Unleash the Bees 

Medieval commanders always looked to gain an advantage, and some discovered that one particular type of biological weapon could be quite effective: bees. In the 11th century, when England’s Henry I was besieged by the French Duke of Lorraine, the English defended their fortifications by launching beehives at the enemy’s horses, causing such chaos that the siege was abandoned. 

The insects were deployed again when King Richard I, better known as Richard the Lionheart, began the Third Crusade in 1189. His ships didn’t carry just soldiers and horses — they also carried beehives and their keepers. When Richard confronted the forces of Saladin, sultan of Egypt and Syria, during the Siege of Acre, the English used trebuchets to catapult the beehives into the city, causing total mayhem. It was an unusual but highly effective tactic — the city surrendered the next day. 

Not Killing the Enemy

The Battle of Brémule in 1119 was one of the rare occasions in the high medieval period in which reigning kings fought each other directly in battle. The encounter between Louis VI of France and Henry I of England is also one of the least deadly major medieval battles on record. About 900 knights participated, and three men were killed. 

Some accounts attribute the low number of casualties to the fact that both sides consisted of Christian knights who shared a kind of brotherhood despite being foes in battle, and so did not wish to engage in mass bloodshed. Others point out that these knights could earn fortunes by capturing enemy nobles and demanding ransom for their release — often enough money to set up a family for generations. 

The tactics involved were therefore very odd, with economic incentive overshadowing military objectives, and the knights fought carefully, trying to disable and capture opponents rather than kill them. When it ended, 140 French soldiers had been captured, providing the English victors with substantial ransom payments. The three casualties were likely accidental deaths — or possibly peasant soldiers whose capture held no financial value. 

Launching Dead Animals, Poop, and Prisoners

Beehives, large stones, and flaming barrels of tar ranked among the more sanitary projectiles launched during medieval battles. But siege warfare in the Middle Ages reached peak revulsion when defenders and attackers began catapulting biological horrors at each other. Dead horses, cattle, and other animals were hurled over castle walls to spread disease and demoralize defenders with a truly awful stench. In 1340, attackers hurled dead animals by catapult at the castle of Thun L'Eveque in Hainault (present-day northern France). The defenders soon negotiated a truce, citing the unbearable stink as the reason. 

The strange and putrid tactics didn’t stop there. Animal dung and human excrement were also seen flying through the air, with the aim of contaminating water supplies and spreading dysentery. Most horrifying of all, dead prisoners — sometimes diseased, sometimes executed — were catapulted as both biological weapons and a form of psychological warfare. 

Getting the Enemy Drunk

Alcohol was typically used to celebrate victory in battle, but St. Olga of Kiev used booze for a far more nefarious act in the 10th century. After the Drevlians — an East Slavic tribe that inhabited present-day Ukraine — brutally killed Olga’s husband Prince Igor, the princess embarked on a systematic campaign of vengeance. Having already killed a slew of Drevlian ambassadors, she then sent a message requesting a funeral feast for her husband — to be held in Drevlian territory, with the Drevlians themselves in attendance. 

Olga made sure that copious amounts of mead were on hand at the wake, and then waited until her enemies had drunk themselves into a state of torpor. In a brutally blunt yet highly effective tactical ploy that wouldn’t have been out of place in Game of Thrones, she then ordered her retinue to massacre the drunken soldiers. The battle was swift and bloody, with some 5,000 Drevlians killed. Curiously, the Orthodox Church later canonized Olga as a saint in recognition of her services to the faith, which included building churches and feeding the poor.

Swiss Guard’s Colorful Stripes 

Founded in 1506, the Swiss Guard is widely considered the oldest standing military unit in continuous service, tasked with protecting the pope and the Vatican. Their instantly recognizable uniforms — striped in blue, red, and yellow, with puffed sleeves and breeches — deliberately evoke the pageantry of the Renaissance. 

While often associated with the Medici era (roughly 1434 to 1737), the current design dates to 1910, when it was created by Swiss Guard Commandant Jules Repond. It was inspired by Renaissance military fashion rather than copied from it. The result is a uniform that is highly structured, heavy, and intentionally archaic.

