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. 

Dueling Roses 

Like many of history’s wars, the Wars of the Roses weren’t named until many years after the conflict ended. The moniker refers to the symbols of the two houses: a white rose for the House of York and a red rose for the House of Lancaster, although roses weren’t the only heraldic imagery used at the time of the fighting. Yorkists, for instance, were also known to sport Richard III’s white boar badge before and during his brief reign as king (1483-1485). Lancastrian monarch Henry VI featured an antelope on his royal badge, and when Henry VII won the Battle of Bosworth, he carried a banner featuring the family’s red dragon crest on a white and green background. 

While the white rose was just one of many badges used by the Yorks, the red rose may have been absent during the civil wars altogether. Before 1485, red roses appeared only minimally in distant Lancaster heraldic imagery. Historians believe the image was only made a prominent Lancastrian symbol by Henry VII and his advisors after his victory. Seeking to unify the nation — and to strengthen his shaky familial claim to the throne — Henry married a York princess, Edward IV’s daughter Elizabeth, six months after the Wars of the Roses had ended. Manuscripts from this era show that he purposefully resurrected the seldom-used red rose and, in a strategic move, combined it with the Yorkists’ white rose. 

Together, the two roses made what came to be known as the Tudor rose, a prominent symbol of the Tudor dynasty. It was not only a powerful piece of political imagery, but also a symbol of unity and reconciliation. The Tudor rose became an enduring emblem and spread throughout England, often incorporated into architecture and decor throughout the country. Today, red and white roses — as well as red dragons — appear in the garden at the Hampton Court Palace, a historical Tudor court. 

A War by Any Other Name

The Tudor rose was firmly entrenched as a symbol of the English civil wars by the late 1400s, but the conflict’s modern name didn’t become common for another 400 years. Much of its popularity is attributed to the 19th-century writer Walter Scott, who, in his 1829 novel Anne of Geierstein, referred to the civil wars as “the wars of the White and Red Roses.” Scott was a famous novelist at the time, and his work resonated with the wider public and bolstered the Wars of the Roses’ name through the 19th century and beyond. He wasn’t the first to make the literary link, however. In his late-1500s Henry VI trilogy, William Shakespeare famously dramatized a scene in which characters pluck red and white roses to signify their loyalties. Influential Scottish philosopher David Hume also helped cement the connection. In a 1775 version of his bestselling book The History of England, Hume referred to the period as “the quarrel between the two roses.” 

Red Wool Was Commonplace and Cheap

The most prosaic reason for the color of the Redcoats’ iconic jackets was one of simple economics. Supplying a large standing army with uniforms could be a costly business. As it happened, red wool was commonplace, cheap, and durable. While some dyes, such as kermes and cochineal, produced a deep scarlet favored by the wealthy and powerful, the wool used in the standard infantry jacket was colored red with a cheaper, brownish-red dye derived from the root of the madder plant, which had been used by numerous civilizations dating as far back as ancient Egypt. 

Red Uniforms Offered Battlefield Benefits

While camouflage uniforms are standard today, they wouldn’t have served much purpose on the battlefields of old, when infantrymen walked slowly into battle in ordered and obvious columns and lines. Guns were also highly inaccurate, making it difficult to target and hit a particular individual, no matter how easy they were to see. What’s more, having uniforms that blended into the environment would have actually been detrimental. For the generals in command, being able to see exactly where their soldiers were was vital in the smoke and chaos of battle (and also made it easier to spot deserters running from the fight). For the soldiers, meanwhile, red jackets made it easier to tell friend from foe on the battlefield, and in turn avoid friendly fire. 

Red Signified Prestige and Power

Apart from the more practical reasons for the Redcoats’ distinctive jackets, there was also the issue of British pride to consider. It’s been theorized that red was a preferred choice due to it being one of Britain’s national colors: red, white, and blue. The three colors appear on the Union Jack, and, more specifically, on the St. George’s Cross — the national flag of England — which depicts a red cross on a white background. Eventually, the Redcoats themselves became a symbol of British rule both at home and abroad. The use of red by imperial soldiers over a period of nearly three centuries made the bright and distinctive uniform a powerful symbol of the British Empire.

The FBI Built a Tunnel Under the Soviet Embassy in Washington

In 1977, the Soviet Union began building a new embassy in Washington, D.C. Fears immediately arose within the United States Intelligence Community that the new embassy could serve as a hub for Soviet spying activities, including eavesdropping on communications from the White House and the U.S. Capitol. In response, the U.S. began digging a tunnel underneath the embassy from a nearby building — in what was known as Operation Monopoly — from which they could monitor Soviet communications. Construction began in 1977, but the secret tunnel didn’t become fully operational until the early ’90s. The whole project was a huge and costly failure, partially due to the clandestine activities of Robert Hanssen, a double agent in the FBI. In 2001, Hanssen was arrested on charges of spying for Russia, at which point Operation Monopoly became public knowledge. It's not entirely clear when the double agent informed Russia of the tunnel’s existence.  

Mathias Rust Flew to Moscow With a Message of Peace

In May 1987, a 19-year-old amateur pilot named Mathias Rust decided to illegally navigate through Soviet airspace — and what was then the largest air defense system in the world. He took off from Helsinki in a single-engine Cessna and flew 550 miles to the center of Moscow, where he promptly landed next to Red Square, a stone’s throw from the Kremlin. It was a stunning achievement, not only because of the real risk of being shot down, but also because Rust had only 50 hours of flying experience. 

