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We welcome Ulie Yildirim to The Central Blue to examine concepts of the military profession and discuss the profession’s status and role in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). This first of two parts presents an overview of the historical debates surrounding the characterisation of the military profession. ‘[A]lthough one would clearly want to have superior technology, the most important competition is not in the technological but the intellectual one. The main task is to find the most innovative concept of operations and organisations, and to fully exploit the existing and the emerging technologies’ Dima Adamsky[1] Introduction What is a profession? What does it mean to be in the profession of arms? What is professional mastery? Is professional mastery in the military a concept that is applicable to combat arms only? Within this context, how should the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) as the most technical branch of the military view itself within the profession of arms? More importantly, how should the RAAF develop future air power strategists capable of operating in an integrated and joint force to meet the Australian governments’ needs? Such questions have occupied the minds of scholars and practitioners since at least Samuel Huntington’s The Soldier and the State, published in 1957.[2] While Huntington’s proposed model was aimed at providing a broad framework for civil-military relations, his narrow interpretation of Carl von Clausewitz ignored the dynamic nature of professions in general which are continually competing for jurisdiction. This struggle for the link between a profession and its work requires professions to evolve and find ways to remain relevant.[3] In this light, the RAAF participates in the jurisdictional competition of protecting the nation’s interests through the use of complex air materiel, operated by a specialised workforce in which exposure to combat risks is typically confined to a very small proportion of the force. The RAAF has won its jurisdictional competition of protecting the nation’s interests by training, educating and promoting specialists. This investment in specialists has enabled the RAAF to remain efficient by using a smaller workforce and retain its position as a policy device of choice for the civil executive. However, this approach has seen workforce disengagement from the military profession due to strong connections with their specialisation. A symptom of this is the lack of importance RAAF personnel place on professional military education (PME) outside their specialisation. To articulate this argument requires an overview of the debates surrounding the military profession to show that an analysis of ‘the system of professions as a whole’ through the lens of jurisdictions provides a more accurate interpretation of the military profession, within which the RAAF adapts to remain effective and relevant. Second, a discussion of the RAAF’s training, education, promotion and employment continuum reveals that in its efforts to maintain its jurisdiction through the aerospace domain, the RAAF is developing specialists disconnected from the military profession. Finally, the rapidly changing Indo-Pacific region is shown to mean that the RAAF and its workforce concurrently must re-prioritise PME to remain effective and relevant. The Military Profession: From Characterisation to Jurisdiction Huntington began Part I of The Soldier and the State with the assertion that ‘[t]he professional officer corps is a professional body and the modern military officer is a professional man.’[4] Huntington then compared military officers to physicians and lawyers, while contrasting them from the warriors of the past through his model of professions.[5] In this model, Huntington argued that ‘[t]he distinguishing characteristics of a profession as a special type of vocation are its expertise, responsibility and corporateness’.[6] Huntington argued that officership is fundamentally a profession, despite acknowledging that no vocation meets the ideal, and officership falls shorter than most.[7] Huntington stated that the central expertise of officership is ‘management of violence’ with responsibility beyond gaining personal advantage, and corporateness defined as a sense of unity with its members and distinction from the laymen. [8] Huntington was attempting to frame civil-military relations for a military profession based on his perceptions of an idealised Prussian military and a narrow interpretation of Clausewitz’s principle that war as an extension of policy is the only means to exert one’s will over another.[9] He was responding to the US’s political and military context during the Cold War and arguing for an idealised objective civilian control of the military. [10] In doing so, he used Harold Lasswell’s definition of the role of the military to be the management of violence viewed through the lens of the United States’ military’s experiences during the First and Second World Wars.[11] Christopher Gibson explained that despite the idiosyncrasies and flaws of Huntington’s model, it was widely accepted and shaped the way several militaries saw themselves, even to this day.[12] In 1960, Morris Janowitz published The Professional Soldier as a response to Huntington’s objective civilian control of the military and characterisation of the military professional.[13] In his book, Janowitz argues for a subjective civilian control of the military while describing the military establishment as ‘a struggle between heroic leaders, who embody traditionalism and glory, and military “managers,” who are concerned with scientific and rational conduct of war.’[14] He argued that the increased complexity of military materiel led to the rise of military technologists and engineers. However, ‘[n]either heroic leaders nor military managers perform as military engineers or technologists.’[15] Akin to Huntington, Janowitz provided a characterisation of military professionals based on their expertise, lengthy education, group identity, ethics and standards of performance.[16] However, a stark difference from Huntington is Janowitz’s recognition of the evolving nature of the military profession ‘as a dynamic bureaucratic organisation which changes over time in response to changing conditions’ beyond the management of violence. [17] Extending Janowitz’s observations on the dynamic nature of the military profession, Charles Moskos suggested a pluralistic model to define the military profession encompassing a variety of units that exhibit divergence and convergence from civilian society.[18] Moskos argued that divergence from civil society was apparent in parts of the military that value traditional military roles and emphasised the heroic leader, such as combat units. Conversely, convergence with civil society would be observed in military roles such as education and medicine, where the task is not unique to the military.[19] The observations of Janowitz and Moskos were in response to the effects of the Cold War and the Vietnam War during a time of great upheaval within the American political and military cadre. This led to criticism that their models created two militaries in response to a crisis unique to the US, and potentially diluted the professionalism of the military.[20] In response, Moskos suggested a redefinition of the military profession representative of the current context may be required while recognising that any such definition faced a similar fate as Huntington’s due to the profession’s dynamic nature.[21] Arguably the models developed by Huntington, Janowitz and Moskos represented snapshots of the military’s role and position within society observed through the perceived characteristics of professions. These have led to considerable disagreement and misperceptions due to a lack of a consistent approach in assessing the military profession, further complicating debate. Recognising this problem within the study of professions in general, Andrew Abbott proposed an analysis of ‘the system of professions as a whole’.[22] Abbot provided a more compelling interpretation of an ever-changing nature of the military profession, continually adapting to new contexts and demands to remain effective and relevant, akin to any other profession.[23] Abbott’s analysis focused on the work performed by professions rather than their characteristics and demonstrated that professions evolve in similar fashions for acceptance by society or become obsolete.[24] He argued that by developing an abstract knowledge system, professions could redefine their ‘problems and tasks, defend them from interlopers, and seize new problems’ because professions conducting similar work are in constant competition over what he terms jurisdictions —‘the link between a profession and its work.’[25] Abbott argued that: [p]rofessions develop when jurisdictions become vacant, which may happen because they are newly created or because an earlier tenant has left them altogether or lost its firm grip on them. If an already existing profession takes over a vacant jurisdiction, it may in turn vacate another of its jurisdictions or retain merely supervisory control of it.[26] The creation of the United Kingdom’s Royal Air Force (RAF) is a case in point. The RAF partially won its post-First World War jurisdictional competition of defending the nation and its interests by arguing that it was able to conduct various roles including strategic bombing and colonial policing better and cheaper than the British Army and Royal Navy.[27] The RAF’s jurisdictional control and role within the military and society were reinforced at the start of the Second World War when the fear of German bomber aircraft redefined the problem of defending the nation.[28] Post-war debates over the efficacy of air power during the war and the validity of air power theories did not affect the RAF’s jurisdictional control, as its role was redefined again with the introduction of nuclear and precision bombs. The RAAF’s operations since World War Two fit well with Abbott’s observations that it is in continuous jurisdictional competitions. Furthermore, it can be seen that the RAAF has evolved beyond the management of violence to remain relevant due to the military profession’s changing context as identified by Beatrice Heuser, who stated: [c]onflict management is not enough, and it is not sufficient to impose one’s will on the enemy merely temporarily, through a successful military campaign… in order to be effective and lasting, a victory has to be built on military success, but has to contain a very large admixture of politics.[29] For example, the RAAF’s participation in Operations Catalyst and Slipper highlighted the RAAF’s response to this changing context. The RAAF provided two C-130 Hercules aircraft for air mobility support as part of these operations during the period between 2003 and 2008[30] ‘Although these aircraft represented only 3 per cent of the Coalition Hercules fleet, they had carried 16 per cent of the cargo lifted by all Hercules in theatre.’