Unlike most modern military attire, the Swiss Guard’s uniform prioritizes symbolism over practicality. Worn by a small, elite corps, it is paired with polished armor, leather gloves, ruffled collars, and the iconic halberd, reinforcing a sense of ritual and continuity. Though impractical for modern combat, the uniform’s purpose is visual identity and historical permanence, making it one of the most striking military fashions in use today.

Winged Hussars’ Feathered Wings

The Winged Hussars were elite heavy cavalry of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Their iconic appearance emerged in the late 16th century and lasted into the early 18th century. Originally a shock cavalry formation — a unit designed to break enemy lines through fast, powerful charges — they became famous for the large feathered “wings” mounted to their armor or saddles. Combined with brightly colored garments, metal breastplates, plumed helmets, and long lances, the wings created a dramatic and instantly recognizable battlefield presence.

However, only a relatively small number of cavalry troops wore the full winged configuration, and the style declined as firearms and new tactics made heavy cavalry less dominant. While the wings offered no direct combat advantage, they amplified the psychological impact of a charge, rattling and startling enemy troops and horses. The result was one of history’s most theatrical examples of military fashion.

Napoleonic Guards’ Bearskin Hats

The grenadiers of Napoleon Bonaparte’s Imperial Guard were elite infantry of France’s Grande Armée, serving until the fall of the First French Empire in 1815. In the early 1800s, these soldiers became famous for their towering bearskin caps, which added nearly a foot to their height and created a dramatic battlefield presence. Worn with dark blue coats, white crossbelts, epaulets, and red accents, the bearskins were heavy, hot, and uncomfortable, but they were designed to project invincibility and intimidate opponents. Only a small number of elite troops wore the full dress, making the effect rare and striking.

Though impractical for combat, the bearskin hats achieved their intended psychological impact and symbolized imperial power. Their use ended with Napoleon’s reign, but the dramatic headdresses influenced later ceremonial uniforms, most notably inspiring the bearskin caps still worn today by the British Foot Guards. 

Cavalry Hussars’ Flair

Following the War of 1812, some volunteer cavalry companies and militia units in the United States experimented with hussar-style uniforms inspired by European light cavalry. These included elaborately braided jackets (called dolmans), fur-trimmed overjackets (pelisses) worn over one shoulder, tight breeches, and tall fur busbies topped with plumes. The look was dramatic, expensive, and intended to project flair and prestige rather than battlefield practicality. Regular U.S. Army cavalry of the period generally wore simpler, functional uniforms suited to frontier service.

Only a small number of American horsemen ever wore these hussar-inspired outfits, and the uniform’s use was brief. They proved heavy, hot, and ill-suited to frontier warfare, and the style largely disappeared within a decade. Later in the 19th century, during the Civil War, several U.S. cavalry regiments adopted hussar-inspired uniforms in more organized form, making these early experiments among the U.S. Army’s most short-lived and theatrical flirtations with European cavalry fashion.

Zouaves’ Flamboyant Attire 

Zouaves, a light infantry unit best known for their distinctive uniforms, began as 19th-century guerrilla fighters from the Zouaoua, a Berber tribe in Algeria’s Djurdjura Mountains. When France conquered Algiers in 1830, it recruited Zouaoua soldiers into colonial battalions. By the mid-1830s, these troops were integrated into the French army as elite units, instantly recognizable for their flamboyant uniforms: short open jackets, heavily braided vests, voluminous trousers, bright sashes, and fezzes. Designed for mobility and esprit de corps rather than camouflage, the outfits quickly became a symbol of precision, bravery, and elite style, widely admired and depicted in European prints.

During the U.S. Civil War, a handful of Union and Confederate regiments adopted the Zouave-style uniforms, replicating the French uniforms with different degrees of detail. Striking but impractical in the field, the outfits offered little concealment and were hard to maintain, yet they became iconic, representing bravery and style that set these units apart from standard infantry.

U.S. Army Tropical Dress

In 1898, the U.S. Army introduced a khaki cotton tropical uniform for soldiers serving in hot, humid climates. Inspired by British colonial uniforms, the design emphasized practicality over traditional military formality. The uniform included a lightweight blouse, matching trousers, and often a pith helmet for sun protection. It was a major departure from the standard dark blue wool service dress, emphasizing comfort, mobility, and practicality rather than formality or traditional army appearance. Infantry and other combat troops in the field were the primary adopters, though officers sometimes had slightly more polished versions for parade or inspection.

