was a creation of Belarusfilm, the Minsk-based studio, and was used in Black Sun.

(The actor is Ambroise Mbia, a Cameroonian star who was in many movies of francophone Africa from the 1970s – 1990s.)

In the time period portrayed in Black Sun, the Vigernon (which performed well in dirty and humid climates) was something of an emblem of central Africa’s troubles.

The barrel was truncated, along with the WWII German front sight. A fake front sight somewhat resembling the Belgian design was added. The buttstock was removed and a MP-40’s folding stock was affixed to the StG-44’s stamped metal action in a spot which would not interfere with the firing group internally. The stock could not actually fold and was simply to imitate that of a Vigernon.

(An actual Vigernon.) (photo via Boise Gun Club)

The original rear sight was retained, and the weapon remained chambered for 7.92 Kurz; with sufficient blanks of that caliber apparently still being available. There was variation seen in Black Sun, for example the one used by Mr. Mbia in the earlier photo still has the original barrel length and lacks the fake front sight.


postwar Belgian FN FAL assault rifle

portrayed by: WWII German StG-44 assault rifle

The “longarm of the free world” was simulated in two slightly different ways, both using the WWII German Sturmgewehr.

(A real FN FAL.) (photo via Firearms News magazine)

The first style was done by Belarusfilm for Black Sun and is seen below.

(The SG-43-based fake M1919A4 described earlier can be seen here too.)

The front sight of the Sturmgewehr was removed, and a sheet metal stamping with three holes per side to mimic the FAL’s foreguard was put over the front of the WWII German gun. It remained chambered for 7.92 Kurz.

The other style was also a Belarusfilm creation, but years later, and more significantly changed.

(image via IMFDB website)

This version was similar to Mosfilm’s StG-44-based fake M16s described next, and was maybe made at the same time as the Mosfilm guns. The StG-44 was rechambered for 7.62x39mm blanks. It was more significantly altered externally, more closely looking like a real FN FAL.

The image above is from 1985’s Dokument R. The plot is that in the turn-of-the-millennium United States (at that time, still a ways in the future), the FBI is attempting a coup to eliminate the Bill Of Rights and take over the nation. Dokument R was unique in that it was filmed partly within the USSR and partly on location in California. It is fairly easy for persons knowledgeable in firearms to tell what was filmed where: while in the USA, Belarusfilm could use the services of Hollywood prop lessors and thus, real American firearms. For scenes filmed in the Soviet Union, stand-in’s had to be used, like the fake FN FAL above or WWII Nagant M-1895s filling in for an American cop’s Smith & Wesson duty revolver.


postwar American M16 assault rifle

portrayed by: WWII German StG-44 assault rifle

This is the most famous of Mosfilm’s altered prop guns.

The first iteration of this concept was not from Mosfilm but rather Lenfilm, the Russian S.S.R.’s other main studio, located in Leningrad. In a brief scene (below photo) from 1974’s Ya Sluzhu Na Granitse (I Serve At The Border) there can be seen a StG-44 with the front sight altered and a (very) crude representation of a M16’s carry handle attached to the top.

(In the scene, Soviet border guards and border guards of a nameless western country exchange unarmed intruders: a Soviet goat which had wandered over the border; and a hippie-type person who had done likewise in the other direction. Perhaps this was subtle commentary on western culture.)

The gun in this movie still has the original WWII German buttstock and the representation of the M16 carry handle is way oversized. It was not fired on-screen, and it is unknown if it was rechambered.

the Mosfilm guns

(A real M16.) (photo via Encyclopedia Britannica)

(Top: an unaltered WWII German StG-44. Bottom: Mosfilm’s StG-44 altered to look like a M16.)

Both externally and internally, Mosfilm’s M16s were highly-altered StG-44s. The alterations were done by Degtyaryov Zavod (aka ZiD, today a subsidiary of JSC Rostec) in Kovrov, Russia. ZiD was a longtime manufacturer of Soviet machine guns. The date is uncertain. The altered StG-44s debuted in 1978’s Kentaurii (Centaurs) which was written and partially filmed during 1977; so assuming the screenplay was written with them in mind they had to have been done at least by 1977 or maybe even 1976. For reference the real M16 entered US Army service during March 1965 (XM16E1) and February 1967 (M16A1), with the rifle replacing the M14 as standard-issue during 1967 – 1969.

(The 1978 on-screen debut of the StG-44 fake M16s in Centaurs. This movie was a semi-fictionalized telling of Salvador Allende’s overthrow in Chile.)

caliber

The gun was rechambered from WWII German 7.92 Kurz to the postwar Soviet 7.62x39mm cartridge; the round of the AK-47. Sufficient supplies of blanks would never again be a problem for Mosfilm as this caliber was infinitely available within the Soviet Union.

(A blank 7.62x39mm round.)

basic operation

Converting the StG-44 to a new caliber would be more difficult than the blowback-method Thompson described earlier. The StG-44 used the short-stroke gas method of operation. Combustion gas was trapped between the chambered casing behind, and the fired bullet advancing down the barrel ahead. Before the bullet exited the muzzle, some of this gas ported upwards where it moved backwards a gas piston, which then cycled the StG-44’s bolt.

One issue that ZiD’s gunsmiths had to overcome related to the use of blank rounds. With no bullet counterforcing in front of it, by the time expanding gas inside the barrel reached the StG-44’s gas port, pressure had prematurely dissipated so that it didn’t always have sufficient energy for the gas piston to fully cycle the bolt. There were two solutions.

The first is seen below, in a zoomed-in shot of a movie scene where the fake M16 was being held at just the right angle.

A permanent obstruction was fitted just behind the muzzle, but just ahead of the gas port. It created a momentary pressure surge as the expanding hot gas’s shock front met it. This then created enough energy to reliably move everything. Remaining gas advanced around it and exited the muzzle. The other method was similar: an internal choke collar was put inside the barrel; not an issue as no bullet would ever be going down it again. When used with a normal blank intended for normal AK barrels, this induced increased pressure within the now-constricted StG-44 barrel creating the desired outcome.

chambering

OAL of a 7.92 Kurz ball (combat round with a bullet) cartridge was 1 57⁄64″ and the same for 7.62x39mm ball was 2 13⁄64″, a fairly big difference. However the difference between 7.92 Kurz ball (with bullet) and a crimped-neck blank 7.62x39mm was only a scant 1⁄264″.

The shoulder angle on a 7.62x39mm blank was 17.3° with a diameter of 13⁄32″ (10.07mm). The shoulder angle on a 7.92 Kurz round was 19° with a diameter of 29⁄64″ (11.4mm).  Thus, although the WWII German cartridge’s shoulder was somewhat “fatter”, it sloped more harshly than the postwar Soviet blank, in that the latter still headspaced within the Sturmgewehr’s chamber; at least reliably enough for what Mosfilm needed.

The new magazine was handcrafted for the purpose and held 10 rounds of 7.62x39mm blanks. Most (not all) of these magazines had spacer metal welded on (as seen above), so that on camera they appeared more closely shaped like a M16’s magazine.

extraction

The StG-44’s extractor is pictured below. This laid flush atop the upper right quadrant of the bolt.

The “hook” at the front rode up over the rear of the 7.92 Kurz cartridge into the brass’s annular recess. In recoil, this “hook” then dragged the spent casing backwards, until it met a spur-like ejector, which than spat it out of the rifle’s right side.

Both the WWII German and postwar Soviet cartridges were rimless. The problem (which was difficult for ZiD to solve) was that on a Kurz round, the head-to-recess distance was 1⁄64 of an inch (0.2mm) less than that of a 7.62x39mm cartridge. Thus, the new caliber’s rear was too “thick” for the StG-44’s extractor to hook onto.