[31] During this period, the RAAF was not engaged in the direct application of violence, indicating that the RAAF has evolved beyond the management of violence. Furthermore, this evidence also highlighted that the RAAF’s efforts during this period ensured it was able to extend its jurisdiction over the air mobility domain. Air mobility support could have been obtained from coalition partners, but at least two RAAF C-130 aircraft was in theatre for an extended period of time. Nevertheless, the RAAF’s small commitment demonstrated its evolution to maintain its jurisdiction and remain a trusted policy device for the government. The Government’s subsequent decisions to expand the RAAF’s air mobility fleet through the acquisition of C-17A Globemaster and C-27J Spartan aircraft highlighted the RAAF’s success. Squadron Leader Ulas ‘Ulie’ Yildirim is an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect the views of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. [1] Dima Adamsky, The Culture of Military Innovation: The Impact of Cultural Factors on the Revolution in Military Affairs in Russia, the U.S. And Israel (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2010), p. 68. [2] Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State (Cambridge MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1957); Morris Janowitz, The Professional Soldier (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1960); Gwyn Harries-Jenkins and Charles C. Moskos, ‘The Military Professional and the Military Organization,’ Current Sociology 29:3 (1981). [3] Andrew D. Abbott, The System of Professions: An Essay on the Division of Expert Labor (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), p. 2, 20. [4] Huntington, The Soldier and the State, p. 7. [5] Ibid. [6] Ibid., p. 8. [7] Ibid., p. 11. [8] Ibid., pp. 10-4. [9] Ibid., p. 1, pp. 28-56; Carl von Clausewitz, On War, Translated and Edited by Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976). [10] Nadia Schadlow and Richard A. Lacquement Jr., ‘Winning Wars, Not Just Battles-Expanding the Military Profession to Incorporate Stability Operations’ in Suzanne C. Nielsen and Don M. Snider (eds.),  American Civil-Military Relations-the Soldier and the State in a New Era (Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 2009), p. 116; Christopher P. Gibson, ‘Enhancing National Security and Civilian Control of the Military – a Madisonian Approach’ in Ibid., pp. 241-3. [11] Huntington, The Soldier and the State, p. 11. [12] Gibson, ‘Enhancing National Security and Civilian Control of the Military – a Madisonian Approach,’ pp. 241-3; Eliot A Cohen, Supreme Command: Soldiers, Statesmen and Leadership in Wartime (New York: Anchor Books), p. 245. [13] Janowitz, The Professional Soldier. [14] Ibid., p. 21. [15] Ibid. [16] Harries-Jenkins and Moskos, ‘The Military Professional and the Military Organization,’ p. 10. [17] Ibid. [18] Charles Moskos, ‘The Emergent Military: Civil, Traditional, or Plural,’ The Pacific Sociological Review 16:2 (1973), pp. 255-80. [19] Harries-Jenkins and Moskos, ‘The Military Professional and the Military Organization,’ p. 17. [20] Ibid., pp. 17-8; Gibson, ‘Enhancing National Security and Civilian Control of the Military – a Madisonian Approach,’ p. 246. [21] Harries-Jenkins and Moskos, ‘The Military Professional and the Military Organization,’ p. 21. [22] Abbott, The System of Professions.. [23] Ibid., p. 2. [24] Ibid., pp. 2-3,19. [25] Ibid., p. 2, 20. [26] Ibid., p. 3. [27] John Buckley, Air Power in the Age of Total War (London: UCL Press, 1999), pp. 101-4. [28] Alan Stephens, ‘The True Believers: Air Power between the Wars’ Alan Stephens (ed.), The War in the Air (Tuggeranong: Air Power Development Centre, 2009), pp. 27-39. [29] Beatrice Heuser, ‘Clausewitz’s Ideas of Strategy and Victory’ in Hew Strachan and Andreas Herberg-Rothe (eds.), Clausewitz in the Twenty-First Century (Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 162. [30] The Governor General, ‘Royal Australian Air Force to Be Awarded the Meritorious Unit Citation Queen’s Birthday 2016 Numbers 36 and 37 Squadrons,’ Australian Honours and Awards (Canberra, Australia, 2016). [31] Australia. Royal Australian Air Force. Air Power Development Centre, Australian Air Publication 1000-H: The Australian Experience of Air Power (Canberra. Australia: Air Power Development Centre, 2013). #ProfessionofArms #Professionalism #RoyalAustralianAirForce #CivilMilitaryRelations #ProfessionalMilitaryEducation

We welcome Rodney Barton back to The Central Blue for his first short story, exploring the potential future of the planned Distributed Ground Station – Australia. It was a good day for a coup. The Vendilion parliament had just returned for a sitting week to discuss the latest mining deal with the great power nation of Keratos. Colonel William Dormand, known affectionately as ‘Wild Bill,’ had deployed his troops around key government sites in Vendilia and deployed his crack special forces contingent to secure the parliament building. The military had secured the telecommunications and media institutions and even deployed phone jammers to prevent word from getting out. It had minimal effect, with social media alight with news that the military had just overthrown the Vendilion government.  Australia’s national intelligence agencies were caught by surprise; perhaps they were too focused on Keratos’s expanding influence. The Australian government hastily convened a national security cabinet meeting to discuss response options. The Australian Defence Force was immediately at work planning for anticipated options. The Air and Space Operations Centre (AOC) located within Headquarters Joint Operations Command contacted critical Air Force units to commence military planning. One of the key units involved was the Distributed Ground Station – Australia (DGS-AUS), located in Adelaide. This intelligence unit was responsible for the analysis of data collected from the various Air Force intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance (ISR) aircraft. It also had access to national intelligence resources and using advanced computer systems, it could rapidly fuse collected information and provide decision-makers with enhanced situational awareness of events – such as a military coup in Vendilia. The DGS-AUS unit had already commenced working the Vendilion crisis, beginning with the use of publicly available information, such as Vendilion social media, to understand the mood of the population. In the past, Air Force intelligence analysts rarely used open source information, and when they did, it was typically haphazard. However, social media now pervaded society to the point where people’s lives were virtually recorded in the public domain. The open source analysts were quick to discover the locations and status of many Australian nationals in Vendilia; this information could support evacuation planning. Moreover, the social media posts provided an understanding of what was occurring around Vendilia, particularly the posture of the coup leaders. SAAB Hololens concept for ISR planning DGS-AUS, other units, and the AOC conducted collaborative planning using augmented reality (AR) Hololens visors. This allowed all the participants to not only view all the remote participants involved in the planning, but also the Vendilia area of interest presented in three dimensions highlighting key terrain and locations. Additional information, such as threat and friendly positions were overlaid on a 3D map, allowing planners to see how aircraft could maximise sensor performance and mitigate threats. This was a significant improvement on planning activities in the past, which typically involved large hard copy maps, spreadsheets with key targets, and significant use of PowerPoint slides to ‘sell’ the plan to leadership. Previously, planning was cumbersome, and process driven. Now, 3D representations allowed planners and decision makers to visualise the dynamics of critical events to improve their understanding. Air Force ISR aircraft were soon flying towards Vendilia. A manned MC-55 Peregrine aircraft and MQ-9 Reaper unmanned aircraft were above Vendilia, collecting vital data around the planned collection targets. This data was transmitted back to Australia and into the network, with DGS-AUS analysts eagerly transforming the 1s and 0s into useable intelligence. In the mid-2020s the ability to fly an aircraft remotely in another part of the globe was a recent concept for the Australian military, but the communications networks had matured enough to allow beyond-line of sight control and analysis. The Air Force could also consolidate its intelligence analysts within a central location in DGS-AUS, and virtually collaborate on missions with Army and Navy intelligence analysts. Not only did this provide flexibility and economy in the Joint Force analytical effort, but it also avoided having to deploy more people forward, potentially into harm’s way. The DGS-AUS analysts were working hard on their workstations.  But rather than just gathering information to transform into intelligence like the industrial processes of the past, they were actively hunting for key pieces of the puzzle to provide answers to decision-makers. To support their efforts, the DGS-AUS system was using multiple artificial intelligence (AI) agents to augment the analytical process. One AI agent was busy scraping relevant data from intelligence databases on Vendilion military activity around the Vendilion capital. Another was classifying objects on the screen for the analysts in real-time and reporting what it was seeing. The AI algorithm had been taught to identify dozens of objects, including weapons.  Previous intelligence reporting had indicated that the Keratos military had provided Vendilion forces with advanced crew-portable surface-to-air missiles (SAM). The AI agent, teamed with the human analyst, was able to detect and classify soldiers who were operating these high-threat missiles near the Vendilia airport. Based on AI cueing, Australian strike aircraft engaged these SAMs on the ground to prevent any threat to the helicopters that were flying in at low-level – allowing Australian special forces to secure the airport and assist in the evacuation of Australian citizens. A USAF Distributed Common Ground System (AF DCGS), also referred to as the AN/GSQ-272 SENTINEL weapon system, is the Air Force’s primary ISR collection, processing, exploitation, analysis and dissemination (CPAD) system. (Source: US Department of Defense) During the noncombatant evacuation operation, DGS-AUS analysts were also monitoring the response from Keratos given their influence in Vendilia. Strategic intelligence indicated that the Keratos Navy was assembling an amphibious task group in preparation for their own evacuation. The Australian government quickly directed long-range maritime surveillance around Vendilion waters. DGS-AUS analysts were now supporting maritime surveillance missions by MQ-4C Triton and P-8A Poseidon aircraft as well as the continuing ISR missions over Vendillia. DGS-AUS integration with the strategic intelligence community provided substantial cueing for RAAF assets to maintain battlespace awareness on the potentially looming threat that was heading to Vendilia… To be continued… Squadron Leader Rodney Barton is an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force. This post was originally submitted as part of a Squadron Leader Barton’s Graduate Certificate in Public Sector Innovation through the University of Technology Sydney in 2018. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect the views of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. #artificialintelligence #ScienceFiction #RoyalAustralianAirForce #ShortStory #Fiction