Although introduced during the Spanish‑American War, the khaki tropical uniform continued to see use in subsequent campaigns, particularly in the Philippines during the Philippine-American War. It was unique in its muted color, lightweight fabric, and colonial-style helmet — all a stark contrast to the familiar blue and brass of typical military dress. Despite looking unconventional, the uniform proved highly functional in heat, humidity, and rain, marking a shift toward practical, climate-appropriate military clothing that influenced U.S. Army field uniforms for decades.

Cheetos

Cheesy puff snacks and the chaos of warfare may seem diametrically opposed, but it’s the military we must thank for the former’s existence — including the top-selling brand, Cheetos. Their origin can be traced back to the Natick Soldier Systems Center, a U.S. Army research complex responsible for the development of the U.S. military’s food, clothing, and shelters. 

One of the items to come out of the research complex was processed and powdered cheese, which was created for military use in World War II. According to Anastacia Marx de Salcedo, author of Combat-Ready Kitchen: How the U.S. Military Shapes the Way You Eat, by the end of the war “a whole little industry had sprung up to support this dehydrated cheese.” And one of the very first products to use the cheesy powder was the now-ubiquitous Cheetos.  

Instant Coffee

Instant coffee isn’t a modern invention — it was created and patented as a “coffee compound” by an Englishman named John Dring in 1771. It later appeared in cake form during the American Civil War, before being refined by Japanese chemist Satori Kato, whose soluble coffee was introduced to the public at the Pan-American Exposition of 1901. 

Instant coffee as we know it today became commonplace during World War I, providing a quick and easy taste of home for soldiers on the front lines. The Department of Defense began buying as much as 37,000 pounds of coffee powder each day, at which point the instant coffee industry skyrocketed. Then, in 1938, Nestlé introduced its new product, Nescafé. With the outbreak of World War II, Nescafé was included in the emergency rations of every U.S. soldier, further cementing the popularity of the instant brew.  

Minute Maid

In 1942, the U.S. Army offered a lucrative contract to any company that could figure out a process for producing palatable frozen orange juice — deemed necessary for keeping vitamin C levels at acceptable levels among the troops. It wasn’t until 1945 that a viable process was created, at which point the Florida Foods Corporation won the contract to produce 500,000 pounds of orange juice concentrate. 

However, the war ended before the product was shipped. Finding itself sitting on a giant mound of oranges, Florida Foods changed its name to the Vacuum Foods Corporation a year later and began selling the nation’s first concentrated frozen orange juice, which it called Minute Maid (in reference to the product’s quick and easy preparation). Despite initially slow sales, Minute Maid eventually took off — with the help of a catchy jingle from Bing Crosby — paving the way for similar frozen products. 

TV Dinners

The first successful frozen prepackaged meal — what was later dubbed the “TV dinner” — hit supermarket shelves in 1953. Produced by Swanson, it was a Thanksgiving meal of turkey, cornbread stuffing, and peas. But while Swanson took TV dinners to the masses, the concept was originally developed for the military. 

In 1945, Maxson Food Systems manufactured the first complete frozen meal — known as “Strato-Plates” — specifically to be reheated for troops and other passengers on long military flights. A typical meal was a basic three-part combo of meat, vegetable, and potato, each housed in its own compartment on a plastic plate. Maxson’s frozen meals never made it to the civilian retail market, but they were the precursors of the TV dinner, despite no TVs being involved. 

Spam

Though Spam wasn’t invented specifically for the military, war rations certainly helped popularize it. When Spam was created in 1937 by Hormel Foods Corporation, it was seen as a way to increase sales of unprofitable pork shoulder, which was then considered an undesirable cut. Initially, sales of Spam were poor, partly because people had doubts about canned meat being safe for consumption. Then World War II began, and the U.S. military saw Spam as a perfect addition to its soldiers’ rations, being affordable, filling, easily portable, and shelf stable. 