The then-current 7.62x39mm extraction system used on the AKM, RPK, etc was a different concept and unusable on the WWII German bolt. However the extractor used on the preceding 7.62x39mm SKS rifle was of (somewhat) similar concept to the StG-44, with different dimensions and different shape. The two designs were grafted into a functional product. The final ejection sequence was not a problem as the 1⁄32 of an inch difference in diameter of the spent casing was within the abilities of the German ejector to still snag.

cosmetic changes

The StG-44’s front and rear sights were both removed. A birdcage-style mock flash hider was attached to the German gun’s muzzle. Atop the front of the Sturmgewehr’s gas port was welded a fake front sight mimicking that of a M16. A wooden buttstock shaped more like a M16 was fitted onto the StG-44’s bodenstück, the metal part which was pinned securely to the rear of the action.

(The fake front sight as seen in Kazino, a 1992 movie about a casino robbery in the USA. This was filmed while the USSR still existed but released a few months after the December 1991 dissolution.)

(The new “front sight” was just a piece of metal and not actually sighted in to anything.)

The square-shaped thing with drilled hole under the fake sight in the photo above was the master nut of the gas cylinder. It could be removed for cleaning or repair. The holes were meant that during WWII, a German soldier could stick something in as leverage to loosen it as the nut was very tight. This was still a functioning item on the fake M16s as firing blanks still requires cleaning afterwards.

The little stick with a knob on the end was a stacking device, by this three StG-44s could be set up in the field teepee-style to keep them clean and dry. Mosfilm cut this piece of steel off the nut.

The M16’s carry handle was replicated by a sheet metal piece welded to the top of the StG-44.

(Scene from Copper Angel.) (image via IMFDB website)

The most curious feature of the fake M16s is seen below, the top charging device within the fake carry handle.

This wasn’t a functional thing, it was just a piece of metal welded to the top of the StG-44s. (It appears that it might actually be the finger portion of some other gun’s trigger welded on upside-down.) Actual cocking remained via the StG-44’s original left-side stud, which is seen in the photo above.

Eugene Stoner’s ArmaLite 10 concept rifle featured this. He intended it that the rifle be ambidextrous, and that it would be less likely to snag web gear. After unsuccessfully competing against the M14 as the replacement for the M1 Garand, the AR-10 was redeveloped into the 5.56 NATO XAR-15 prototype rifle, of which at least the first three dozen pre-production & developmental guns had this feature. This then evolved into the M16.

(photo via Institute For Military Technology)

This feature was not on production M16s, with the charger instead moved to the spine of the stock. The reason was that this made manufacture of the rifle’s chamber portion simpler and cheaper. The charger also grew hot when atop the chamber.

That it was included on Mosfilm’s fake M16s is then curious. ZiD had previously been provided one “technical example” AR-10 with the top-located charger. This would have either been one of the 100 AR-10s the arms dealer Sam Cummings sold Cuba just prior to Castro taking power, or, a Dutch-built AR-10 used by Portuguese troops in Angola during the 1970s (some of these then captured by communist MPLA forces).

(Portuguese soldier in Angola with a Dutch-made AR-10 during the 1970s, showing the charger inside the carry handle.)

When Mosfilm presented ZiD with photos of what they wanted the StG-44s altered into (M16s), the machine gun factory used their AR-10 as the template, hence the top charger being included.

The scene above from 1983’s Mirage shows the fake front sight, which if this were an actual service firearm, would have been impossible to gain a proper sight picture on. Also visible is the fake top-mounted charger and handle and the real cocking stud on the StG-44’s left side. For Mosfilm use, the gun was cocked off-camera using the German stud.

Mirage is discussed more later. The character above was a troubled veteran of the Vietnam War. American GIs returning from Vietnam with psychological problems was a somewhat-frequent trope and not always in the sympathetic way that for example, an American show like China Beach would handle it.

(image via IMFDB website)

Above is a good look at the whole thing, here from 1979’s Pokhishchenie Savoi (The Hijacking Of Savoy). This movie’s plot is that an airliner is hijacked by a drug gang in South America, headed by a nazi official who fled there after WWII (and still walks around in lederhosen). The gang wants the airplane to smuggle drugs to fund neo-nazi political activities in the NATO nations of Europe. This movie rolls a couple of tropes together….ageing fugitives of the Third Reich in South America, drugs in capitalist society, and NATO’s association with either.

(The Hijacking Of Savoy also featured unaltered StG-44s on screen, allowing a comparison with the fake M16s.)

total made and variations

The Russian defense website War Chronicle states that “several dozen” Sturmgewehr-to-M16 fakes were made. There were at least ten made for certain, that many appearing simultaneously on-screen in Jaguar, with six appearing in one scene of Mirage with some being fired simultaneously.

Above is a scene from 1987’s Ostrov Pogibshikh Korably (Island Of Lost Ships) which has a different fake handle, no upper fake charger, and wooden furniture. Of interest one of the other actors is holding a Mauser c/96 while another has a WWII Mosin-Nagant M-1938 carbine.

Above is a scene from Gorodok, a tv comedy show in the Russian Federation during the 1990s and early 2000s. This appears to be the same fake M16 as the Island Of Lost Ships one. It shows that these things continued as props even after the end of communism. This also shows a magazine without spacer metal.

real-life Soviet interaction with the Sturmgewehr

(Soviet soldiers pose along the Baltic coastline during the spring of 1945. One has a captured StG-44.)

There was no rigid WWII policy on captured German small arms use; generally if a unit commander allowed it than the soldier could continue using it as long as desired. There was no equivalent to the American DD-603 “trophy chit” in the Soviet army and it was mandatory to relinquish the weapon upon command or when mustering out.

Of the 425,977 StG-44s made during WWII the USSR ended up with roughly 102,000. There was no desire to add yet another small arms caliber to the Soviet army and these were made available for transfer to communist allies with Czechoslovakia, East Germany, North Vietnam, and Hungary receiving them. These were often retransferred again, ending up as far away as Somalia and Syria.

real-life Soviet interaction with the M16

When the USSR first got its hands on a M16 is not known for certain. However it was no later than the summer of 1975.

(Surrendered M16s and M151 MUTT after the fall of Saigon.) (Associated Press photo)

The USA provided South Vietnam 943,989 M16s, CAR-15s, and Colt 601s of which the Pentagon estimated that 791,000 were probably captured intact during the final 1975 defeat. This was later revised downwards but was still a lot. During 1975 Vietnam provided the USSR with a batch (often described as an entire ocean freight container) of which many went to a Soviet special instructional unit which trained soldiers on NATO equipment. Some went as “technical examples” to gun factories. Oddly, individual M16s were presented to civilian engineering professors at Soviet universities.

Mosfilm received a genuine M16 in 1978 or 1979 however it was apparently the only one the studio would own for many years. The Sturmgewehr-fakes were already made and being filmed by then.

The next interaction came during the 1980s war in Afghanistan. The CIA’s “Cyclone” operation originally sent unattributable combloc small arms, mainly AK-47s captured by Israel, to the Afghan mujahideen via Pakistan. President Reagan later authorized attributable kit (the most famous and effective being FIM-92 Stingers) which included M16s.

(Maj. Vladislav V. Eremeev of the 370th Spetsnaz Battalion inspects a M16 captured in Afghanistan.)