We are very pleased to welcome Damien Hare to the Central Blue with his fascinating exploration of Operation Carthage and its implications for contemporary operations. The popular perception of bombing in World War II is of inaccuracy and indiscriminate destruction. Despite early intentions to conduct precision raids in Europe, both the Royal Air Force (RAF) and the United States Army Air Forces found that limitations of technology, training and the elements severely constrained their ability to conduct accurate bombing. Consequently, they adopted strategic bombing techniques that involved the delivery of explosives from high altitude against targets often defined only as ‘factory complexes’, and frequently with the primary, if unspoken, the aim of simply devastating large areas of German urban development. However, in an age of air power application renowned for area bombing and circular error probables measured in thousands of feet, Operation Carthage – the 1945 raid on the Gestapo headquarters in Copenhagen – is notable for its remarkable accuracy.[1] Operation Carthage demanded a level of precision that a modern audience would typically associate with laser-guided weapons being delivered through windows that first embedded itself in popular consciousness during the 1991 Gulf War. Moreover, a failure to have successfully done so would have directly endangered the very individuals the raid was, in large part, being conducted to protect. The ultimate success of the raid was thus a testament to the planning and execution of the operation and a tribute to the remarkable skill and airmanship of those involved. Despite the precision of the raid, Operation Carthage was bedevilled by the perennial problem of the bombing of pinpoint urban targets in World War II – large-scale collateral damage. Operating under the constraints of the navigation and target identification technology of the time, some of the raiding crews misidentified their target and delivered their munitions on a nearby school, resulting in the deaths of over one hundred children and teachers. Operation Carthage thus underscores the influence of the Clausewitzian concept of friction in war: while precision munitions can be shown to have reduced the numbers of non-combatants harmed as a result of air attack, arguments that technology may one day eliminate friction are fallacious.[2] For all its accuracy, Operation Carthage demonstrated a problem that remains no less relevant now – that high explosives, once committed to a target, can kill and maim indiscriminately. If the target itself is wrong – through misidentification in planning, through the confusion in execution, through friction – the precise delivery matters little. Rubble and ruins of the rear of the Gestapo HQ building in Copenhagen following a daylight attack on 21 March 1945, in which Mosquito aircraft of No. 464 Squadron RAAF took part. (Source: Australian War Memorial) The Raid As World War II drew to a close in Europe, members of the Danish Resistance became increasingly concerned that their movement was in danger of being eliminated by the German Gestapo. The Gestapo, operating from their headquarters in the so-called “Shell House” in Copenhagen, held considerable documentary evidence on Resistance activities in the building. Additionally, they had installed a number of cells where prisoners could be interned and interrogated. The Danish Resistance, through British operatives in Denmark, had for some time been requesting an RAF attack on Shell House to destroy the Gestapo’s files and remove the threat to their operations. Complicating their request, however, was their desire that the raid should, in addition to destroying the files contained on the central three floors, leave the upper floor – the location of the prison cells – intact to enable the detainees held there to escape.[3] Although initially unwilling, the RAF ultimately agreed to conduct the raid, which its designated Operation Carthage. Responsibility for the mission was assigned to No. 140 Wing of the RAF’s 2nd Tactical Air Force, comprising aircraft from Numbers 21 Squadron RAF, 464 Squadron Royal Australian Air Force, and 487 Squadron Royal New Zealand Air Force, all operating de Havilland Mosquito light bombers. Assignment of the operation to the 2nd TAF was due less to the nature of the raid in a tactical or strategic sense than to the planned method of execution, which would involve a strike conducted at roof-top level. No. 140 Wing was the most experienced in such techniques of the RAF’s Mosquito force at the time and thus possessed the capability and means to achieve the accuracy required.[4] Planning for the raid was meticulous. As one of the raid’s major challenges was the need for crews to identify an individual building in a built-up urban area visually, considerable effort was expended on creating a high-fidelity visual reference for the pilots. The imagery of the target area was gathered from aerial photography and Danish Resistance members, and a detailed relief model of the Shell House and the surrounding city environs constructed. The model enabled pilots to get their eyes down to the level at which they would fly their route and visualise the target as they would see it during the attack.[5] Further effort was devoted to weapon delivery. Though scepticism persisted as to whether it would be successful, the Mosquito crews planned their ingress to the target at rooftop level, aiming to deliver their bombs on a flat trajectory, or ‘skipping’ them in to the lower floors of the Shell House, destroying the Gestapo records on these levels while leaving the upper floors undamaged long enough that the prisoners held there would have time to escape.[6] Moreover, the raid was timed to reach the target when the Gestapo would have two shifts present, and the majority of document safes in the building would be reckoned to be open.[7] The raid was launched on 21 March 1945. Departing from RAF Fersfield in Norfolk, England, a total of 18 Mosquito bombers from No. 140 Wing were accompanied by 28 Mustang escort fighters and an additional two Mosquitos tasked with filming the mission. The aircraft travelled the 350 miles to Copenhagen over the North Sea and Danish countryside at wave and rooftop height, arriving at the target at approximately 11:00. Achieving surprise, the first wave of six bombers successfully identified the target and delivered their bombs, fused with a time delay to permit the aircraft to escape, with considerable accuracy. Their efforts were remarkably successful. Significant immediate damage was done to the central structure of the Gestapo Headquarters, killing around 150 members of the Gestapo and their Danish collaborators, and destroying the archives stored there.[8]  Additionally, though the initial blasts did kill some of the prisoners held in the attic, 18 of the 26 detainees held in the Shell House were able to escape during the raid.[9] The Shell House, substantially damaged, ultimately collapsed. By these results alone, the raid was a success. However, as they sped from the burning target at rooftop height, the Mosquito crewed by Wing Commander Peter Kleboe, and Flying Officer Reginald Hall clipped a post and building roof, and crashed into the nearby Jeanne d’Arc Catholic School, killing the crew.[10] As the second and third waves, each comprising six Mosquitos, approached, several crews misidentified the now-burning school as the actual target. As a result, seven of the 12 aircraft in the follow-on waves delivered their bombs – with No. 140 Wing’s trademark accuracy – on to the Jeanne d’Arc school, killing 86 children and 18 adults, and injuring over 150 more.[11] Speaking of the mission in a film made after the war, Ted Sismore, the master navigator for the raid, noted the irony of the tragedy, observing that, given the success of the initial wave: [h]ad all the bombs gone into the target [the Shell House], it’s most likely that most of the Danes in the attic would have been killed. The loss of the children […] affected us very much.’[12] Three other Mosquitos and two Mustang escorts were lost through enemy action with one Mustang pilot becoming a prisoner, and the remaining seven aircrew killed.[13] The Gestapo HQ building in Copenhagen was a burnt out shell following a daylight attack on 21 March 1945, in which Mosquito aircraft of No. 464 Squadron RAAF took part. (Source: Australian War Memorial) Friction and Precision Carl von Clausewitz described friction in warfare as comprising: [c]ountless minor incidents – the kind you can never really foresee – [that] combine to lower the general level of performance so that one always falls far short of the intended goal.[14] Moreover, friction ‘is everywhere in contact with chance’, and thus brings about effects in war that cannot be measured and, importantly, reliably predicted.[15] Operation Carthage, though objectively a successful military operation, is illustrative of the role of friction in the conduct of war. Despite thorough planning, well-trained crews, and state-of-the-art equipment, the mission resulted in over 250 civilian casualties, none of whom had been accepted during planning as anticipated victims of the raid. It was chance and friction that placed them in harm’s way. The limitations of the technology of the day compelled crews to identify targets visually. The speed and altitude of the approach, necessitated by the need to both maintain surprise, protect them from air defences and identify the target, gave crews precious little time to line their approach up, select the correct target, and deliver their weapons before beginning evasive manoeuvres and leaving the target area. Once the smoke from the burning school, located near the actual target, became prominent, the limitations of human capacity in this demanding and stressful environment made misidentification of the target increasingly likely. The cascading effects of Kleboe and Hall’s Mosquito clipping structures, crashing into a school, igniting a fire, smoke from this fire obscuring the actual target and drawing following crews to identify the school as the Shell House epitomise the concept of friction in war as Clausewitz envisaged it. Casualties are sustained where they had not been anticipated. Plans lose effectiveness as the course of action deviates from the expected path. Actions are taken that produce unhelpful results. The simplest things become difficult, as Clausewitz warns, and with this difficulty comes unpredictability and undesired effects.[16] The civilian casualties at the Jeanne d’Arc school were not the result of wayward bombs that missed the Shell House due to poor aim, aerodynamics, or any other vagary of an unguided weapon. The bombs that hit the school did so because they were aimed at the school; they were delivered precisely at a structure that the crews had identified as their briefed target. By precisely bombing the wrong target, the Operation Carthage crews highlighted an enduring reality of war that promises offered by enhanced technologies have not yet overcome – and will likely never do so. With the introduction of precision-guided munitions on a large scale in the 1990s, advocates of the technology argued that their use would make war cleaner, less destructive, and reduce the suffering of non-combatants. Some proponents, such as former Admiral William Owens, former US Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, argued that technology, in general, would reduce such a constraint on war to the point where it is militarily insignificant.[17] However, Clausewitz’s notion of friction was not limited to the physical domain and included influential intangible factors that exist in the mental domain.[18] Such factors – fear, stress, confusion, the effects of physical hardship and fatigue, the uncertainty of information and what it may mean – can be influenced by technological aids and solutions, but existing in the non-physical realm the ability to eliminate from the battlefield completely is highly questionable. While enhanced technology offers greater fidelity in target acquisition, identification and discrimination, and precision munitions provide a high level of confidence in striking a target, the precise effects that precision munitions can attain are contingent on the target being right in the first place. Here, the non-physical elements of friction can have a significant influence. During the 1990-91 Gulf War, a civilian defence shelter in the Amiriyah neighbourhood of Baghdad was struck by two laser-guided bombs after it had been incorrectly identified as a command post or military bunker for the Iraqi military. Over 400 civilians and the incident led to restrictions on further US raids on the Baghdad for the duration of the war.[19] Another case occurred during the 1999 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation bombing campaign against Serbia. Inexperience, complacency and poor information management combined to lead the Central Intelligence Agency to misidentify the Chinese Embassy in Belgrade as the headquarters of a Serbian arms agency. Passed to the air planners as a target, the embassy was struck by five satellite-guided bombs Three Chinese nationals were killed, 20 injured, and tensions in the US-China relationship significantly increased.