Spam accompanied U.S. troops all over the world, with 100 million cans shipped out to the Pacific theater alone. It became something of a culinary icon during the war, and went on to become an enduring supermarket staple — today, more than 9 billion cans of Spam have been sold.

Caesar's Double Fortifications 

When Julius Caesar besieged the Gallic fortress of Alesia in 52 BCE, he learned that a massive relief army of Gauls was approaching. Caesar had 10 to 12 Roman legions consisting of around 50,000 legionaries, while the fortified hilltop settlement of Alesia contained some 12,000 horsemen and 80,000 foot soldiers. Caesar had already constructed an encircling line of fortifications, known as a contravallation, around Alesia to keep the Gallic defenders in. But the approaching relief army may have numbered as many as 250,000 soldiers — meaning the overall numbers were certainly not in Caesar’s favor. 

Every ounce of conventional wisdom suggested that Caesar should abandon the siege and retreat. Instead, he built a second set of fortifications facing outward — a circumvallation — essentially trapping his own army between two enemy forces. Three days of brutal fighting ensued, with the Romans at times at risk of being overrun. On the third day, Caesar himself led four cohorts and a contingent of cavalry to attack the relief army from behind to turn the tide of battle. The Gauls eventually lost the will to fight and Caesar demanded they lay down their arms, at which point the Gallic leaders surrendered. 

George Washington's Christmas Night Crossing of the Delaware

The American Revolutionary War was going poorly for the Continental Army by August 1776, with British troops occupying New York City and morale plummeting after multiple defeats. George Washington, the commander in chief of the Continental Army, was determined to rectify the situation. He conceived a plan that would have seemed to many like a truly desperate gambit. He decided to lead his men across the ice-choked Delaware River at night, during a winter storm, to launch a surprise attack on a garrison of 1,400 Hessian mercenaries (hired by the British) at Trenton, New Jersey. 

Military convention strongly advised against winter campaigns, night operations, and river crossings in bad conditions — but Washington attempted all three simultaneously. At 11 p.m. on Christmas Day, he led 2,400 soldiers across the icy and freezing river, reaching the New Jersey side just before dawn. Two further divisions, consisting of 3,000 troops and crucial field artillery, failed to cross in time. Washington forged on nonetheless, successfully launching a surprise attack and capturing nearly 1,000 Hessians at the cost of four American lives. News of the victory provided a massive morale boost, and Washington’s unusual yet critical strategic decision led to further American victories, including the Battle of Trenton and Battle of Princeton. 

The Capture of Tabor Bridge

In 1805, during the Napoleonic Wars, French Marshal Joachim Murat and his forces faced a critical obstacle — the strategically vital Tabor Bridge crossing the Danube River. Their Austrian and Russian opponents had retreated to the other side of the river to regroup, destroying many of the bridges after they had crossed. The bridges near Vienna, including the Tabor (which was actually a series of three bridges) remained standing, but were rigged to detonate should the French try to take them. Knowing that any conventional assault would result in the destruction of the remaining bridges, Murat and Marshal Jean Lannes came up with a seemingly preposterous strategy: They would simply walk up to the Austrians guarding Tabor Bridge and convince them to hand it over. 

Leaving precise instructions with their soldiers, Murat and Lannes walked somewhat nonchalantly to the bridge in full dress uniform. They strolled past confused Austrian engineers, who were ready to light the fuses and destroy the bridge. They made it to the middle of the bridge, where they were met by an Austrian colonel who promptly asked why two such notable marshals were walking unarmed across an enemy-held bridge in the midst of a war. 

The marshals politely asked to speak with the Austrian commander, whom they convinced that an armistice had been signed — and that there was no need to destroy the bridge as the two sides were no longer at war. In the meantime, the French troops began casually approaching the bridge, with not a shot fired. Within two hours, the Austrians had turned over the bridge to the French, who proceeded to cross the Danube to continue the war. Murat and Lannes had gone against military doctrine by risking their lives in such brazen fashion, but they pulled off the unlikely ruse. 

Operation Mincemeat 

Another improbable strategic bluff took place during World War II. As the Allies prepared to invade Sicily in 1943, they faced a serious problem: Sicily was an obvious target and the Germans were well prepared to defend it. So, British intelligence officers devised a plan so outlandish, it seemed more like the stuff of fiction. 