By this time the M16’s traits were known and the rifles were of little interest.


some general notes on Soviet movies

An American cineplex is basically a popcorn restaurant which happens to show movies; the main revenue driver is concession sales. In the USSR it was uncouth to eat during a movie so this was absent. Ticket prices were very low, around  RUB1, basically pocket change. This was just to cover expenses of the theater building. Actual funding to make movies came from Goskino, a national bureaucracy. Movies were considered a civic amenity like boulevards or museums and were expected to be annual losses to the national budget.

As such, no Soviet movie was profitable using Hollywood accounting. Instead, films were graded on how many awards they received, and total ticket sales regardless of revenue; ideally both: an artistically-acclaimed movie with mass popularity.

WWII was a constant topic, starting while the war was still in progress and never stopping. WWII is still a frequent plot in Russian Federation movies today.

(For 1959’s Ballada o Soldate (Ballad Of A Soldier), a romance set during WWII, Mosfilm cosmetically altered a T-34-85 into a German Panzer V, its real-life WWII nemesis. Ballad Of A Soldier was one of a few Mosfilm movies released in the American market.)

Censorship was strict under Joesf Stalin, and one of Mosfilm’s directors was executed during Stalin’s purges. Thereafter there was still censorship but perhaps not in the blatant way of say, North Korea or East Germany.

Up until the final few years it was strictly forbidden to question marxism or criticize the Communist Party. It was not allowed to belittle the Soviet armed forces. However it was allowable to lampoon the basic military lifestyle and there were comedies with Gomer Pyle-type characters. It was generally disallowed to portray a fictional defeat or destruction of the USSR, for example there was no Soviet counterpart to The Day After or Amerika. Obviously-embarrassing overseas topics, like the Berlin Wall or martial law in Poland, were also not allowed.

Nuclear warfare was generally avoided. One exception is 1986’s Pis’ma Myortvogo Cheloveka (Dead Man’s Letters) which portrayed a nameless American city after a nuclear war.

(The fake M16 in Dead Man’s Letters may be the same one used in Island Of Lost Ships. The American civilians in this scene are wearing Soviet GP-5 gas masks, a model manufactured from 1962 – 1990.)

It was not forbidden to show crime within the USSR (to the contrary, there were many detective movies) however vice-type crimes were emblematic of the capitalist west and these (especially narcotics abuse) were avoided. As long as they were not vulgar or politically problematic, foreign movies were usually allowed in. As mentioned earlier American westerns were popular, as were bollywood films from India. From the Brezhnev era onwards it was not forbidden to use the USA as a film setting and this was surprisingly common.

During the Gorbachev era, censorship relaxed further.

(This scene from 1988’s White Crows shows a USSR railway policeman with a Mosin-Nagant M-44; this was not an anachronism as the bolt-action WWII carbine was used by them into the 1990s.)

Bely’ye Vorony (White Crows) of 1988 is an example of how censorship eroded under Gorbachev. This movie’s plot is two dispirited veterans of the Afghanistan war returning to their hometown, which is run by corrupt Communist Party officials. Just two or three years previous, such a movie would not even have been considered.

a look at some movies with the guns described earlier

Piraty XX Veka (Pirates Of The 20th Century) (1980)

The plot of this movie, which features the fake M16s prominently, is that a shipment of raw opium intended to be made into medical analgesic in the USSR is hijacked en route.

(The container of opium, along with three of the Sturmgewehr-fake M16s.)

The somewhat convoluted plot has the pirates steal the opium, then rig a bomb to sink the ship with the crew aboard. The crew manages to escape in a lifeboat to a remote island where the pirates happen to have also chosen as their hangout.

This movie featured, besides the fake M16s, a variety of unaltered WWII firearms.

(One of the StG-44 fake M16s alongside a real WWII British Sten Mk.II submachine gun.)

(A real WWII German MG-34 machine gun.)

The most eye-catching thing remained the fake M16s, this being only the second movie they appeared in.

Pirates Of The 20th Century was a runaway blockbuster. It was the most popular Soviet movie of 1980 by a huge margin and using any metric, it is in the top five of all Soviet releases between 1918 – 1991. It was shown in all the east European satellite nations and was popular in the Turkish and Italian markets as well. For better or worse it is considered “a fork in the road” of Russian cinema in that for the first time, the plot was just a tool to string together action scenes, rather than action scenes supporting a plot.

Mirazh (Mirage) 1983

This was a three-part TV miniseries from Rigafilm in the Latvian S.S.R. however most of it was filmed in the Crimea which closely matched the topography of the southwest USA, where it was set.

The plot is four Americans of quite different backgrounds who conspire to rob a bank armored car. Due to various things their plan slowly falls apart and one by one they perish, the last two jumping off a cliff to avoid capture.

Rigafilm put a lot of effort into making a believable facsimile United States. A portion of Soviet highway west of Yalta (the site of the WWII summit) was altered with American speed limit signs and billboards for Coca-Cola and Camel cigarettes. A Pontiac Grand Ville (a forgettable 1970s General Motors land-whale) was imported into the USSR for filming.

There are some amusing things for Americans in Mirage. When civilian police encounter each other, they snap to attention and offer an army-type salute. In the USSR’s militsiya (police) this was normal and would be expected by a Russian audience. In real life, a cop in rural 1980s Texas who did that would probably get laughed at by colleagues. The legal concept of Posse Comitatus did not exist in the Soviet Union. Especially in border regions, the militsiya, KGB Border Troops, and regular army could cooperate. The climax of Mirage shows military personnel chasing the robbers as they attempt to make it to Mexico. In real life during the 1980s, use of the American military for a civilian investigation would be remarkable and deployment of American military airpower within the USA almost unthinkable.

(A Mi-8 “Hip” helicopter was repainted in USAF insignia.)

By 1983 Soviet citizens knew Americans had a standard of living at least as good as their own, so the movie’s producers did not pretend otherwise. Instead American culture was subtly painted as vapid consumerism. The final scene shows an American newscast reporting on the robbery and the case’s outcome, but with all the facts and details wrong: the implication being that Soviet citizens should not trust foreign news reports.

Sluchay v Kvadrate 36-80 (Incident At Coordinate 36-80) (1982)

This movie’s plot is that an American atomic-powered submarine has been fitted with a new computer from the American defense company Hughes (their trademark used without consent), enabling the sub to automatically launch an attack with no human action necessary. While operating near the aircraft carrier Kiev‘s battle group the submarine’s reactor begins to melt down. A crewman requests the submarine captain ask Kiev for emergency assistance, which the captain refuses to do. The crewman commandeers the radio and sends a SOS anyways, with the crippled submarine now on the surface. He then flees in a raft.

The Soviet navy orders a Tu-16 “Badger” with repair team and boat to rendezvous with a Tu-16 tanker and refuel, then aid the American submarine. The “Badger” tanker is being trailed by a P-3 Orion. The P-3 disrupts the refueling by putting the Soviet jets in its propeller wash. Back at the submarine, the captain executes the crewman trying to flee in the raft.

(The P-3 Orion was portrayed by a Il-38 “May” painted in US Navy markings.)

The submarine’s malfunctioning reactor short-circuits the Hughes computer which automatically fires two missiles at the Kiev flotilla. These are intercepted by Kiev‘s air defenses. The computer begins preparations for a much larger missile launch. Meanwhile the Tu-16s complete the refueling but now with the donor plane critically short of fuel for itself. The other “Badger” drops the boat with the Soviet repair team. The American submarine captain does not want them aboard and orders warning shots fired to keep them away.

(Warning shots being fired from the Sturmgewehr-fake M16. The captain carries a real M1911A1.)