[20] As was the case with the Jeanne d’Arc School, in these examples, the precision munition functioned as designed to, highlighting that where the wrong target is identified, today’s technology simply makes it more likely that the wrong target will be hit precisely. At the heart of this particular manifestation of friction is the human element in warfare. During Operation Carthage, as in the case of Baghdad and Belgrade, the involvement of humans in the application of weaponry through misinterpreted or incorrect information was a clear contributing factor to the tragic outcomes. However, removing the human entirely from the loop itself, as may be promised through the development of autonomous weapons systems, will not completely mitigate the effects of friction either. An adversary may act, such as countermeasures to ‘spoof’ or jam precision guidance or surveillance systems or may defeat intelligence collection and analysis efforts through deception and concealment. Moreover, technology, regardless of its sophistication or reliability, can fail. A system designed and constructed by humans remains susceptible to a myriad of human factors, influences and failings, even when the human is no longer involved in the actual operation of the system. Technology itself thus introduces an element of friction, independent to human involvement, and the enduring nature of war as a chaotic, violent act ensures that the influence of this friction can never be completely eliminated.  Technology may promise a cleaner, more precise war, but the effects of friction will continue to be experienced in the application of force. Unintended consequences will remain an unavoidable fact of conflict in the future as much as they were in 1945. Operation Carthage was in many respects a triumph of determination, planning, training and courage. It reflected the epitome of human skill in air strikes at the time. The strike foreshadowed the potential of precision munitions nearly a half-century later. At the same time, it demonstrated the impact of friction in warfare. The raid was planned and executed with the specific intent of minimising unnecessary casualties; of targeting as precisely as was possible with the technology of the time; and with the explicit aim of avoiding harm to certain individuals and enabling them to escape the subject building. Tragically, through friction and chance, and their cascading effects on human perception and action, the planning and execution were misapplied, and dozens of non-combatants were killed as a result. With precision weapons today offering those same potential effects as Operation Carthage sought to achieve – the ability to target precisely and minimise unnecessary suffering – it remains pertinent to recall the outcome of the raid. War is and remains a human activity, subject to all the limitations and constraints of the human condition. Friction, and its impact on human actions in war will endure as long as humans continue to have a place – any place – in the conduct of conflict. Wing Commander Damien Hare joined the Royal Australian Air Force as an Aerospace Engineering Officer in 1996 and has worked in a variety of roles, including F-111 maintenance and engineering, Aerial Delivery Certification, Aircraft Accident Investigation and the acquisition of the P-8A Poseidon aircraft. He holds a Bachelor of Engineering (Aeronautical), a Master of Arts (War Studies) and a Master of Military and Defence Studies, specialising in the Art of War. He is currently posted as Directing Staff at the Australian War College, Canberra. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect the views of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. [1] For any given weapon system, the ‘Circular Error Probable’ is a measure of accuracy. The distance represents the radius of a circle, centred on the aiming point, within which half of the projectiles released will land [2] For example, see P. Meilinger, ‘A Matter of Precision,’ Foreign Policy (2001), p. 78. To be fair, arguments for the ability of precision munitions to minimise civilian casualties usually acknowledge that chance, error and friction – normally through human involvement in the use of precision munitions – will continue to exert an influence on adverse outcomes, even if heavily reduced. However, argumentation in favour of the use of autonomous weapons systems as being ethically sound due to their technology-based precision and their elimination of human-based error suggests there is a potential case for friction to be eventually overcome. See R. Arkin, ‘Lethal Autonomous Weapon Systems and the Plight of the Non-Combatant,’ AISB Quarterly, 137 (2013), pp. 1-9; B. Watts, Clausewitzian Friction and Future War (Institute for National Strategic Studies McNair Paper 68, National Defense University, 2004), pp. v-vii for elements of both sides of this debate. [3] M. Gilbert, Second World War (London, UK.: Phoenix Press, 2000), p. 651 [4] A. Leong Kok Wey, ‘Special Operations by Air Power: Strategic Lessons From WWII,’ Air Power History, 2017, p. 37. [5] T. Sismore, as shown in the film ‘The Shell House Raid’, Balkan, E. (producer), 2011, Ed Balkan Productions. [6] K. Velschow, ‘The Bombing of the Shellhus’ (2013). [7] Balkan, ‘The Shell House Raid.’ [8] Kok Wey, op cit. [9] Velschow, op cit. [10] http://www.peoplesmosquito.org.uk/2013/12/06/operation-carthage-the-shell-house-raid-21st-march-1945/. [11] A. Keleny, ‘Ted Sismore (Obituary),’ The Independent, 25 June 2012, p. 44. [12] Sismore, as quoted in Balkan, op cit. [13] http://www.peoplesmosquito.org.uk/2013/12/06/operation-carthage-the-shell-house-raid-21st-march-1945/. [14] Carl Von Clausewitz, On War, edited and translated by M. Howard and P. Paret (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976), Bk. 1, Ch. 7, p. 119 [15] Clausewitz, op cit, p. 120. [16] Clausewitz, op cit, p. 119. [17] W. Owens, extract from Lifting the Fog of War, as quoted in M. Cancian, ‘Seeing through the Fog of War,’ Proceedings, 30:2 (2004), p. 50. [18] E. Keisling, ‘Fog – ‘On War’ without the Fog’, Military Review (2001). [19] R. Atkinson, Crusade: The Untold Story of the Gulf War, (London: Harper Collins Publishers, 1994), pp. 275-7, 285-90. [20] E. Schmitt, ‘In a Fatal Error, C.I.A. Picked a Bombing Target Only Once: The Chinese Embassy,’ New York Times, 23 July 1999. #SecondWorldWar #RoyalAustralianAirForce #AirPower #AirPowerHistory #RoyalAirForce

Fiction is playing an increasingly important role in shaping the debate and discussion on the future of warfare. In this short story, Jason Begley explores the enduring nature of technology’s influence on the conduct of war and the challenges associated with managing the short-term benefits gained through a technological edge. Almost dawn. He drew a deep breath. It was today. It had to be today. His people, with their augmentations, were as ready as they could be. And time was most definitely not on their side. The technological breakthrough of the augmentation had changed so much, and he knew that those changes were but the beginning. Once the augmentations had assured their survival, he had no doubt that variations of this new generation of technology would change many facets of their lives, perhaps even their entire way of life. After today, things would never be the same. He knew the advantage the augmentations gave them would be fleeting. While he believed they had managed to keep them secret from their adversary, he knew that once fielded in combat, their secret would be in the open. He had argued strenuously with the others that the time for choice was long past, knowing that they could not afford to hide the technology any longer. This was now about his people’s survival, and it was the time for action. The recollection of how they came to this point caused his stomach to churn and brought a sour, acid taste into the back of his throat. Their neighbours, and their neighbours’ neighbours spoke eloquently about the common good, shared values, cooperation, and rules-based orders that respected each other’s rights: a world in which might did not make right. Their apologist talks about their adversary despite its belligerence and expansionist nature. Their claims that his people were overly focusing on differences in culture. Their self-assured statements that his people need not worry because the region shared inextricably linked interests, and a sense of collective security would prevent any aggression. Talk. And more talk. But merely talk and nothing more concrete than that. All of it just empty words and empty promises from those with either nothing to lose or who hoped that by not antagonising the rising power they might avoid its gaze.  The bystander mantra of ‘go along to get along’. The tools of the appeaser. It had always been thus. He had watched their adversary slowly but surely increase in size and might, subordinating minorities within their own borders and unifying under a hegemonic social construct that valued themselves highest and the others as merely means by which to further their own interests. There was no talk of shared values or collective arrangements from them. Territories that had been shared for generations were encroached upon and their resources exploited with no regard for their neighbours. All to feed the seemingly insatiable appetite of a booming population and the egos of yet another generation in their ongoing cult of personality. It had always been thus. The basic maths was indisputable, and still yet the appeasers had disputed it. Their adversary’s entire society and its growth and population and industry required it to expand to sustain itself lest it collapse. Even for an old grunt like him, this was obvious. But unsurprisingly, being right had not eased the bitterness of being proven right. That he and others had pushed their leaders to be better prepared for the inevitable while their leaders maintained their faith in ‘talk’ only increased the bitterness. He would rather have been proven wrong than be in their present position. Their territory invaded and almost lost in its entirety. Their resources, seized. Their people, refugees in their own borderlands – those who survived the attack anyway. Even now, more talking from their neighbours. Calls for restraint, and respect, and rules. He resisted the urge to vomit. With the bulk of their resources lost, his people were now doomed to a gradual decline as a society, people, and culture. The alternative was to make ‘peace’ with their attacker and join their society. His lip curled in a sneer at the term, knowing that it really meant second-class citizenry and indentured labour as they were slowly absorbed into the hegemon. The choice to die slowly or become a battered spouse in an abusive marriage was no choice at all. And still, the talking among their neighbours continued… He glanced at his colleague, the scientist, and reflected on the shift in talk among his own people. In the aftermath of the invasion, there had still been a perception of choice – albeit both options were bad. The choice between accepting annexation and all the suffering it would bring, or to fight back, knowing full well that they could not win and that the suffering that would be inflicted on those of their people who did survive would be worse as a result. But now… He looked down at his arm and its augmentation. He did not know where her concept had originated.  He did not, at this juncture, particularly care. She had the idea, she developed a prototype, and she demonstrated, unambiguously, its merits. Some of his commanders, licking their wounds and nursing their injured pride after her initial demonstration, had still resisted the augmentation. They saw it as too different and argued it was untested in real combat conditions. But concurrent with her proposal and prototype she also fielded an unassailable logic: If what they had been doing so far had delivered only resounding defeat, would not more of the same only assure more of the same? He smiled wryly as he recalled the gritted teeth of his peers, ‘their’ capability and credibility as warriors challenged by an academic. Her technology would also alter the conventions of conflict irreversibly. The weak gained disproportionate lethality against those who would otherwise be stronger. This prompted more heated and emotive arguments over tradition, romantic notions of combat and the warrior ethos, the entrenched foundation of structures and training regimes on which he and his peers had built their place in this society. While the augmentation, and their situation, made such adherence to past notions laughable, it was again logic that prevailed as she asked a single question, scathing in its simplicity and brutal reductionism. ‘Given the victor will write our history, what is the value of dying with pride, compared to survival as a people?’ With that existential argument, the debate ended, and their course was set. His thoughts returned to the augmentation. The testing has been hasty due to their situation, but as thorough as they could afford. After initial setbacks with some candidates, they realised that the augmentation could and should be better tailored to its host, leveraging their respective strengths. True, matches were not always perfect, but time was at a premium, and the resources for the augmentation were limited. Then there were the hosts themselves. Some (and he grudgingly accepted it was mostly the younger hosts) adapted swiftly to the augmentation. He had needed to be taught how to use the augmentation while those younger hosts had not only rapidly taken to the technology but had gone beyond the scope of testing to develop new techniques that further realised the augmentation’s potential. Others… Well, some hosts (again, he grudgingly admitted it was mostly his generation) simply could not appear to grasp the concept of the augmentation or to optimise its use. Whether this was due to a muscle-memory too attuned to long-standing tactics and techniques, or because they subconsciously could not accept the inherent unfairness of the advantage it offered over a foe was unclear. But during testing, the augmentation quickly proved to be more of a hindrance than a benefit for these hosts, and with resources in short supply, they were swiftly cut from the program. Executing the testing itself had not been without challenge. Their adversary monitored them closely. Whether to see if they were massing what forces they had left for a counter-attack or to choose a time to deliver the coup de grâce was irrelevant – they were constantly under surveillance. While the scientist had initially demonstrated the augmentation in the open, he recognised its potential and had acted swiftly to implement a security regime around it lest the technology become widely known and its advantage lost. The testing had then been conducted in secret, with only the most trusted personnel brought in to help improve it and develop the training. They had made use of the furthest reaches of their territory, regions in which the adversary’s surveillance access was most limited. At the same time, they had massed and manoeuvred forces closer to their old lands to distract surveillance resources and the intelligence analysts who would pore over the data those resources collected. He was cautiously confident that they had maintained their secrecy. Then again, he reflected, whether they had or had not, they were committed to action now, and the proof of how effective their measures had been would very much be evident in the outcome. Either way, that outcome would be swifter than the painful attrition they currently faced. It was time. He stretched, feeling the weight of the augmentation. But like all the successful hosts, the initial awareness of that weight was overtaken by a satisfying sensation of it as an extension of his own body, and he knew that in combat it would perform as exactly that. He stepped forward to lead his people to war. … The scientist listened intently as he relayed how the battle had unfolded and how her technology had performed under real conditions. He noted that things had played out more swiftly than they had imagined, surpassing even their most optimistic plans. They had closed the enemy, he said, widely dispersed to minimise the adversary’s ability to establish a real-time appreciation of the battlespace as a whole and build the situational awareness necessary to recognise that an attack was imminent. As they attacked the adversary’s early warning network, their augmentations came to the fore. The order of magnitude increase in lethality meant that as each sentinel was struck, they had no capacity to raise the alarm. The augmented forces then penetrated deep into what were their former territories towards their former homes. They found their adversary’s annexation force wallowing in complacency, totally unprepared. They targeted attacks on the leadership that caused paralysis among lower echelons, a weakness his intelligence staff had anticipated for their adversary with its highly centralised leadership and regimented structure. What little defence had been briefly mustered rapidly shifted into a rout as the strike forces systematically and thoroughly executed their plan to finality. She listened as he described the final scenes – brief, deliberate, and brutal. That plan had also been the subject of a debate that retained a degree of unease for her and all those involved, even though they had all agreed it was unavoidable. While today’s battle may have regained their territory, they knew the risk of a counter-attack from their adversary and reversal of their gains would be greatly increased if the adversary understood how they had been defeated and developed a countermeasure to the augmentation. Or worse, if their adversary were able to rapidly achieve augmentation of their own forces. They simply could not afford to let combatants who had viewed the augmentation in combat return home, but they did not have the means to detain them. That debate had circled around, ranging from ethics to collateral damage and proportionality. In the end, it came down to the question of risk. In terms of likelihood and consequence, what would happen if their secret were turned on them? So how far they were willing to go to protect it even once the battle was won? And so, she thought, the battle had been won, and everything was back how it had been. But everything was different. Their adversary had shown its hand, its willingness to simply take what it needed while pretending the case to be otherwise. Would their neighbours act now to prepare themselves, or would appeasement remain the order of the day, even though they had seen that a stand could be taken and their adversary’s nose bloodied? And now they had crossed a line in terms of collateral effects, would the nature of conflict change and proportionality cease to be a player? Certainly, she was sure, the need to maintain the technological edge would become critical to security, and a continuous escalation of military capability would become a new norm. Her thoughts were interrupted by his question. ‘Sorry,’ she replied, ‘I missed that.’ ‘I said, what now? Things will never be the same again,’ he said, echoing her own thoughts. She paused, her expression betraying the fact that she had already been thinking beyond the fight even as the soldiers prepared for it. She knew that this moment was the point at which their leadership, including her critics, had the greatest confidence in her technology and her plans, so she needed to ensure that scientific progress maintained the position it had now attained. ‘Export.’ ‘What?’ he asked, astounded. They had killed, arguably murdered, to keep this secret and now she proposed simply trading it away? ‘We are still too small to hold our own, even with the augmentation. We need the support of others. And the only way they will support us is if they know that they can stand with us as equals, not beside us as fodder.’ She continued, ‘Our neighbours share our fears, and they’ve seen what could happen to them. But they now know that winning is possible with the right technology. We give them a less capable version of the augmentation than our own, and we also withhold our most effective techniques and tactics. We gain from trade while maintaining the technological edge. Meanwhile, we build collective arrangements for the augmentation to create an alliance in which we can all contain the threat.’ He nodded slowly. It wasn’t just the nature of battle that had changed. He saw now an entire element of industrial statecraft that would need to be developed and closely managed. He may have only been an old soldier, but he recognised her and her breed of thinkers, with ideas beyond his ability to easily conceptualise, as the future. A future he needed to support. ‘Bring me your plan. I’ll handle the others.’ It was nearing dawn as she returned home. No, she noted, not home, this was just temporary. But soon, very soon they would be home. She was tired. But she was exhilarated. The combat forces may have secured the victory, and would no doubt gain the plaudits of her people. It had always been thus. But she knew that their achievements would have been impossible without her augmentation technology. And she knew she now had to keep that technology one step ahead of any others that may be developed. She looked in on her children, still sleeping and oblivious to both the irreversible shift that had occurred in their world and their mother’s role in it. She sat between them as the first rays of sunlight crept across the lightening sky. The pair of them shifted in their sleep, moving closer to her warmth.  She cast her eyes towards the object across from where she sat and thought back to the moment three weeks earlier when it had simply appeared. They had been fleeing the invaders and stopped to rest for the evening. She awoke at dawn, to find it standing nearby among a pile of loose bones. Twice her height. Immobile, unmovable and silent. So black as to seem to absorb the sun’s rays altogether. As she touched it, she had felt a surge of anger, frustration and fear for their future, taking up a leg bone from the pile and striking those around the monolith with all her might. That moment she had seen a new generation of fighting power and everything had changed. She stroked her children’s fur and closed her eyes and wondered what the next generation of technology would bring. Group Captain Jason Begley is a Royal Australian Air Force officer currently serving as the Director of Joint Effects at Headquarters Joint Operations Command, and posted mid-2019 to the National Security Fellowship at Harvard’s JFK School of Government. He is a graduate of the Australian Defence Force Academy and Australian Command and Staff College, with Masters in both Defence Studies (UNSW) and Military Studies (ANU). In his extensive spare time, he is undertaking a research PhD co-sponsored by the Air Force and the Sir Richard Williams Foundation. The views expressed are his alone and do not reflect the opinion of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Department of Defence, or the Australian Government. #Fiction #futurewarfare #ScienceFiction #technology