The West German teenager was driven by a noble cause. He explained how he wanted “to build an imaginary bridge between West and East,” and how he thought “every human on this planet is responsible for some progress and I was looking for an opportunity to take my share in it.” He carried with him a 20-page world peace manifesto that he planned to deliver to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. Rust was arrested immediately after landing, and later sentenced to four years in prison (he served 14 months before being released). How far Rust managed to advance peace is impossible to say, but his daring flight did result in a swathe of high-profile firings and demotions, including the Soviet defense minister and the commander of the country's air defenses.  

The Black Sea Bumping Incident

The idea of two Russian frigates deliberately ramming into two American ships sounds like something that could spark a wider conflict. But the Black Sea bumping incident of 1988, in which that very thing occurred, was resolved fairly amicably — and fortunately, considering the Cold War tensions of the time. The incident occurred when the cruiser USS Yorktown and the destroyer USS Caron sailed close to the Crimean coast, partly to challenge the Soviet claim of a 12-mile territorial water limit. (The U.S. argued there was only a 3-mile international limit on the respective territorial waters.) The two vessels were shadowed by two Soviet frigates, one of which, the Bezzavetnyi, had previously warned the Yorktown it would “strike their ship with own” if the Americans entered Soviet territory. It was not an empty threat. The Bezzavetnyi closed to within 50 feet of the Yorktown before slamming up against it. The second Soviet frigate did the same to the Caron. Thankfully for all involved, there was no direct intention to sink either ship, no weapons were fired, and no wider escalation ensued. 

Stanislav Petrov May Have Saved the World

If it weren’t for Stanislav Petrov, the Cold War — and potentially the trajectory of human life on Earth — could have come to a devastating end. Petrov, a lieutenant colonel in the Soviet Air Defense Forces, was on duty on September 26, 1983, when his early-warning satellite system detected what appeared to be five approaching U.S. nuclear-armed intercontinental ballistic missiles. Had he followed Soviet military protocol and reported an incoming American strike, he likely would have set in motion a full nuclear retaliation. Instead, Petrov kept calm and reported a false alarm, reasoning that if the United States really wanted to start a nuclear war, it would launch far more than five missiles. Petrov was correct, and the false alarm was later discovered to have been the result of the Soviet satellite warning system confusing the sun’s reflection off clouds for incoming missiles. By keeping his cool, Petrov potentially prevented a full-scale nuclear war.  

A Masterless Samurai Could Become a Wandering Rōnin

Both the status and salary of a samurai warrior came from the lord, or daimyo, they served. If their lord died, or if the samurai disgraced themselves and lost their patronage, they could find themselves masterless, at which point they became a rōnin. These rōnin often ended up traveling Japan, offering their services to anyone in need of a sword for hire. It was seen as a tragic position, and a far fall from grace for any former samurai. Rōnin were viewed as a problem. Highly trained, armed, and yet leaderless, they had a reputation for troublemaking, banditry, and mercenary activities — and there were a lot of them. At the time of the decisive Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, it’s estimated that there were some 400,000 rōnin in Japan.

Women Warriors Fought Alongside the Samurai

Within the traditional samurai class, women were typically charged with maintaining the household — as well as defending it. They were therefore trained to use the naginata and a dagger called the kaiken. Some of these women went a step further, receiving the same training in martial arts and strategy as male samurai. Known as onna-musha, female warriors engaged directly in offensive battles as the equals of their male counterparts. Arguably the most famous onna-musha in Japanese history was Tomoe Gozen, who came to prominence during the Genpei War in the late 12th century. Renowned for her bravery, horsemanship, and exceptional skill with a bow and arrow, she famously led 300 samurai against a force of 6,000 enemy fighters — and, according to legend, emerged victorious as one of only five survivors.

There Were Samurai From Africa, China, and Europe

The samurai were almost exclusively Japanese, but a handful of foreigners were accepted into their ranks. The first was Yasuke, a tall man of African origin (perhaps from Mozambique, according to historians) who arrived in Kyoto in 1579. He caused a sensation, initially due to his race and height — he was a foot taller than the average Japanese man. Under the rule of Oda Nobunaga, a powerful feudal lord, Yasuke was trained in martial arts and eventually became a fully fledged samurai warrior. After Yasuke came four samurai from Joseon (now South Korea), one from China, and four from Europe. This latter group included William Adams from England and Jan Joosten van Lodensteijn of the Netherlands, two navigators who were stranded in Japan together in 1600. When neither man was allowed to leave the country, they ended up serving the shogunate and rising to the rank of samurai. 

There Was a Samurai Colony in California

The only settlement established by samurai outside of Japan — and the first Japanese colony in North America — was the Wakamatsu Tea and Silk Colony in Gold Hill, California. Established on June 8, 1869, the settlement was comprised of 22 people from samurai families (they even brought their swords with them), including farmers and carpenters, who had fled the Boshin War, a civil war that was a precursor to the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877 that effectively ended the samurai class. The colony got off to a bright start, with the planting of tea plants, mulberry trees, and bamboo, all in anticipation of the arrival of further colonists from Japan. But the influx of fresh settlers never came, and the farm soon began to fail. It’s unclear what happened to most of the settlers, but we do know that the historic site is home to the grave of Okei Ito, the first Japanese woman buried on American soil. The colony was also the birthplace of Mary Schnell (the daughter of the colony's founder, John Schnell), the first naturalized Japanese American citizen.