The United States notifies the USSR of the situation and requests 10 minutes for the crew to abandon the submarine and scuttle it, preventing the second launch. The Soviet admiral agrees but says that if the submarine is not sunk in 10 minutes, he will do it himself, and an airstrike of Yak-38 “Forger”s sorties from Kiev. The Americans keep their word and scuttle the submarine, ending the crisis. Meanwhile the Tu-16, by now out of fuel, looks doomed. However the pilot recalls the location of an old abandoned Luftwaffe airbase from WWII and safely makes an emergency landing there.

The final action scene, the Tu-16’s emergency landing, did not use special effects. A VMF (Soviet naval aviation) squadron had a Tu-16 past its airframe fatigue hours. This plane was moved to a dirt access road at its base, at the end of which was built a faux WWII German hangar. The “Badger” (with pilot and jet fuel aboard) then taxied full speed down the dirt road, smashing into this building. After filming the damaged plane was cut up there and trucked away for scrapping.

The submarine captain was an erratic, ruthless hothead but otherwise, American servicemen were portrayed in a respectable way. Parts of the dialogue include the Americans praising how advanced Soviet military systems are. Incident At Coordinate 36-80 was a moderate success at the box office. It took over half a year to film and if Hollywood accounting was used, would have been 1982’s most expensive movie worldwide, easily costing more than Blade Runner or Star Trek II.

The submarine used for surfaced scenes was K-438, a “Victor-I” class SSN which served from 1971 – 1995. K-438 temporarily wore an American pennant number “574” which in real life belonged to USS Grayback (SSG-574).

Quite amazingly K-438 was fitted the SOKS system, which the Soviets made no effort to conceal during filming. SOKS is a non-acoustic, non-magnetic sensor that can detect at extremely short (1 kyd or less) ranges, a submerged submarine. This wasn’t an “intelligence disaster”, as the traits of a sensor can’t be told just by looking at the external array. Still, it is astonishing that a civilian movie crew was allowed to film the SOKS array.

Odinochnoye Plavanie (Detached Mission) 1985

This movie was made for a purpose. First Blood Part Two, of Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo franchise, was released in 1985 and portrayed Soviet military advisors in an extremely negative way. That movie would not be allowed into the USSR but Mosfilm wanted something to “counter it” in third-world markets, where it would soon appear in secondary release and on VHS. Detached Mission was filmed entirely in Cuba during 1985, the closest setting Mosfilm could find to the Pacific tropics.

The plot is that the Kremlin is close to a breakthrough in peace negotiations with the USA. American defense corporations worry this will cut into their profits and in cahoots with the CIA, come up with a plan. They contact an American soldier, Maj. Hessalt, who committed war crimes in Vietnam and is psychologically troubled. In exchange for cash and a promised promotion, he is to travel to a secret base on a remote Pacific island. When a Soviet destroyer and a civilian cruise ship are nearby, he will fire an anti-ship missile at the cruise liner. The Soviet destroyer will then be framed for the sinking, ratcheting up tensions.

The missile is fired however it locks onto a sailboat that wandered into its path, with a honeymooning American couple aboard. The missile sinks the sailboat. The two American civilians are shipwrecked on the island, to which the Soviet navy responds to their SOS. The first firefight between the Soviets and Americans ensues.

(A Green Beret with one of the StG-44 fake M16s.)

The American man allies himself with the Soviets in the interest of world peace. During the Andropov, Chernenko, and Gorbachev eras this was a common movie trope when the USA was involved: Americans are good decent folk, just led astray by capitalism and their government.

(The American civilian happened to have a WWII M1 carbine with him.)

By now Maj. Hessalt is having a paranoid breakdown and prepares to fire a nuclear weapon at the Soviet destroyer. He orders two US Navy warships to engage the commandos ashore.

(Probably the only time you will ever see a “Osa-I” flying Old Glory.)

The American warships were portrayed by active-duty Cuban navy vessels. The “Osa” above has the first digit of its bort number painted over, presumably a security measure by the Cubans.

Additional action scenes happen as the commandos storm the secret American base to stop the launch.

For Detached Mission Mosfilm used, besides the studio’s StG-44 fake M16s, real Cuban army weapons. The civilian’s M1 carbine was almost certainly WWII Lend-Lease to Cuba. It is an early-production M1 carbine: skinny retention band and no bayonet lug. The USA provided Lend-Lease to Cuba from November 1941 – September 1945.

The Soviet commando has a real FN FAL. Prior to Castro’s revolution Cuba ordered 35,000 FALs of which 12,500 were delivered. For readers further interested Ian McCollum of Forgotten Weapons did an excellent piece on this forgotten part of the FAL’s history. By the 1980s the Cubans had standardized on combloc kit and no longer neither needed nor wanted the FALs. For the movie, Mosfilm used these FALs as “American” firearms due to insufficient numbers of the fake M16s.

The scene above shows a vz.52 which was the stand-in for M60s as the squad automatic weapon of the Americans. After WWII, Václev Holek in Czechoslovakia adapted the prewar ZB-26 with improvements, for restarted production at Brno as the vz.52. It was chambered in 7.62x39mm. By the 1980s these were reduced to service in the MTT, Cuba’s second-line militia. A vz.52 (probably the same one as above) is also seen in a different scene aboard one of the American warships.

The Soviets are successful in stopping the launch. The United States then obliterates its own base with a B-52 Stratofortress (an obvious plastic model) bombing raid.

(One of the StG-44-fake M16s had a faux scope fitted.)

Detached Mission portrayed Americans (other than the one who joined with the Soviets) extremely negatively. The USA as a whole was portrayed as under the thumb of powerful defense corporations. Racism was highlighted, and several times the Soviet actors portraying Americans used slurs in English. The main antagonist was said to be a wanted war criminal of the Vietnam War. The US Army’s Green Berets were portrayed as unkempt thugs.

One bright spot is the superb performance given by the Latvian actor Arnis Līcītis, who made a very convincing psychopathic villain.

Detached Mission was a flop. The script was clunky and special effects cheap, both in part to production being rushed. Even with “action flick” suspension-of-disbelief, some fighting scenes are hard to take seriously. The ending was also weird: the final 90 seconds or so are the commandos visiting the home of a fallen comrade, to tell the father their son is dead, then credits roll. Hence moviegoers left the theater on a sour note. The movie was mentioned once in the New York Times but otherwise ignored in the USA.

The Russian actor Mikhail Nozhkin (who portrayed one of the commandos) stated that Mikhail Gorbachev pressured Mosfilm not to make any more movies showing the Soviet and American militaries in direct confrontation. That may or may not be true. Another possibility is with Detached Mission lacking popularity, the studio just decided to explore other directions.

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The constants of warfare

In his new book, Iain MacGregor examines some of the most significant battles of the past 3,000 years. Here, he reveals the five key factors that shaped victory, from Marathon to Midway.

What is it about battles that so many of us find fascinating? Partly, it’s the sheer drama they contain. Battles compress history into moments of extraordinary tension, where decisions made in minutes can shape nations for centuries. But they also offer something deeper.

Walking the ground, reading eye-witness testimony, and studying archival records, I have become convinced that warfare possesses rhythms and recurring patterns that transcend time. Weapons change. Technology transforms. Empires rise and fall. But the essential dilemmas remain remarkably familiar.

Over the past three decades I have spent my professional life immersed in history. As a non-fiction publisher, I have had the privilege of working with some of the world’s finest historians and biographers, including Simon Schama, Michael Wood, Walter Isaacson, and Alex von Tunzelmann. As a writer, I have explored subjects ranging from Stalingrad, Berlin, and Hiroshima to the lives of ordinary men and women caught up in extraordinary events. Yet despite all those years spent reading manuscripts, editing books, and researching my own, it is the subject of battle itself that continually draws me back.

