In terms of military operations, nothing is harder—or riskier—than conducting an amphibious invasion. It isn’t merely a matter of shipping troops over water; it’s a matter of transporting them under fire, onto contested beaches, and then figuring out a way to keep those forces alive and supplied long enough to occupy ground. So, when others discuss the potential for an invasion of Taiwan, it is no wonder that veteran military strategists still consider it one of the greatest challenges out there.
To see why, all you have to do is look back at 1944. Then, the United States was at its strongest in the Pacific during World War II. Confronted with how to move in on Japan, American commanders wrangled over a significant question: Should they attack through the Philippines or try to conquer Taiwan, then called Formosa? Taiwan was appealing on paper. It would provide ports, airfields, and a launching point to pressure both China and Japan. But practical problems were so formidable that, in the end, the U.S. settled on the Philippines.
That wasn’t an easy decision. General Douglas MacArthur wished to free the Philippines, partly due to a sense of duty—it had once been American territory before being overrun by Japan. Yet he was also aware it would sever Japanese supply lines and lead toward a route into Japan. Admiral Chester Nimitz, on the other hand, preferred to attack Taiwan directly. He and others contended that capturing it would isolate Japan and provide the U.S. with more avenues to increase the war.
Their plan—Operation Causeway—was strategically sound. But it broke down under the realities of the situation. The logistics were too much. The danger was too great. Even for a military force as big and powerful as the U.S. Navy in 1944, the proposition of invading Taiwan’s coast was just too perilous.
That’s because amphibious attacks, regardless of the period, involve a lengthy list of issues. They usually play out in stages: first, equipment and forces need to be prepared and staged; then there’s the landing and fighting for a beachhead. Next, forces must secure the beachhead, send in reinforcements, and advance inland. It’s messy enough when nobody’s firing at you. Add in modern weapons and determined defenders, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.
History proves this. Take the Battle of Leyte Gulf. When U.S. troops landed in the Philippines in late 1944, they had the backing of an enormous fleet—over 700 ships in just the Seventh Fleet. But even that wasn’t enough to prevent major near-misses. Miscommunication among commanders, such as Admiral Halsey’s ill-fated choice to pursue a Japanese decoy fleet, almost left American troops vulnerable and exposed on the beaches. Only a combination of luck and Japanese blunders averted disaster. It drove home a harsh reality: navies without air support are sitting ducks. And that lesson has only grown more significant in the world of today’s missiles, drones, and high-tech warfare.
In retrospect, Operation Causeway had to isolate Taiwan before the arrival of even one troop. That involved air and naval superiority, hundreds of planes, and dozens of warships operating far from friendly bases. Fast forward to today, and the problem has not become any simpler. Any contemporary invasion would necessitate that China first eliminate Taiwan’s defenses, halt any assistance from Japan or the U.S., and secure dominance in the sea and air. Even so, bringing sufficient men, gasoline, and gear ashore—and keeping it coming under fire—would amount to a logistical nightmare.
And then there is Taiwan itself. Its topography does defenders much good. The coasts are rocky, the landscape is mountainous, and there are hardly any good spots to put down a large invading army. American planners in 1944 considered Kaohsiung to be the most promising, largely due to its harbor. Without access to a big, functioning port, any invading force would have to labor to put down heavy equipment or to resupply troops. They estimated it could take over 90 days just to build up enough strength to push north—and that’s with constant fighting, air attacks, and counterstrikes. Today’s Taiwan has only become better at defending itself, with hidden radar systems, mobile missile batteries, and hardened bunkers.
And let’s not forget the human cost. The U.S. planners behind Operation Causeway expected about 37,000 casualties in less than two months. That’s roughly 1 in 10 soldiers. For perspective, the Battle of Okinawa involved so many ships damaged or sunk that doing it again today would be impossible to keep under wraps, much less in an era of smartphones and live-streamed war. Any large-scale campaign would be on display for the entire world to see. Governments wouldn’t be able to keep the losses under wraps even if they tried.
Ultimately, the U.S. didn’t invade Taiwan in 1944—not because they couldn’t, but because the price was just too high. The uncertainty, the logistics, the geography, the projected losses—it all simply added up. And if that was true back in the battleship and island-hopping era, it’s even truer today in the satellite, cyberattack, and precision-strike era.
Which is why any suggestion of a sudden or easy invasion of Taiwan these days should be treated with extreme skepticism. As Dr. Benjamin Jensen says, the difficult aspects of war—country, supply lines, and balance of forces—have not disappeared. They’ve become more difficult to surmount. Even a successful invasion could cost so dearly in blood, treasure, and political repercussions that it would barely be worth the cost.