One of the most remarkable aspects of Admiral Nelson’s extraordinary successes against Napoleon’s French Navy (which one might consider the naval “hegemonic power” of the late 18th century) lies in his repeated employment of similar tactical approaches with devastating effectiveness. Nelson’s genius was not primarily in surprising his adversaries with novel strategies, but rather in repeatedly demonstrating tactical principles that the French command structure proved incapable of assimilating into their operational doctrine.

If that sounds like how the Russians have been sorely failing in their invasion of Ukraine, you’re in the right ballpark.

This persistent French vulnerability as aggressors stemmed significantly from a critical institutional deficiency in Napoleon’s military leadership paradigm. The Emperor’s systematic removal of competent officers in favor of those whose primary qualification was demonstrable personal loyalty created a command environment ill-equipped for adaptive response. This politicization of naval leadership rendered French fleets particularly susceptible to Nelson’s characteristic strategic manoeuvres.

The tragedy for the French Navy was not that they faced an incomprehensible tactical genius, but rather that their institutional architecture precluded learning from repeated encounters with the same strategic principles. Nelson’s victories at the Nile, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar thus represent not merely brilliant individual engagements, but a devastating commentary on the brittleness of military hierarchies that prioritize political reliability over professional competence.

A particularly salient illustration of Napoleonic naval deficiencies can be observed in both the Battle of the Nile and Trafalgar, where the French (and subsequently Spanish) forces deployed exceptionally large vessels at their formation’s center. These imposing ships, while impressive in scale, unwittingly became primary targets for Nelson’s signature tactical approach: the application of concentrated, localized firepower.

The operational disadvantage was further compounded by these oversized vessels’ markedly reduced maneuverability relative to their British counterparts. Nelson’s celebrated ‘breaking the line’ strategy thus gained additional efficacy against what were effectively static targets.

One might conceptualize the tactical mathematics thus: when Nelson’s 14 vessels approached a linear formation of 14 enemy ships of substantially greater tonnage, he would bisect their line and effectively deploy his 14 more agile and seasoned vessels (with a superior firing rate of 3:2) against merely half the enemy force. This fundamental arithmetic of targeted engagement is remarkably straightforward, which explains how Nelson’s captains could operate with such remarkable autonomy during combat operations.

The Battle of the Nile presents a particularly striking case study, where the French command made the extraordinary tactical error of manning only the seaward side of their vessels, operating under the flawed assumption that the shoreline provided adequate protection to leeward. This miscalculation rendered Nelson’s bifurcated assault devastatingly effective, as British ships could engage unmanned broadsides with impunity.

Again, it has to be said that these examples illuminate not merely Nelson’s tactical brilliance, but more significantly, the institutional inability of the French naval command structure to adapt to repeated demonstrations of superior principles across multiple engagements.

Perhaps most notable was the collapse of coordination and communication within the French fleets. Once their line was broken and subjected to concentrated fire, Nelson maintained a relentless, unified theory of localized assault, while the French struggled to devise any effective counter-strategy other than to fade away. Perhaps ironically, Napoleon used the same tactics on land against the Italians and Austrians yet lacked any competence or translation to sea.

The absolute defeat of French naval forces in both the Nile and Trafalgar was lopsided, swift, and devastating to the soft underbelly of Napoleon.

It’s a lesson that resonates today, where even the largest AI platforms, under attack by aggressive and nimble adversaries—like with Napoleon’s easily routed naval juggernauts—are seemingly setup and operated to invite catastrophic breaches.

Big Tech in a race to create the biggest AI platforms possible and stuff their leadership with adherents to a CEO recalls the fate of the gargantuan L’Orient in 1798, blown apart off the coast of Egypt, sinking France’s entire “unsinkable” campaign fortune.

And lest anyone forget, Nelson’s swift lopsided victories at both the Nile and Trafalgar were supported by an exceptional depth of talent.

Vice-Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood, a name almost nobody remembers yet who earned THREE Naval gold medals, perhaps deserves even more credit for applying the aggressive line-breaking localized fire tactics than Nelson himself at Trafalgar.

Are you now saying Collingwho? Here are some fun history facts about the underappreciated “Salt Junk and Sixpenny” (cheap food and booze) Collingwood who rose quickly to become one of the most decorated Admirals in history: Denied his first gold medal on a technicality, he protested and was awarded it retroactively after earning his second. Though excluded from a role in the Nile rout, he led the charge at Trafalgar and is credited with preserving the entire British fleet during both the battle and a subsequent horrific storm. Allegedly, even after suffering the loss of their fleet, the Spanish respected his executive actions so much that his leadership helped them overthrow the French. While Nelson inspired his fleet with strategic brilliance and daring tactics, Collingwood was a hard-core system administrator who excelled in operations—Nelson wisely deployed his vice-admiral as a man capable of fighting harder and better than any fleet three times his size.

Collingwood was a tough, resourceful individual who rose from humble, rough conditions to achieve the highest awards and greatness despite his unprivileged background. He was much more modest than an attention-seeking Nelson, preferring to focus on smooth operations and combat discipline rather than seeking fame or fortunes. He was even criticized for not being more aggressive about hunting foreign treasure and bounty in combat. His steady, reliable command did not seek the spotlight given he felt success was best measured as victory in combat—hence why his amazing historic contributions, though significant, are often unknown.

So who will historians look back upon and discuss as the Collingwood of our day, the quiet hero who routed the overly confident Napoleon(s) of Big Tech AI?