For me, what emerges is a series of enduring dilemmas faced by commanders and soldiers in every age: how to inspire confidence, how to lead under pressure, how to exploit new ideas, how to deceive an opponent, and how to judge the crucial relationship between time and force. For this article, I have chosen five battles, spread across more than 2,000 years, that illustrate some of those recurring challenges, and show why the study of battle remains one of the most revealing ways to understand both history and human nature.

At first glance, the subjects I have chosen may appear wildly different. A Greek hoplite standing on a dusty plain outside Athens seems to have little in common with a Soviet infantryman fighting his way towards Berlin, or a pilot searching for enemy carriers over the Pacific. Yet the more time I have spent studying warfare across 3,000 years, the more I am struck by its recurring patterns.

Repeatedly, commanders and ordinary soldiers face the same questions. How do you persuade frightened people to move towards danger? How do you inspire confidence when events appear to be collapsing? When should you trust innovation? How do you trick an opponent? And how do timing and numbers combine to determine victory or defeat? The details change, but the underlying human problems endure.

A failure of leadership? The Persian king Darius III flees the battlefield at Gaugamela, 331 BC, as depicted in an 18th-century ivory relief from the National Archaeological Museum, Madrid.

1. Morale

Marathon, 490 BC

To understand the importance of morale, it is perhaps necessary first to travel back in time over two and a half millennia, to the Battle of Marathon in 490 BC. When the Persian Empire landed its forces outside Athens, it represented the greatest military power of its age. The Athenians who marched out to meet it on the plain of Marathon were not professional soldiers in the modern sense. They were citizens, farmers, craftsmen, and merchants, who had taken up arms to defend their city. Yet they confronted an enemy many regarded as unstoppable. As I discovered while walking the battlefield, the terrain itself reinforces the sense of peril they must have felt. The mountains hem you in. The sea lies open behind the Persian position. It is easy to imagine how intimidating the sight of the invading force must have appeared. And yet the Athenians won.

Part of the explanation lies in tactics and equipment. The Greek hoplite phalanx proved devastating in close combat. But the deeper lesson concerns belief. The men in the Greek line trusted the citizens standing beside them. They trusted their commanders. Most importantly, they believed their cause was worth fighting for. The battle demonstrated what military historians have repeatedly observed ever since: morale is not simply courage. It is collective confidence. That confidence transformed the odds. The Athenians discovered that the Persian Empire was not invincible, after all. The victory altered how they saw themselves and their future. As I argue in my new book Battle, Marathon showed that ‘courage and unity could overcome even a vast empire’, and that morale itself could become a decisive force in history.

The same pattern appears repeatedly in later centuries. Caesar’s legions at Alesia; Nelson’s sailors at Trafalgar; and the Soviet defenders at Stalingrad – all reveal the same truth. Armies rarely fight effectively because they are fearless. They fight effectively because they believe. Once belief fractures, strength and numbers suddenly matter much less.

War may be shaped by weapons and technology, but it is still ultimately conducted by human beings. Marathon reminds us that morale is among the most powerful forces on any battlefield. It cannot be weighed, counted or measured. Yet its presence can make ordinary people achieve extraordinary things, and its absence can make even the strongest army collapse. It remains as decisive today as it was on a Greek plain two and a half thousand years ago.

The Greek charge at the Battle of Marathon, 490 BC, as imagined by French artist Georges Rochegrosse (1859-1938), highlighted the importance of morale as a decisive force in battle.

2. Leadership

Gaugamela, 331 BC

If morale explains why men continue fighting when fear tells them to run, leadership explains how armies make decisions amid uncertainty. Every commander, whether armed with bronze spear, musket or drone, confronts the same fundamental challenge: how to impose order on confusion. Battlefields are places of incomplete information, collapsing plans, and fleeting opportunities. The best leaders recognise these moments and act decisively; the worst become prisoners of events. No battle illustrates this truth more vividly than Gaugamela in 331 BC – perhaps Alexander the Great’s finest moment.

Today, standing on the plains near Mosul, modern Iraq’s second city, it is easy to understand why the Persian king Darius III chose to fight there. The terrain is broad, open, and flat, seemingly ideal for a larger army. According to ancient sources, Alexander’s army faced a force many times larger than his own, supported by cavalry, scythed chariots, and the immense resources of the Persian Empire. On paper, the result should have been obvious. Yet military history repeatedly demonstrates that battles are fought by people, not mathematics.

The Macedonian king’s genius lay not simply in tactical brilliance but in leadership under pressure. Unlike many rulers of the ancient world, he was never content to command from a distant vantage point. He shared the dangers faced by his men, and expected them to see him doing so. This visibility mattered. Leadership is partly practical, but it is also psychological. Soldiers draw confidence from commanders who appear calm when circumstances suggest panic. The ancient historian Arrian emphasised Alexander’s composure throughout the battle, even when the outcome remained uncertain, and it was this confidence that helped sustain the cohesion of his army.

What fascinates me about Gaugamela is that Alexander succeeded by understanding both landscape and human behaviour. Rather than attack directly, he manipulated Darius into extending his lines. He drew Persian cavalry away from the centre, probing for weakness while maintaining discipline among his own troops. Then, at precisely the right moment, he launched his elite Companion Cavalry through a gap that had opened in the Persian formation. It was an audacious manoeuvre, but audacity alone is never enough. The critical element was judgment: recognising the instant when risk became opportunity.

The famous Alexander Mosaic, originally from Pompeii’s House of the Faun, depicts a battle between the armies of Alexander the Great (on the left) and Darius III (right). 
In this detail, Alexander is portrayed as a model of composed generalship.

One can argue that Darius presents to the historian the other side of the leadership equation. He was neither foolish nor incompetent. Indeed, he had prepared the battlefield meticulously, clearing ground for his chariots and assembling overwhelming strength. Yet when Alexander’s attack developed, Darius became reactive. As confusion spread and the Macedonians pressed forward, he lost control of events. His eventual flight from the battlefield shattered Persian morale and accelerated the collapse of an empire that had dominated the Near East for two centuries.

That contrast explains why Gaugamela remains relevant. Leadership is rarely about possessing perfect information. More often, it is about making decisions despite uncertainty. Nelson at Trafalgar, Eisenhower before D-Day, and countless modern commanders have faced the same dilemma.

Delay can be fatal. Impulsive action can be equally disastrous. The art lies in recognising which risks are worth taking. Alexander’s achievement at Gaugamela was not merely that he defeated a larger army. It was that he imposed his will on an unfolding chaos and persuaded thousands of men to trust him while doing so. Across more than 2,000 years of warfare, that remains one of leadership’s defining tests.

3. Innovation

Lepanto, 1571

One of the great misconceptions about military history is that innovation arrives with a bang: a new weapon appears, everything changes, and the old world is swept away. The reality is usually messier. Most breakthroughs are not inventions at all, but new ways of combining existing technologies, tactics, and ideas. They often look uncertain, even reckless, before they become accepted wisdom. Studying battlefields across the centuries has repeatedly persuaded me that innovation is less about technology than adaptation.

The Battle of Lepanto in 1571 offers a perfect example. For much of the 16th century, the Ottoman Empire appeared unstoppable. Its armies had pushed deep into Europe, and its fleet dominated large areas of the Mediterranean.

When the Christian alliance of the Holy League assembled a coalition fleet to confront the Ottomans in the Gulf of Patras, the outcome was far from certain. Yet Lepanto became one of those moments when military thinking shifted decisively, revealing how a new approach could suddenly make an old system vulnerable.