They obtained the body of a recently deceased homeless person named Glyndwr Michael, dressed him as a Royal Marines officer, and created an elaborate false identity — “Major William Martin,” complete with personal items including a photograph of his fictitious fiancée, a receipt for an engagement ring, and a theater ticket stub. Crucially, the body also carried secret documents — written in code the British knew the Germans could decipher — which purported to reveal the true targets for the forthcoming invasion: Greece and Sardinia, with Sicily intended as a mere feint. 

In April 1943, the body of “Major Martin” was launched into the sea from the British submarine HMS Seraph, just off the southern coast of Spain. It was soon recovered by pro-German locals, and the “secret” documents were passed via Nazi sympathizers to German intelligence officers. Just a couple of weeks later, Adolf Hitler declared that Sicily was not the next landing and that Greece and Sardinia must be reinforced. Operation Mincemeat had been a success — a brilliantly unorthodox strategic deception that paved the way for the invasion of Sicily.

A Plane Landed Every 30 Seconds at the Height of the Airlift

For 18 months, American and British aircrews flew around-the-clock to supply West Berlin. Through careful coordination and innovative scheduling, they established a continuous stream of aircraft that landed in three-minute slots, 24 hours a day, in all but the very worst weather conditions. At the height of the Berlin Airlift, planes were landing at the city’s Tempelhof Airport as often as every 30 seconds. This was achieved despite the distraction techniques employed by the Soviets, who flew fighter planes in the area to intimidate the Allied pilots and used spotlights to hinder the approaching planes. 

The “Candy Bomber” Dropped 23 Tons of Sweets on West Berlin

One of the most heartwarming stories of the Berlin Airlift centers around U.S. Air Force pilot Gail Halvorsen. Halvorsen was touched when he met a group of German children at Tempelhof Airport, who, he recalled, said to him, “Don’t give up on us. If we lose our freedom, we’ll never get it back.” He gave the kids two sticks of gum, and after the encounter, he began dropping small parachutes from his plane carrying candy to the children of Berlin. He soon became known as “Uncle Wiggly Wings” among the German kids, because he'd wiggle the wings of his C-47s or C-54s aircraft to signal an imminent drop of chocolate. 

As his generous exploits became more widely known, Halvorsen was dubbed the “candy bomber.” His simple act of kindness grew into a powerful symbol of American goodwill toward Germany, helping to transform the image of former enemies into trusted allies. His superiors encouraged Halvorsen and his fellow pilots to continue dropping candy. By the end of the Berlin Airlift, they had dropped more than 250,000 tiny parachutes carrying some 23 tons of candy to the children of West Berlin. 

Nearly 10 Million Work Hours Went Into the Ground Construction Effort

While the air corridors were full of planes flying mission after mission, on the ground the activity was just as furious. It quickly became clear that Tempelhof Airport was not big enough for the task. U.S. Army engineers immediately began building two additional runways at Tempelhof, the first of which was in use within three months. Crews also built the entirely new Tegel Airport, complete with two runways, administrative facilities, a hangar, warehouse, and a control tower. (A 200-foot-tall Soviet radio tower originally stood, somewhat problematically, in the midst of the new airport, but French engineers promptly blew it up.) 

According to Major General Norman Delbridge, who served as a U.S. Army engineer during the Berlin Airlift, there were 60,000 people, both Allied and German, working 24 hours a day on the construction project. “We had more women than men that did all of the earth moving,” he recalled, “and they moved the earth by hand.” Records from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers estimate that more than 9.8 million work hours went into the effort between military personnel and local Germans, with local Germans doing most of the work. 

Allied Flights Carried 2.3 Million Tons of Supplies by the End of the Airlift

On May 12, 1949, knowing that the blockade had failed, the Soviets reopened the roads, canals, and railway routes into the western half of Berlin. The Allies, however, continued the airlift until September to stockpile supplies in Berlin just in case the blockade was reinstated. Over the entire course of the blockade, 277,804 Allied flights carried an astonishing 2.3 million tons of supplies by air into Berlin. The Berlin Airlift was a resounding success, keeping Berlin alive in what was — and remains — one of the largest humanitarian aid missions in history.