Joseph Caddell

coercive pressure applied by British security forces and the commensurate danger that the movements’ hold over their communities might weaken. This emerges as the grim dynamic of counter-insurgency in Cyprus as in several other contested decolonizations. Colonial efforts to degrade insurgent capacity were intrinsically repressive of course, but they also provoked heightened coercion of civilian populations by the insurgents themselves. The trio of Cyprus governors – Sir Robert Armitage, Field-Marshal Sir John Harding and Sir High Foot – and their civil-military staffs worked hard to contain insurgent violence. But they could not acknowledge this basic escalatory dynamic of counter-insurgency, namely, that the greater the pressure they applied, the greater the value their opponents attached to the surrounding population’s compliance with insurgent objectives. The supreme requirement to regulate civilian lives fostered stronger official sanctions: curfews, punitive ‘emergency’ legislation and collective punishments. Hardly endearing, this, in turn, made information collection, always the key to low-intensity counter-insurgency, harder than ever. French, though, wisely rejects any simple equation between the prerequisites of intelligence gathering and the cases of beatings, torture and other security force maltreatment of detainees he explores. For one thing, these rights abuses, horrific certainly, were neither systemic nor systematically increased as part of any security lockdown. The mistreatment of detainees had other, more mundane causes. First among these was the growing reliance on Cypriot Turkish police auxiliaries who became surrogates, used to coerce suspects, on occasion to torture eokA detainees with the complicity of their British officers. For another thing, the shooting war against eokA turned in Britain’s favour because of other factors entirely: army reinforcement and mounting pressure on eokA units, a restructuring of police and Special Branch, and closer surveillance of target communities, particularly in the villages and urban districts where eokA activity was greatest. From late 1956 especially, British counter-insurgency tactics began corroding eokA’s military capacity. Yet, at no point after 1955 did the colonial administration regain much allegiance, still less any meaningful control among the island’s population. Many of the most vulnerable – public servants, community leaders, left-wingers – went unprotected, often with lethal consequences. why was this? Parsimonious Treasury funding and sometimes ponderous Colonial office supervision were part of the problem. Both were indicative of an unspoken whitehall consensus: that Cyprus was neither a top overseas priority nor wholly out of control. For all the unstinting efforts of Barbara Castle and other concerned outsiders to uncover official misdeeds in Cyprus, cover-ups were, according to French, easily arranged. Ambitious infrastructure projects languished unfunded; military reinforcements arrived but were frequently reassigned before their job was done. Communal antagonisms hardened meanwhile. The Cyprus problem, in other words, was deeper and more intractable than any of its warring parties cared to admit. As French demonstrates so persuasively, fighting eokA was never likely to produce conclusive victory for any side. Martin Thomas University of Exeter, UK martin.c.thomas@exeter.ac.uk

Abstract In the autumn of 1962, two weeks before U-2 aerial photographs confirmed Soviet deployments of nuclear missiles in Cuba, the US intelligence community attempted to image the island with the spy satellite Corona. Insufficient image resolution and extensive cloud cover, however, prevented this photography from providing solid evidence confirming or denying the presence of offensive missiles. This event – previously unaddressed either by Missile Crisis or Corona scholars – illustrates both the promise and the limits of early satellite imagery intelligence. It further provides insight into the early imagery tasking and coordination process and demonstrates needs that drove further development of national satellite reconnaissance in the years that followed.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, last year’s 75th anniversary of the D-Day landings saw a bevy of new books published on the subject. One of these is David Abrutat’s Vanguard: The True Stories of the Reconnaissance and Intelligence Missions Behind D-Day. An imposing tome, Abrutat’s 400-page history attempts a daunting task: to tell the comprehensive story of how reconnaissance and intelligence supported the planning and execution of Operation Overlord.

The ‘secret world of Russia’s Cold War mapmakers’, long an arcane topic of interest to a select few, first reached popular readership via a 2015 Wired article. Journalist Greg Miller interviewed geographers, cartographic scholars, and map dealers to tell the story of classified Soviet military maps, produced from the 1940s to the 1980s, depicting foreign locales in stunning detail. The hook of the story was, naturally, the clandestine and incisive nature of these maps and their data. The maps were marked ‘SECRET’ and subject to tight security controls. They included niche details not available on publically available Western maps of the same areas, details that must have been gathered in person or via overhead imagery. These included load capacities of bridges, specific outputs of individual factories, security perimeters, and infrastructural details of military installations left off public maps, even specific depths of littoral and riverine areas. How and why did the USSR map such details? John Davies and Alex Kent, two of Miller’s interviewees – indeed, two scholars largely responsible for the exhaustive collection and study of the maps at the center of the Wired article – have published their own treatment of the subject. Red Atlas is a masterful, expert dissection of the thousands of Soviet military maps that have bubbled up to public visibility in the West, ranging in scale and scope from large area 1:4,000,000 scale air navigation charts down to 1:10,000 city maps. Most importantly, it offers forensic analysis of who made the maps, how, and why. In grappling with these questions, Davies and Kent expand the literature on cartographic intelligence in new and exciting ways.

This study examines Anglo-American narratives of British and German photographic intelligence (PI) in Europe during the Second World War. According to these narratives, Germany relegated PI to tactical and operational applications; by contrast, Britain performed these same functions but also made strategic use of the discipline. This paper reevaluates how British and German PI actually differed. It further examines whether each side’s successes and failures were within the ‘agency of agencies’ – how much did PI successes and failures directly result from intelligence organizations’ choices and actions? Finally, this paper identifies implications of these narratives for comparative intelligence studies and historiography.

This paper identifies best practices for the selection and delivery of historical cases for use in intelligence studies education. These pedagogical imperatives (and avoidable pitfalls) apply to different levels of instruction and are relevant both for public and classified instruction. Drawing upon relevant social science scholarship on the use of historical case studies, the authors propose methods to select appropriate cases tailoured to achieve desired learning outcomes, to promote active learning and to avoid common problems such as hindsight bias, oversimplified single-narrative interpretations and prepackaged ‘lessons learned’ devoid of historical context.

In the autumn of 1962, two weeks before U-2 aerial photographs confirmed Soviet deployments of nuclear missiles in Cuba, the US intelligence community attempted to image the island with the spy satellite Corona. Insufficient image resolution and extensive cloud cover, however, prevented this photography from providing solid evidence confirming or denying the presence of offensive missiles. This event – previously unaddressed either by Missile Crisis or Corona scholars – illustrates both the promise and the limits of early satellite imagery intelligence. It further provides insight into the early imagery tasking and coordination process and demonstrates needs that drove further development of national satellite reconnaissance in the years that followed.