Standing on the shores of western Greece today, it is difficult not to think about the scale of the clash. Hundreds of galleys converged across the water. Tens of thousands of men packed the decks. The smoke, noise, and confusion would have been overwhelming. But beneath the apparent chaos lay an important transformation in naval warfare.

For centuries, Mediterranean fleets had relied heavily on boarding actions. Naval battles often resembled infantry engagements fought on floating platforms. The objective was frequently to grapple with the enemy and overwhelm him in close combat. At Lepanto, however, firepower increasingly dictated events. What mattered was not merely courage at close quarters but the ability to deliver accurate, sustained artillery fire before the enemy could close.

The Battle of Lepanto, 1571, proved to be a moment of change, revealing how a new approach to warfare could make an old system suddenly appear unexpectedly vulnerable.

Lepanto demonstrated how long-range gunnery and improved fire control could tear the heart out of even the strongest fleet. The individual weapons were not entirely new. Cannon had existed for generations. What changed was the way they were integrated into operational thinking. Innovation was found in the application rather than the invention itself.

This pattern recurs constantly throughout military history. The English and Welsh longbow did not emerge from nowhere. The German Blitzkrieg combined tanks, aircraft, and artillery into a coordinated system rather than relying on any single revolutionary weapon. In each case, the decisive factor was recognising possibilities that others had overlooked. As I conclude in Battle, innovation is often ‘a new use of existing tools, or a recombination of old methods in novel ways’.

Lepanto particularly fascinates me because contemporary observers could not yet see the future that was emerging before them. They were fighting with familiar ships, familiar weapons, and familiar fears. Yet beneath the surface, warfare was evolving.

Naval commanders increasingly had to think not simply about bravery and seamanship but about firepower, coordination, and the management of complex systems. That is the enduring lesson. Innovation rarely announces itself as a revolution. More often it appears as a subtle adjustment that only later reveals its significance. The commanders at Lepanto did not know they were participating in a turning point. They were simply trying to solve the immediate problems before them. But that is precisely how military change usually occurs.

4. Subterfuge

Yorktown, 1781

If morale concerns belief, leadership concerns decision-making, and innovation concerns adaptation, then subterfuge is about perception. Throughout history, successful commanders have understood a simple truth: it is often easier to defeat an enemy’s understanding than his army. The ideal victory is not one won through attrition but through deception, by persuading an opponent to prepare for the wrong threat in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The means vary enormously. Hannibal Barca concealed his Carthaginian troops in the hills above Lake Trasimene to annihilate his pursuing Roman enemy. Allied planners created phantom armies before D-Day. Modern militaries use electronic warfare, cyber operations, and disinformation campaigns.

But the underlying principle remains the same. Victory often belongs to the side that controls what the enemy believes. The American victory at Yorktown in 1781 provides one of history’s most elegant examples.

A few years ago, I walked the quiet earthworks overlooking the York River. It was difficult to imagine that this relatively small patch of Virginia would determine the outcome of an empire-spanning conflict.

Yet Yorktown was not won primarily through battlefield brilliance. It was won because George Washington and his French allies manipulated British expectations with extraordinary skill.

Throughout much of the American War of Independence, the British assumed that New York would remain the principal objective of any major rebel operation. It was a logical conclusion. Washington had repeatedly threatened the city, and British commanders expected any decisive confrontation to occur there. Rather than challenge this assumption, Washington encouraged it.

 George Washington (on the left) and the Marquis de Lafayette (in the centre) at the Siege of Yorktown, where subterfuge was used to bring about the eventual British defeat. 

Washington, in command of the Continental Army, and his French allies, led by the Comte de Rochambeau, marched and counter-marched their forces in ways that reinforced British expectations until, almost at the last moment, the true objective became clear. By then it was too late.

British forces under Lord Cornwallis had become isolated at Yorktown, on the Virginia Peninsula, while a French fleet under Admiral de Grasse sealed off the approaches to Chesapeake Bay. The trap snapped shut with remarkable speed.

What strikes me most about Yorktown is how ordinary much of the deception appeared. There were no dramatic disguises or outlandish ruses.

Instead, success emerged from disciplined planning, careful control of information, and an understanding of how opponents interpreted events. This reflects a broader pattern visible across military history. Deception is often less theatrical than popular memory suggests.

The most effective subterfuge usually resembles efficient staff work. The British were not defeated because they lacked courage: Cornwallis’s soldiers fought stubbornly throughout the campaign. Nor were they dramatically outnumbered. Rather, they were defeated because they spent crucial weeks operating according to a false picture of reality. By the time accurate information arrived, their strategic position had already become untenable.

This is a lesson that appears repeatedly in my book. Hannibal allowed Roman commanders to see exactly what they expected to see before springing his ambush at Lake Trasimene. Soviet maskirovka (literally ‘masking’ or ‘disguise’) operations during the summer of 1944 concealed what would be the juggernaut of Operation Bagration. The Allied deception effort before D-Day persuaded German commanders that the main invasion would land at the Pas-de-Calais, even after troops had already come ashore to the west in Normandy.

As I state, the cleanest victories are often won when ‘the enemy realises the truth only as it breaks over him’. Yorktown demonstrates that subterfuge is not a secondary aspect of warfare but one of its defining characteristics. Commanders must constantly decide not simply what information to gather but what information to reveal. Every movement, every signal, and every public action communicates something to an opponent.

The storming of a British redoubt at Yorktown. Although the peace treaty would not be signed for two years, the War of Independence was effectively over.

5. Timing and numbers

Midway, 1942

Of all the recurring patterns in warfare, timing and numbers are perhaps the least glamorous and the most decisive. They lack the drama of leadership and the intrigue of deception. Yet they often determine victory long before soldiers or sailors realise it. Every commander must confront the same hard reality: there is never enough time, enough manpower, or enough resources. The challenge is to make those finite quantities matter more than the enemy’s.

Again, military history is filled with examples. Napoleon’s triumph at Austerlitz in 1805 depended on drawing his opponents into the wrong position at exactly the right moment.

Julius Caesar’s victory over the Gaulish tribes at Alesia relied on concentrating force at a decisive point despite numerical inferiority. More recently, as I argue in my new book, the defence of Ukraine’s capital Kyiv in 2022 demonstrated that time itself can defeat mass when a defender successfully delays and disrupts a larger enemy. Yet perhaps no battle better illustrates the relationship between timing and numbers than Midway in June 1942.

Six months after their stunning air attack on the United States Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, Japan appeared ascendant across the Pacific. Its imperial forces had inflicted a string of humiliating defeats on the United States, Britain, France, and the Netherlands, and had seized vast territories at astonishing speed.

The balance of forces seemed heavily weighted in Japan’s favour. Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, the architect of the Pearl Harbor attack, hoped now to lure the remaining American aircraft carriers into a decisive battle near Midway Atoll, and to destroy them. If he had been successful, the Pacific War might have taken a very different course.

On paper, Japanese strength looked impressive. They possessed more ships, more aircraft, and more experienced carrier crews. Yet the battle reminds us that numbers alone never tell the whole story. Quantity only matters when it can be brought to bear at the right moment.

Researching in the museums and archives associated with the Pacific War, I have often been struck by how narrow the margin between success and disaster really was. Midway was decided not over days, but over minutes. Throughout the morning of 4 June, a series of chance events, intelligence successes, reconnaissance failures, and command decisions combined to create a fleeting window of opportunity.

As I describe in Battle, American dive-bombers arrived over the Japanese fleet ‘at the one minute when decks were cluttered with refuelling aircraft and open torpedo warmers’.

The Japanese carriers were caught in the most vulnerable state imaginable. Aircraft were being rearmed. Fuel lines were exposed. Munitions were stacked across crowded hangar decks. A fleet that had dominated the Pacific suddenly found itself balanced on a knife edge.

