The methods of skilful employment of the strategic force are, like the heaven and earth, infinite and without end; as the tides and the flow of rivers, unceasing; like the sun and moon, forever interchanging; coming and passing, as the seasons.
There are five notes; but by combinations, innumerable harmonies are produced. There are but five colours; but if we mix them, the shades are infinite. There are five tastes but if we mix them there are more flavours than the palate can distinguish.[1]
Similarly, there is the detaining, or evident force, and the strategic force; but how many plans of battle can we not get from their combination! It is like unto a revolving wheel, perpetually changing, and without finality.
Like the rush of maddened torrents which carries away rocks, so is the shock[2] of battle.
Like the well judged cast of the falcon, in a flash crushing its quarry, so should that force be exerted.
Wherefore the good fighter, his force ever ready to be launched, and that swiftly, is like the stretched cross-bow, whose string is released at the touch of the trigger.
In the confusion of the attack, order is still preserved;
the battle array is perfect, impenetrable.
