RARELY have American generals seemed less keen to claim glory on the battlefield. Those in charge of the Pentagon's Africa Command (Africom) are mightily relieved to have handed control of Libya's no-fly zone to NATO earlier this month, before the going got tough.

The orders from Barack Obama were to end their involvement within days rather than weeks, which they did. But the mission was never a comfortable fit. Africom is one of the oddest creatures in the American military. Its staff of 2,000 includes no regular troops, no “trigger-pullers”, unlike its sibling Centcom, which oversees Iraq and Afghanistan.

Responsible for American operations in all African countries except Egypt, Africom was set up four years ago in the toxic aftermath of the Iraq invasion to pioneer a new form of defence, encompassing diplomacy and development. To avoid future high-profile wars, commanders were told to focus on “smart power”: training national armies to keep the peace and to neutralise threats before they reach the headlines.

To do this, the Americans needed good relations with African leaders, many of whom were initially suspicious of the Pentagon. Nigeria and South Africa, the continent's military giants, have warmed to Africom in the past year. But the Libyan campaign has reignited fears of American domination.

After endlessly stressing that they will not drop bombs, the Americans face a high-pitched backlash. Things could get worse if Libya is de facto partitioned. Insecure neighbours may blame America for unleashing a secessionist bug, not least given its support for splitting up Sudan.

That would be unfair. America favours African stability above all else. It supported Sudan's partition only after all alternatives had failed. African leaders would do well to exploit America's new-found interest in the continent. Defence co-operation is already a boon to a number of governments. More than three-quarters of Senegalese officers have been to American war colleges, vastly boosting their professionalism. In the Sahara, weaker states are receiving help from Africom to fight al-Qaeda affiliates.

Still, some African suspicions are understandable. Making armies more capable could increase the risks of a coup, though Africom insists that greater professionalism also makes soldiers less political. Few, however, deny that America's role remains widely misunderstood.

The Pentagon—rightly obsessed with Iraq at the time—should have done a better job explaining Africom's mission when it was set up. Instead, the issue of where to base it dominated the debate. Many Africans wrongly assumed that America planned to build garrisons for armoured divisions on the continent.

In the end, most of the command ended up in sleepy and dour but prosperous southern Germany, perhaps the least African place in the world. Ensconced in manicured barracks with pitched roofs, its leaders have struggled to turn slogans into actions. Trained to fight rather than persuade, many are still planning responses to future conflicts instead of studying their potential causes so as to stop them before they become a real bother.

Yet most to blame for Africom's problems is the American political class. Not for assigning Africom the Libya mission and giving it troops and weapons. Combat operations were never excluded from Africom's mandate, merely downgraded. Rather, the politicians have failed to provide Africom with the main resource it needs to operate intelligently: trained civilian helpers.

A quarter of Africom's staff is meant to be made up of linguists, historians and other specialists. Yet 99.5% of Africom personnel are Pentagon employees. The State Department and other government agencies are too stretched to send experts. Congress happily pays for weapons but despises weaselly diplomats and woolly development aid, yet they are vital to ensuring that arms stay sheathed.