Within a matter of minutes, three Japanese aircraft carriers were ablaze. Soon afterwards, a fourth followed. The destruction was catastrophic. What makes Midway so fascinating is that the disparity between victory and defeat was microscopic.

Had the American aircraft arrived earlier, Japanese fighters might have intercepted them. Had they arrived later, the carriers might have launched their own strike first. Timing transformed possibility into reality.

The Battle of Midway was decided not over a period of days, but in a matter of minutes, as a series of events combined to create a fleeting window of opportunity for US naval forces.

Numbers, of course, still mattered. The United States could absorb losses more readily than Japan, and would eventually mobilise industrial resources on a scale no opponent could match. But Midway demonstrates that numerical strength is only meaningful when combined with opportunity. The Japanese fleet possessed immense power, yet at the critical moment that power became unusable.

The lesson extends far beyond naval warfare. Every battlefield presents to a commander fleeting opportunities, moments when time and force intersect. Sometimes a delay of an hour changes everything; occasionally a delay of a minute.

The challenge lies in recognising those moments before they pass. Across 3,000 years of conflict, soldiers have fought with spears, muskets, horses, tanks, and drones, but timing remains stubbornly constant. As I conclude in Battle, the smallest slices of time can shape entire wars. Midway is perhaps the clearest demonstration of that truth.

The battle was not won simply because the Americans were stronger, braver or more innovative. It was won because, at one extraordinary moment, preparation met opportunity. History, as it so often does, turned on that moment.

The longer I spend studying warfare, the less convinced I become that battles are really about weapons. Weapons matter, of course. So do tactics, technology, and terrain. Yet when I walk these places, from ancient plains to modern killing grounds, what lingers is not the machinery of war but the persistence of human nature.

Every battlefield is a moment of decision. An individual chooses whether to advance or retreat. A commander decides whether to risk everything on a single strike, hold steady under pressure, or alter a plan years in the making. Entire societies discover what they are prepared to sacrifice, endure or defend. The circumstances differ, but the dilemmas remain surprisingly familiar.

That continuity is what makes military history more than a catalogue of victories and defeats. Battles are snapshots of humanity under extreme stress. They reveal character stripped bare. They show ingenuity and courage, but also fear, miscalculation, and hubris.

The study of battle therefore offers something larger than an understanding of war. It provides a way of understanding ourselves. Perhaps that is why these stories continue to resonate centuries later. The armour, uniforms, and flags belong to the past, but the people do not feel distant. Their choices still feel recognisable. Across three millennia of conflict, the setting changes. But the human drama does not.


Iain MacGregor has been a publisher of non-fiction history for three decades, and is also an author. His books include Checkpoint Charlie: a history of Berlin in the Cold War; The Lighthouse of Stalingrad, which was MHM’s Book of the Year in 2023; and The Hiroshima Men, about the atomic bombing of Japan in August 1945.

A fellow of the Royal Historical Society, he is a regular contributor to literary festivals, history podcasts, and TV documentaries. His new book, Battle: the moments that transformed warfare from ancient Greece to Ukraine (Bloomsbury UK, £25), is published on 8 October.

All images: Wikimedia Commons
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The Green Machine This great Nation & Its People War

Alamo Scouts: America’s Undefeated WWII Recon Force By Eugene Nielsen

The Alamo Scouts emerged from one of the most demanding and complex theaters of World War II, the vast and unforgiving Southwest Pacific. By late 1943, Allied forces under General Douglas MacArthur were pushing steadily northward along the New Guinea coast, preparing for the eventual return to the Philippines. The region’s geography posed immense challenges.

New Guinea was a harsh environment of dense jungles, towering mountains, swampy lowlands, and scattered Japanese garrisons that were often isolated yet still capable of fierce resistance. Traditional reconnaissance methods were often unreliable because the jungle canopy obscured enemy positions from the air, while ground patrols risked ambush long before they could gather meaningful intelligence.

two teams of Alamo Scouts pose for a photo during World War II
Two teams of Alamo Scouts pose for photos. The Alamo Scouts worked in small teams consisting of five to seven men. Image: U.S. Army

Lt. Gen. Walter Krueger, commander of the U.S. Sixth Army, recognized that his operations required a new kind of reconnaissance capability. Krueger was a meticulous planner who understood that faulty intelligence could lead to catastrophic losses. He had already seen how Japanese forces used the terrain to conceal troop movements, fortifications, and supply routes.

To outmaneuver the enemy, he needed small, highly trained teams capable of infiltrating deep behind Japanese lines, observing without being detected, and returning with precise, real-time intelligence. On November 28, 1943, he authorized the creation of a specialized reconnaissance unit that would operate directly under his personal control. He named the unit the Alamo Scouts, a nod both to the Sixth Army’s designation and to his personal ties to San Antonio.

the Alamo in San Antonio Texas
The Alamo in San Antonio, Texas. The elite Alamo Scouts drew their name from both the Sixth Army’s designation and General Krueger’s longstanding roots in the city. Image: Daniel Schwen/CC BY-SA 4.0

From the outset, the Scouts were envisioned not as commandos or raiders but as stealth specialists whose success depended on patience, discipline, and the ability to operate independently in hostile territory. Their mission was to see without being seen, to know without being known, and to return with information that could shape entire campaigns. In a theater where the terrain itself was often as dangerous as the enemy, this required a level of skill and endurance far beyond that of conventional infantry.

Training and Selection

To build this elite force, the Alamo Scouts Training Center was established on Fergusson Island in the D’Entrecasteaux Islands of eastern New Guinea. The location was remote, humid and rugged. It was an ideal environment for preparing men to operate in the unforgiving jungles of the Southwest Pacific.

Volunteers came from across the Sixth Army, but the standards were exceptionally high. The training program lasted six weeks, though many candidates washed out long before the end. Trainees were subjected to long distance marches through jungle terrain, amphibious landings, river crossings, and night navigation exercises. They learned to move silently, camouflage themselves effectively, and observe enemy positions without being detected.

Lt Gen Kreuger with Gen MacArthur and Gen Marshall
Lt. Gen. Walter Krueger (left) with Gen. Douglas MacArthur (center) and Gen. George Marshall (right) at a field headquarters in late 1943. Krueger was the founder of the Alamo Scouts. Image: U.S. Army

Physical endurance was only the beginning. The instructors looked for qualities that went beyond strength or stamina. The ideal Scout was calm under pressure, adaptable, and capable of independent judgment.

Many successful candidates were older than the average infantryman, often in their late twenties or early thirties, with combat experience in New Guinea or the Solomons. These men understood the realities of jungle warfare and were less likely to take unnecessary risks. Out of several hundred volunteers, only 138 ultimately qualified as Alamo Scouts.

Their training emphasized stealth and observation over direct combat, though they were fully capable of engaging the enemy when necessary. Marksmanship training focused on accuracy under stress, often after hours of exertion. Intelligence reporting was drilled relentlessly because a Scout who could not produce clear, concise, and accurate reports was of no use to Krueger. The Scouts learned to write detailed observations under pressure, often while exhausted, hungry, and soaked by tropical rains.

Alamo Scout candidates undergoing six week training course
Maj. Gen. Fred H. Osborn talks to Alamo Scout candidates following a demonstration of jumping and swimming in the water fully equipped at the Alamo Scout School, Fergusson Island. Image: U.S. Army

Those who succeeded formed small teams of five to seven men, each capable of functioning autonomously for extended periods. Their weapons were chosen for reliability and mobility in dense jungle terrain. Carbines and submachine guns provided rapid, close-range firepower, while rifles were carried when longer range accuracy was needed. Yet their greatest assets were silence, patience, and the ability to disappear into the jungle.