We welcome Keirin Joyce to the Central Blue to continue the conversation he began with his presentation at the Williams Foundation’s #selfsustain seminar in Canberra on 11 April 2019. At the seminar, Keirin challenged us to question our underlying assumptions and beliefs as to what it means to #selfsustain. He continues this logic in this post for the Central Blue by exploring efforts to take a different approach for Australian sustainment of unmanned aerial systems (UAS.) I was recently a panellist at the Williams Foundation’s #selfsustain seminar in which I discussed strategies for self-sustainment, specifically concerning UAS. However, what was in the term ‘self-sustainment’? My generation of Australian Defence Force aviation professionals has grown up with this as a term due to the vast majority of military aviation capability being acquired through offshore companies and then sustained through-life onshore by Australian industry. This is what we are used to: two distinct geographically determined strategies. Accordingly, we have looked to maximise the Australian industry contribution to sustainment and increase the effectiveness of onshore self-sustainment. Unveiling of the restored Jindivik at the Officers Mess at RAAF Base Edinburgh. (Source: Department of Defence) However, that is not how we have always done it. A decade or two ago, Australia was building or assembling Blackhawks, Hornets, and Mirages under licence. Australia designed and built the Nulka, Nomad and Jindivik. For these programs, where acquisition occurred through designing, manufacturing or producing onshore, we did not use the term ‘self-sustainment.’ It was just plain old ‘sustainment’; we demonstrated the ability to produce, repair and modify on a sovereign production line. That is what I spoke about at the #selfustain seminar: Army’s experience over the past 15 years with onshore self-sustainment of its offshore acquired UAS, and where Army and the Australian Association for Unmanned Systems (AAUS) are driving towards: a sovereign industrial (drone) capability. To keep the discussion going here on The Central Blue, I will further discuss two efforts: small UAS and logistics UAS. Under project Land 129 Phase 4, Army is delivering a small UAS (SUAS) to every combat team. The SUAS can be characterised as an air vehicle of less than 2kg weight, 5 km range, 45 minutes endurance, and an ability to operate day and night and be waterproof. Phase 4A approved the acquisition of an offshore Californian-based AeroVironment RQ-12 Wasp AE, with onshore sustainment by XTek in Canberra. Corporal Doug Coombs (left) and Corporal Matthew Molloy (left) from 2nd/14th Light Horse Regiment (Queensland Mounted Infantry) with a Wasp AE and a PD-100 Black Hornet unmanned aircraft vehicle at Gallipoli Barracks, Brisbane, on 5 October 2016. (Source: Department of Defence) The Government also approved funding for the Army to make best efforts to seed an Australian industry competitor to replace the Wasp AE in the mid-2020s under Phase 4B. The Defence Innovation Hub has been used as the framework to drive this Australian industry effort, and thus far six contracts have been awarded to small to medium enterprise (SME) innovators in Sydney and Melbourne. These efforts have been successful with several innovations demonstrating prototypes within the next year and are on schedule to support Phase 4B tendering in coming years. There is solid potential for global export success also. A key characteristic of SUAS technology is its ability to scale up and down reasonably well: down into Nano/micro UAS air vehicles, and up into tactical UAS air vehicles, exemplified by another three contracts executed for TUAS-scale technologies. Another area of successful investment is in logistics or combat service support (CSS) UAS. Three contracts are underway through the Defence Innovation Hub to explore technologies that automate the tactical supply chain, thus removing resupply missions from trucks and helicopters. This is a very exciting space, running in parallel with commercial innovation that targets parcel delivery (small scale logistics) and unmanned aerial taxis (large scale logistics). At least two of these innovations are demonstrating prototypes within the next year. A mechanism by which Defence can assist in developing these innovations is the experimentation flexibility we can offer under the Defence airworthiness framework. These are two examples of Army leading innovation within the emerging Sovereign Industrial (Drone) Capability. There are many other ideas out there. Since the Defence Innovation Hub opened, more than 600 proposals have been processed; almost 100 of them are technologies within the tactical UAS field. Navy is also managing two contracts. The writing is on the wall that Australia has the smarts and the capacity to be a world leader in UAS technologies. Should we succeed as a nation within this realm, we might just be able to break the new paradigm of ‘self-sustainment’ and revert back to just plain old ‘sustainment’. Lieutenant Colonel Keirin Joyce, CSC is an Australian Army officer. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect the views of the Australian Army, the Department of Defence, or the Australian Government. #drones #AustralianArmy #SelfSustainment #AirPower #UAV #AustralianDefenceForce

Editorial Note: We welcome back Alan Stephens to The Central Blue. In this thought-provoking piece, Alan asks us to consider the fundamental question of why #selfsustain matters and the tension between values and interests. Defence policy almost invariably reflects friction between a nation’s interests and its values. While ‘interests’ concern the realm of power politics – of how the world is, rather than perhaps how we might like it to be, ‘values’ concern what we stand for – what we believe in as a people. Australia provides a classic case study of this friction and the problem it can create. For one-hundred and eighteen years, since Federation in 1901, Australian defence policy has rested squarely on an interests-based approach, namely, our dependence on a great and powerful friend to come to our aid when the going gets tough. From Federation until World War II that meant the United Kingdom, since then, the United States. The rationale is simple. Australia pays premiums on its national security by supporting our senior allies in wars around the globe, and no questions asked, no matter how dubious the setting; in return, in times of dire threat, they appear over the horizon and save us. The United Kingdom and the United States have been good friends, and we could be reasonably confident that they would arrive in strength if needed. Nevertheless, this strategy (if it can be called that) clearly rests on a potentially fatal act of trust; additionally, and perhaps more to the point, it inexorably challenges our values. Starting with trust, it is cautionary to note that Defence Minister Christopher Pyne and former ambassador to Washington Kim Beazley have both publicly questioned the trustworthiness of the current American administration.[1] According to Thomas Wright from the Brookings Institution, President Donald J. Trump’s foreign policy recognises ‘no permanent friends’, ‘places little value in historical ties’, and is ‘deeply suspicious of US allies’.[2] Turning to values, in the opinion of many commentators, the political model represented by the present US Administration should no longer be accepted. As Columbia professor Adam Tooze has noted, the idealised form of that model was established immediately after World War I by President Woodrow Wilson, through his belief that American democracy ‘articulated the deepest feelings of liberal humanity’.[3] However, a century later, Tooze concludes, the Trump Administration has created a ‘radical disjunction between the continuity of basic structures of power and their political legitimation’. Nobel Prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz made that point more pragmatically during an address to Australia’s National Press Club in late 2018 when he argued that Trump is destroying American democracy.[4] The key takeaway for Australians from this is not so much one of the personalities but, rather, of the relative weightings, we assign to interests and values when making policy determinations. The tension between those two often competing forces is not, of course, new. From the very outset, Australia’s interests-first approach has drawn us into wars of choice of obscure relevance, or which were morally dubious. Thus, Colonial and Commonwealth forces were deployed to South Africa in 1899 and China in 1900, in the first instance to enforce British commercial and imperial interests in a conflict which saw our soldiers associated with the world’s first concentration camps;[5] in the second instance, to again enforce British commercial interests, including the opium trade.[6] It was all part of what George Orwell was later to describe as ‘doing the dirty work of Empire’.[7] Similar political and social deafness attended our involvement in the disastrous invasions of Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan.[8] Furthermore, a fair case can be made that of the many conflicts in which Australians have fought, only World War II was a war of necessity.[9] If we believe that an unacceptable dichotomy has existed, and still exists, between Australia’s defence imperatives and the interests of our great and powerful friends, the obvious start-point for redressing the problem is to assume greater responsibility for our own defence – to become more independent and more self-reliant (a topic examined at the most recent Williams Foundation seminar).[10] There are few, if any, choices more critical to a nation’s security and self-respect. Nowhere has the profound importance of reconciling national defence interests with national values been better expressed than in the memorable words of former chief of the defence force, General David Hurley, when he reminded us that, ‘The standard [value] you walk past is the standard you accept’.[11] Dr Alan Stephens is a Fellow of the Sir Richard Williams Foundation. He has been a senior lecturer at UNSW Canberra; a visiting fellow at ANU; a visiting fellow at UNSW Canberra; the RAAF historian; an advisor in federal parliament on foreign affairs and defence; and a pilot in the RAAF, where his experience included the command of an operational squadron and a tour in Vietnam. He has lectured internationally, and his publications have been translated into some twenty languages. He is a graduate of the University of New South Wales, the Australian National University, and the University of New England. Stephens was awarded an OAM in 2008 for his contribution to Australian military history. [1] See The Washington Post, 19 July 2016; and Kim Beazley, ‘Defence policy in an era of disruption,’ The Strategist, 8 December 2018. [2] Thomas Wright, ‘Trump’s Foreign Policy is No Longer Unpredictable,’ Foreign Affairs, 18 January 2019. [3] Adam Tooze, ‘Is this the end of the American century,’ The London Review of Books, 41:7, 4 April 2019, pp. 3-7. [4] Joseph Stiglitz, ‘Address to the National Press Club,’ Canberra, 14 November 2018. [5] Henry Reynolds, Unnecessary Wars (Sydney: NewSouth Publishing, 2016). Reynolds writes of Australian troops committing ‘atrocities for empire.’ [6] Australian War Memorial, ‘China (Boxer Rebellion), 1900-01.’ [7] George Orwell, “Shooting an Elephant”, in New Writing, 1936, http://www.online-literature.com/orwell/887/, accessed 29 April 2019. [8] For the best study of the West’s ruinous involvement in Vietnam, see Frederik Logevall, Embers of War (New York: Random House, 2013); for Iraq, see Thomas E. Ricks, Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq (New York: Penguin, 2006); for Afghanistan (and the Middle East), see Andrew J. Bacevich, America’s War for the Greater Middle East: A Military History (New York, Random House, 2016). [9] Historians still debate the causes of World War I: was it ‘necessary’ to curtail German militarism, or was it a continuation of European imperialism and mercantilism? The nature of the treaties of Versailles (1919) and Sevres (1920) might suggest the latter. See also Margaret MacMillan, The War that Ended Peace: The Road to 1914 (New York: Random House, 2014). [10] For a detailed discussion of greater defence independence for Australia, see the proceedings of the Sir Richard Williams Foundation seminar, ‘Hi-Intensity Operations and Sustaining Self-Reliance’, 11 April 2019. [11] This expression of values is usually attributed to former chief of army and Australian of the Year in 2016, General David Morrison, but Morrison has acknowledged that he ‘borrowed’ it from General Hurley. See ‘David Morrison ‘stole’ best line from David Hurley’, ABC Q&A, 1 February 2016. #DrAlanStephens #AustralianDefencePolicy #Alliances #Strategy #SelfSustainment

