When Myanmar's military seized power in 2021, they followed a playbook as old as Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon. The tanks rolling through Naypyidaw echoed patterns seen in Santiago in 1973, Ankara in 1980, and Cairo in 2013. Despite vastly different contexts and technologies, successful military takeovers share remarkably consistent mechanics.

From ancient Rome to modern Africa, coups succeed or fail based on three critical factors: the erosion of civilian legitimacy, the careful construction of coalitions, and the decisive actions taken in the first 48 hours. Understanding these patterns reveals why some democracies crumble overnight while others withstand military pressure for decades.

Napoleon didn't seize power from a thriving republic—he stepped into chaos. The Directory that governed France before his 1799 coup had survived multiple uprising attempts and lost public confidence through economic crisis and military defeats. This pattern repeats throughout history: military takeovers rarely topple strong governments but instead fill power vacuums created by civilian failure.

Consider Chile's Salvador Allende in 1973. By the time Pinochet moved, inflation exceeded 600%, strikes paralyzed the economy, and Congress had declared Allende's government unconstitutional. Similarly, Pakistan's multiple coups—1958, 1977, 1999—each followed periods of civilian dysfunction that gave generals the opening to present themselves as saviors rather than usurpers.

The legitimacy threshold varies by society. Turkey's military staged four coups between 1960 and 1997, each time claiming to protect Atatürk's secular vision when civilian leaders strayed too far. But when Erdoğan faced a coup attempt in 2016, he had something his predecessors lacked: genuine popular support. Thousands of citizens literally stood in front of tanks, transforming what might have been another 'guardian coup' into a failed mutiny.

Suharto's rise to power in Indonesia reveals the patient art of coup coalition building. For eighteen months after the mysterious 1965 killings that sparked anti-communist purges, he methodically isolated President Sukarno while appearing to support him. Suharto secured the loyalty of key generals, won backing from Islamic groups fearful of communism, and gained tacit support from foreign powers before making his final move.

Successful coup plotters understand that raw military force alone rarely suffices. Egypt's Free Officers didn't just have tanks when they overthrew King Farouk in 1952—they had the Muslim Brotherhood's street power, the communists' organizational skills, and crucially, the acquiescence of the British who chose not to intervene. Even Caesar, with his legendary legions, spent years cultivating political allies in Rome before marching south.

Failed coups often reveal missing coalition pieces. Venezuela's 2002 coup against Hugo Chávez collapsed within 48 hours partly because plotters assumed business elite support meant popular backing. They controlled the media and had military units, but when poor neighborhoods descended from the barrios demanding Chávez's return, the coalition fractured. The coup leaders had forgotten that armies are drawn from society—soldiers hesitate to fire on crowds that include their own families.

At 3 AM on July 15, 2016, Turkish F-16s buzzed Ankara while soldiers seized bridges in Istanbul. Within hours, President Erdoğan was FaceTiming into CNN Turk from his iPhone, calling supporters to the streets. By dawn, the coup was failing. This modern example illustrates an ancient truth: the first 48 hours after a coup attempt determine its fate more than all prior planning.

Speed and communication control have always been paramount. When the Greek colonels seized power in 1967, they succeeded partly by arresting 10,000 potential opponents within six hours—before resistance could organize. Conversely, the 1991 Soviet coup failed when plotters couldn't control Boris Yeltsin's ability to rally opposition from atop a tank. Even in pre-modern times, successful usurpers rushed to control symbols of legitimacy: Caesar immediately seized the state treasury, while Chinese dynastic overthrows prioritized capturing the imperial seal.

The window for establishing fait accompli has actually shrunk with modern technology. Spain's 1981 coup attempt died on live television as millions watched Lieutenant Colonel Tejero hold Parliament hostage—the absurd spectacle undermined any air of inevitability. Today's coup plotters face an even harder challenge: social media makes information blackouts nearly impossible. Myanmar's 2021 coup succeeded partly because generals had learned from Egypt and elsewhere to throttle internet access immediately, but even then, satellite internet and VPNs allowed resistance to coordinate.

From Caesar to Myanmar, successful military coups follow patterns that transcend culture and technology. They exploit legitimacy crises, build unlikely coalitions, and race against time to establish irreversible facts. Understanding these mechanics doesn't just illuminate history—it reveals which contemporary democracies face genuine coup risks versus those where military takeover remains unthinkable.

The formula remains consistent, but the barriers to success have multiplied. Where once a handful of officers could topple governments, today's interconnected world makes pure military takeovers increasingly difficult to sustain without broader social acceptance.