Operational Role and Mission Profile

From early 1944 through the end of the war, the Alamo Scouts conducted 106 missions across New Guinea, the Bismarck Archipelago, and the Philippines. Their operations varied widely but shared a common purpose. They existed to provide Krueger with the intelligence he needed to plan and execute major operations.

Alamo Scouts train with Thompson submachine guns
An Alamo Scout fires his Thompson submachine gun while on a dock at base while his compatriots watch. Image: U.S. Army

Scouts infiltrated enemy held islands to determine Japanese troop strength, defensive positions, and terrain conditions. They established concealed observation posts along Japanese supply routes, tracking troop movements and convoys. They worked closely with Filipino and New Guinean guerrillas, sharing intelligence and helping organize resistance activities.

On several occasions, they captured Japanese soldiers for interrogation, often slipping into enemy camps at night. They also located and extracted Allied prisoners, missionaries, and civilians trapped behind enemy lines. Operating behind enemy lines required extraordinary discipline. Scouts often spent days or weeks deep in Japanese controlled territory, moving primarily at night and sleeping in concealed positions during the day. They learned to read the jungle, the sounds of birds, the movement of foliage, the smell of cooking fires, and to distinguish normal patterns from signs of enemy activity.

Their reports were delivered directly to Krueger, bypassing traditional intelligence channels. This ensured that the Sixth Army commander had the most accurate and timely information available.

One of the most remarkable aspects of the Alamo Scouts’ operational history is their perfect record. Not a single Scout was killed or captured. This achievement is even more extraordinary given the high-risk nature of their missions. Their success stemmed from meticulous planning, rigorous training, and a culture that valued precision over heroics.

Major Achievements in the Pacific Campaign

The Scouts’ contributions to the Pacific campaign were both strategic and humanitarian. Their reconnaissance work directly shaped the planning of key operations, including the landings at Hollandia, Aitape, Biak, and Leyte. At Hollandia in April 1944, Scouts confirmed that Japanese forces had largely abandoned the landing beaches, allowing the Sixth Army to seize the area with minimal casualties.

At Biak, they identified Japanese defensive positions hidden in coral caves, enabling U.S. forces to adjust their assault plans. During the Leyte campaign, they provided intelligence on Japanese troop concentrations and coastal defenses, supporting MacArthur’s return to the Philippines.

Alamo Scouts Training Center on Fergusson Island in the DEntrecasteaux Islands of eastern New Guinea
The Alamo Scouts Training Center (ASTC) on Fergusson Island in the D’Entrecasteaux Islands of eastern New Guinea. Image: U.S. Army

Beyond reconnaissance, the Scouts were credited with liberating 197 POWs in New Guinea alone. They often worked with local guerrillas to locate remote camps and plan extraction routes.

Their most famous mission came in January 1945 during the Raid on Cabanatuan. Working with the 6th Ranger Battalion and Filipino guerrillas, the Alamo Scouts conducted the forward reconnaissance that made the raid possible.

They infiltrated the area around the camp, mapped guard positions and routines, identified weak points in the perimeter, and guided the Rangers to their assault positions.

The operation freed 511 Allied prisoners, many of whom had survived the Bataan Death March. The success of the Cabanatuan raid cemented the Alamo Scouts’ reputation as one of the most effective special operations units of the war.

Preparation for the Invasion of Japan

By mid 1945, the Alamo Scouts were preparing for what would have been their most dangerous assignment. They were slated to conduct pre-invasion reconnaissance for Operation Olympic, the planned Allied invasion of Kyushu.

Their missions would have required them to infiltrate heavily defended Japanese territory, assess landing beaches, identify artillery positions, and determine the strength and disposition of Japanese forces.

Alamo Scouts team LITTLEFIELD group photo taken after graduating from the Alamo Scout Training Course
Alamo Scouts team LITTLEFIELD group photo taken after graduating from the Alamo Scout Training Course in June 1944. Image: NARA

Given the expected scale of Japanese resistance, these missions would have been extraordinarily hazardous. The Scouts understood that the invasion of Japan would likely be the bloodiest operation of the war, and their reconnaissance would play a crucial role in reducing casualties.

The Japanese surrender in August 1945 ended these preparations. Instead of supporting an invasion, the Scouts entered Japan as part of the occupation forces, where they continued intelligence duties until their disbandment. Their presence during the early occupation period helped ensure stability and provided valuable assessments of local conditions, infrastructure, and remaining Japanese military capabilities.

Disbandment and Enduring Legacy

The Alamo Scouts were formally disbanded in Kyoto in November 1945. For decades after the war, their contributions remained relatively obscure, overshadowed by larger units and more publicized operations. Yet within military circles, their reputation endured.

In 1988, surviving members were awarded the Special Forces Tab, officially recognizing them as part of the lineage of today’s U.S. Army Special Forces. Their emphasis on small team reconnaissance, stealth, and intelligence gathering laid the foundation for modern special operations doctrine. Units such as the Green Berets, Army Rangers, and Navy SEALs all draw on principles pioneered by the Alamo Scouts.

Alamo Scout prepares for mission
An Alamo Scout prepares for a mission. Not a single Alamo Scout was killed or captured during the war. Image: U.S. Army

In September 1993, the CIA declassified its holdings on the unit, making the full operational history publicly available for the first time. This release helped bring long overdue attention to their achievements and highlighted their unmatched operational record.

Today, the Alamo Scouts are remembered as one of the most effective and disciplined special operations units of World War II. Their story is a testament to the power of rigorous training, teamwork, and the quiet professionalism of soldiers who operated in the shadows but shaped the course of the Pacific War.

Further Reflections

The legacy of the Alamo Scouts is also reflected in the way their methods influenced the evolution of American special operations after the war. Their emphasis on small, autonomous teams operating far ahead of conventional forces became a model for later units that required similar independence and precision.

Modern reconnaissance and direct-action teams still study their mission reports, which reveal a disciplined approach to intelligence gathering that prioritized accuracy over aggression. The Scouts demonstrated that a handful of well-trained soldiers could shape the outcome of entire campaigns by providing commanders with information that could not be obtained by any other means.

Their perfect operational record continues to stand out in military history. This achievement is even more striking when one considers the conditions under which they operated. They moved through some of the most inhospitable terrain in the world, often within yards of Japanese patrols, yet they maintained discipline and avoided unnecessary engagements. Their success was not the result of luck but of a culture that valued preparation, patience, and the ability to remain unseen.

The Scouts also forged strong relationships with local populations. In both New Guinea and the Philippines, they relied on the knowledge and support of indigenous people and guerrilla fighters.

These partnerships were built on mutual respect and shared danger. The Scouts often lived among local communities, learning their languages, customs, and survival techniques. This cooperation not only enhanced their effectiveness but also strengthened the broader Allied effort by empowering resistance movements that disrupted Japanese operations.

Their humanitarian missions further distinguished them. The liberation of prisoners, missionaries, and civilians behind enemy lines demonstrated that their purpose extended beyond reconnaissance. They were often the first friendly faces that desperate captives had seen in years. These rescues required the same stealth and planning as their intelligence missions, but they also demanded compassion and courage under extreme pressure.

Today, the Alamo Scouts remain a symbol of quiet excellence. Their story illustrates how a small group of dedicated individuals can have an outsized impact on the course of a global conflict. Their professionalism, humility, and unwavering commitment to their mission continue to inspire the special operations community and stand as a testament to what disciplined soldiers can achieve when entrusted with extraordinary responsibility.

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