17 August 2018 On 23 August 2018, the Sir Richard Williams Foundation is holding a seminar on #jointstrike to discuss the imperative for an independent deterrent. The aim of the seminar is to build a common understanding of the need for an independent joint strike capability to provide Australia with a powerful and potent deterrent and a means of demonstrating strategic intent. In the lead up to the seminar, The Central Blue will be running a series in order to generate discussion and enable those that cannot to attend to gain a perspective on the topic. Today, John Conway looks back at deterrence during the Cold War to identify characteristics of enduring relevance for today’s circumstances. This post looks back on operational experience from the Cold War era and identifies some of the enduring characteristics of great power competition which are relevant to Australia today. In considering the Cold War’s relevance to future operations, the focus is on preparedness and the three constants which defined everyday activity during the Cold War: discipline, deception, and deterrence. Be Prepared Despite the different context, the Cold War provides lessons for contemporary multi-domain operations especially regarding preparedness and the projection of hard power. Cold War preparedness was defined, as today, by readiness and sustainability. Most importantly, though, the attitude to preparedness was underpinned by a relentless and hard-nosed intent to gain an incremental advantage in every single aspect of military activity. From home bases across Europe and the United States (US), readiness was measured in single-figure minutes rather than hours and days. Units were required to sustain high levels of combat availability while simultaneously generating forces to maintain territorial integrity against regular Soviet patrols, like those conducted by Russian Tu-95 bombers in the South Pacific Ocean in December 2017. Success in the Cold War was substantially driven by investment in force development, training and the methodical cultivation of deterrence. Discipline and deception were ingrained in these preparations to the point where they became a habit; they characterised every training event and cat-and-mouse interaction with Soviet forces played-out in international waters or international airspace. These interactions with air, surface and sub-surface platforms were regular occurrences with strict measures in place to avoid rapid, uncontrolled escalation to nuclear exchange, and the avoidance of inadvertent exploitation of capability, such as frequencies reserved for ‘war modes’. They were golden opportunities for each side to gather intelligence and build situational understanding within visual range of the enemy. Seeking Information Advantage Cold War ideology was largely a clash of ideas between East and West with the boundary between war and peace mutually understood. However, today we have a prolific and diversified range of threats, and additional war fighting domains, such as cyber and space, which add significant complexity to the battlespace providing potential adversaries with a sophisticated means of globally asserting their influence and gaining information advantage. During a lecture on ‘Intelligence and Information Advantage in a Contested World’ to the Royal United Service Institute in May 2018, UK Chief of Defence Intelligence, Air Marshal Phil Osbourne, summed it up as follows: “We increasingly see a multi-layered and multi-speed strategic battlespace…a battlespace where it is possible to have open, positive collaboration in one lane, while waging an aggressive confrontation in another, while preparing and prepositioning for conflict in another….And within each of these lanes, activity is layered, each delivering part of a full spectrum approach – across physical and virtual, legal and for some illegal – and all occurring at different speeds, some focussed on reaction or short-term opportunity, others playing out over a much longer period, positioning for influence or advantage.” Soft power projection, while essential, is simply not enough to defend our national interests and so we must increasingly back it up with credible, potent and lethal hard power deterrence across all domains. We need the means to understand, decide and act in this multi-speed, multi-layered battlespace, and apply the operational art with controlled discipline and deception. This will require decision-making advantage enabled by information and data in spades. Experience Matters When it comes to Defence and national security, experience matters. Building situational understanding is as much about understanding history and past patterns of behaviour as it is knowing what is happening today and projecting forward what is likely to happen in the future. And while past performance does not guarantee future success, the US and its key Cold War Allies know how to win a great power competition. The US has snapped-out of the negative mindset shaped by a decade characterised by financial meltdown and the costly wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The Global Financial Crisis and counter-insurgency campaigns depleted high-end military capability and undermined the US physical capacity and readiness to fight and sustain a war against a major power. Rebuilding is well under way and we now see the re-emergence of the attitude and intent which accompanied the ‘hard power’ nature of the Cold War. In recent times, though, Russia and China have learned their lessons too and invested heavily in advanced capability reinforced by an increasingly sophisticated approach to advanced technology, training and force development. This is already having a significant impact on the way the Australian Defence Force builds experience and prepares for future operations, especially in the South China Sea. We have potential adversaries substantially growing their attack capabilities and placing at risk Australian military and commercial ships and aircraft operating in the region. Many of these conventional and tactical nuclear attack missiles have ranges measured in thousands of kilometres which, without credible deterrence, significantly challenge our ability to project power and protect our interests in the broader region. Keep Your Friends Close……. The importance of deterrence is likely to remain a core feature of activities in the South China Sea where Australia and its allies will regularly interact with Chinese platforms in contested international waters and airspace where the risk of mis-calculation, fuelled by deception, is significant. Preparedness for the Cold War deliberately pushed the limits of human and machine performance with training intensity and complexity closely coupled to threat intelligence and a ‘train as you fight’ philosophy. While much of the training was at the high end of the war-fighting spectrum, large scale exercises always replicated the disciplined escalation of rules of engagement from routine patrols up to nuclear attack and then sustained operations in a nuclear, chemical and biological environment Live operations (such as air policing and anti-submarine warfare) took place 24/7/365. These operations co-existed with individual and collective training readiness exercises and, in doing so, created a risk environment very different to that which characterised preparations for deployed operations in Iraq and Afghanistan, where training and operations were substantially segregated, cyclical, and often mutually exclusive. The Australian Defence Force (ADF) now faces a future where the boundary between training and operations becomes increasingly blurred with an ever-increasing potential for miscalculation and provocation by those with a blatant disregard for the rules-based order. The need for operational discipline, deception (and counter-deception) will pervade every facet of Defence preparedness. Above all, though, there must be powerful and credible deterrent to prevent uncontrolled escalation should there be a skirmish in our region. A Credible Joint Deterrent A deterrent provides negotiating headroom which, time and again, proved its worth during the Cold War by preventing daily operational friction from spiralling out of control. The challenge now is to get the right balance of capabilities to ensure deterrence can be generated from any domain, or from multiple domains, and that which is generated needs to be effective and persuasive in achieving its aims in the prevailing operational context. The need for a comprehensive deterrent is the subject of the forthcoming Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar: “The Imperative for an Independent Deterrent: A Joint Strike Seminar”, which proposes “an independent strike capability expands the range of options to achieve Australia’s strategic ends; signals a serious intent and commitment about Australia’s national security; and has the capacity to influence strategic outcomes short of resorting to armed conflict.“ The Seminar acknowledges it takes more than simply acquiring the systems which deliver the deterrent. The capability must have the appropriate policy and process in place, as well as the training and education which ensure the operators, staff and command layers understand the optimal ways and means of employing deterrence. As in the Cold War, there will need to be a disciplined means of escalation and de-escalation, but this time enabled by a far more sophisticated multi-domain command and control capability providing situational understanding of the physical and virtual entities interacting in time and space. The ADF will need to practice the escalation ladder in conditions shaped by the new domains because they move at the speed of light and are significantly more prone to misinterpretation than the physical domains. Training will need to practice controlled escalation set in an environment that demands realistic decision-making processes. Many, if not all, scenarios will require sophisticated modelling and simulation to exercise, explore and break decision-making processes. Next Generation Deception In addition to the predominately physical and kinetic characteristics and domains of the Cold War, future conflict is likely to see increased integration of non-kinetic effects and deterrence delivered in the electromagnetic spectrum (EMS) and the information domains. Our ability to understand and manoeuvre in the EMS will challenge existing command and control concepts and systems; and provide another dimension to our approach to intelligence integration and power projection, and preparedness. The physical manoeuvre and kinetic weapons which characterised the Cold War are now complicated by the adversaries’ ability to manoeuvre and deceive in the (EMS) and cyberspace. And fighting for access to the EMS is becoming just as important as control of the air and the sea. EMS operations are therefore certain to be a central feature of Air-Sea co-operation and deterrence requiring an enduring emphasis on discipline and deception to deny those who chose to ignore the rules-based order. The Cold War experience highlights that constant competition amongst great powers requires an emphasis on preparedness and the three constants of discipline, deception, and deterrence. Adapting to these characteristics will challenge Australia, particularly as it seeks to compete in and across new domains and confronts greater competition in its immediate neighbourhood. John Conway is the Managing Director of FELIX, Australia’s first independent not for profit Defence company, and has worked in the Australian Defence Industry for almost a decade. A version of this article first appeared in the July-August edition of Australian Defence Business Review and appears here with permission. #ColdWar #deterrence #history #Training

On 23 August 2018, the Sir Richard Williams Foundation is holding a seminar on #jointstrike to discuss the imperative for an independent deterrent. The aim of the seminar is to build a common understanding of the need for an independent joint strike capability to provide Australia with a powerful and potent deterrent and a means of demonstrating strategic intent. In the lead up to the seminar, The Central Blue will be running a series in order to generate discussion and enable those that cannot to attend to gain a perspective on the topic. In this post, David Beaumont argues that logistics is the ultimate deterrent. Nations are naturally competitive, and one of the principle roles for standing militaries is to deter others from undertaking military action within this competition. Recently Western militaries have contended that adversaries, real and potential, do not always distinguish peace and war. In the recently released Joint Concept for Integrated Campaigning, the US Joint Chiefs of Staff argue that the ‘binary conception’ of peace and war is now obsolete, and a ‘competition continuum’ now applies.[1] Now these same Western militaries recognise they must act in times other than in armed c onflict, offsetting the strengths of other nations or groups who have a very different interpretation of what defines war. Deterrence, afforded by a range of military capabilities, is a core strategy taken within this offsetting. Although nuclear weapons may give an alternative, there is no deterrence, however, without logistics. This is because logistics, where military activity meets the national economy, leads strategy by making the intent to use force reality. Indeed, it is military logistics activity which truly defines a nations capacity to respond militarily to its challenges, and most certainly to deter adversaries – realistically – in a competitive environment. Logistics and strategy are inseparable, each meaningless without the other. Logistics was ‘invented’ in war and has always had a ‘deadly life’.[2] The architecture of global supply chains, siphoning national wealth through geographic areas of immense strategic interest to nations and others, are focal points for national action. ‘Logistics cities’, major trade hubs and economic routes attract the interest of Governments and have become of immense strategic value. All arms of Government can be seen in action, using diplomatic, informational, military and economic means to shape how both commercial and military logistics might be applied to their favour. Supply chain security continues to occupy our minds as we intermingle our desire for national prosperity through global trade with our desire to prevent the loss of native capacity to build military capability, mobilise and sustain operations. Important military hardware such as the Joint Strike Fighter is underpinned by global arrangements, fragile supply chains and shared industrial capabilities that expose militaries to new areas of risk. In this environment it will take little effort for nations to exert influence or strangle the capacity of a nation to respond to threats militarily. War might begin and end with logistics. Logistics might be at the heart of strategy and competition, but its role in deterrence is understated. John Roth’s work on the logistics of the Roman Empire saw military success a factor of the capacity to provision over long distances, and not just because of military culture and training.[3] Having the ability to sustain forces effectively was both a tactical and strategic weapon. Highly potent legions armed with modern weaponry gave the Romans victory in battles, but logistics gave them empire. The ability to project forces throughout Europe and Asia was recognised by others, and conflict sometimes avoided as a consequence. Two thousand years later the same concept applies; it is the capacity of the mighty US military to project and sustain itself on a global scale that deters potential adversaries, and it is why Cold War exercises such as REFORGER and the contemporary alternatives such as Operation Atlantic Resolve are vital at a time of increasing competition. Core to deterrence are the capabilities most military women and men enjoy talking about; strike aircraft, long range artillery and naval task groups. But it is logistics that determines the circumstances of their use; the time it takes for arming, when and where refuelling may occur, and how quickly the detritus of battle can be repaired. And so, amid the force posturing and acquisition programs, most Western militaries are now devoting attention to how their military logistics organisations sustaining these capabilities perform. The proximity of forces also works to deter, if only because it reduces the logistics ‘cost’ of supporting operations. Economist Kenneth E. Boulding proposed the ‘loss of strength gradient’, in Conflict and Defense: A General Theory, as a theory to define the relationship between geography and military power for the purpose of conflict and deterrence. [4]  Boulding’s theory primarily looked at the relationship from the perspective of transportation capability counterbalanced against the capacity to deliver firepower through strike capabilities from afar. He later argued that the importance of forward basing was diminishing because the ‘cost’ of transportation, measured in speed and danger to deploying forces, was reducing and there had been ‘an enormous increase in the range of the deadly projectile’ through airpower and rocketry.[5] Strike capabilities, especially those emanating from the then 3rd-generation air domain, led him to this revelation. The non-nuclear deterrence of the late twentieth century came from mobility and long-distance firepower. The closure of American and partner overseas military bases in the wake of the Cold War, the subsequent expansion of expeditionary forces and long-distance strike capabilities in many militaries, and startling tactical successes by these forces since the 1991 Gulf War reflect this trend. That is, until the dramatic reversal of strategic fortune as the ‘cost’ of transportation increased with ‘anti-access, area-denial’ threats, and a competitive force posture approach of rising (or ‘re-rising’) military powers. Distance, once again, became important to the military mind. As did the cost of maintaining the expensive, modern, strike capabilities procured to pierce the enemies operational shield. Western militaries now face a considerable reduction in their freedom for strategic manoeuvre, and the inevitable rebalancing between force posture and developing expeditionary and strike capability accordingly. Beyond the unequivocal nature of logistics in force posture or capability development there are the most important logistics factors in strategic competition of all. Though the degree may differ given the circumstances, nations are always mobilised. The manner by which the logistics process can translate national economic power into tactical combat potential is a reflection of a national capacity to compete, deter, and to demonstrate an ability to militarily respond. Industry policy and the organisation of strategic logistics capability, the appointment of commanders to oversee sustainment and the presence of mobilisation plans and doctrine, reveal much about the quality of any military offset.  If you don’t believe that these comprise the ultimate joint strike weapon, it is impossible to argue that they aren’t essential to those strike capabilities that you do. These are not areas we typically look at when we consider deterrence, but they will discriminate between the successful and unsuccessful in the earliest stages of conflict when it comes. For these reasons we will see competition and military deterrence play out in different ways, and for reasons that are often logistical in nature. One nation might build an island where there was none before, while another will procure air mobility platforms or ships for afloat support to support their strike capabilities. Others will examine force posture from first principles, while another will establish arrangements and agreements that might support a friendly force at short notice. Militaries might be restructured so that the acquisition and sustainment of capability improves preparedness, or eventual operational performance, more effectively. Just as there will be an unending competition in the development offensive and defensive capabilities between nations, so too will there be unending shifts in the way opposing military forces will offset one another through logistics means. It will not always be about new aircraft, tanks and ships. It will always be about how these strike and other combat capabilities are sustained. Effective deterrence requires effective logistics. The threat of armed conflict is always a factor in strategic competition, but logistics capacity and capability are an important, if understated, part of the calculus. This must be kept in mind by those procuring the next generation of equipment that ostensibly serves as a deterrent to others. If we are to have a military deterrent, underpinned by impressive strike capabilities, it must also be underpinned by a logistics system that can support them. It may be easy to see the beginning of conflict in national economic systems, but it can also be seen in the seriousness given to logistics within militaries and to the sustainment of military capabilities. Strategy has been rapidly becoming an appendix of logistics, if it hasn’t been so all along, and logistics activities can be profoundly important well before the ‘conflict continuum’ approaches its zenith in armed conflict. And when armed conflict does eventuate, it will be as much about the fight to supply – the defence of the supply chain and the efficiency of the logistics process – as it is about winning on the battlefield. This article is an adaption of ‘Defining-strategic competition – when logistics becomes a strategic weapon’, posted at Logistics in War in April 2018. Lieutenant Colonel David Beaumont is a serving Australian Army officer, doctoral candidate at the Australian National University, and editor of Logistics in War. You can follow him on Twitter @davidblogistics. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect those of the Australian Army, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. [1] US Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint concept for integrated campaigning, March 2018, www.jcs.mil/Portals/36/Documents/Doctrine/concepts/joint_concept_integrated_campaign.pdf?ver=2018-03-28-102833-257, p 4, 7 [2] See Cowen, D., The deadly life of logistics, University of Minnesota Press, USA, 2014 [3] Roth, J., The logistics of the Roman Army at war, BRILL, USA, p 279 [4] Boulding, K.E. Conflict and defense: a general theory, Harper and Brothers, USA, 1962, pp 260-262 [5] Cited in Webb, K., ‘The continued importance of geographic distance and Boulding’s loss of strength gradient’ from Comparative Strategy, University of Reading, UK, 2007, p 295. Strategic weapons such as those defined by the Lowy Institute as ‘signature weapons’ are a notable exclusion here – these include such things as nuclear weapons and the strategic use of cyber capability.

02 September 2018 Since the end of the Cold War, Western air operations and training  have been built on wresting control of the air over target areas from a defensive adversary to enable follow-on operations. But what if the adversary sought to expand their freedom of action in the air while simultaneously repelling Western efforts to do the same? In this two-part series, Robert Vine examines whether the Australian Defence Force’s (ADF) force structure and training regimen is optimised for future operations in which all sides will fight for the skies. In part one, he lays out the challenges and explores the ADF’s current and future force structure options to address these challenges. Current ADF counter air training assumes that the adversary will fall into either a defensive or offensive role. While this has occurred in some conflicts, it is unlikely that a peer adversary will constrain themselves to just offensive or defensive operations. Conflicts where Western air forces have had significant over-match, such as those in Iraq and the former Yugoslavian states, have seen the adversary adopt a defensive posture. However, the Arab-Israeli wars and the Iran-Iraq war show that conflicts between peer adversaries will see each side conduct both offensive and defensive operations simultaneously. This poses the question as to whether current air combat training prepares the ADF optimally for future conflicts in which all sides seek to gain and exploit control of the air? As the ADF considers future operations that may see it without assured control of the skies, a review of our force structure and training within a realistic operational scenario is timely. Context Australia’s northern approaches and the near region will become increasingly contested over the next 20 years. Neighbouring nations are increasing their military capabilities and nations in the far-region are developing the ability to project their forces into Australia’s backyard. The ADF will be a highly capable fifth-generation force, however,  the vastness of Australia’s northern approaches will place limitations on the amount of the force that can be projected into the near region. For illustrative context, this paper will use a fictional scenario in which the  ADF is conducting operations the region to resist coercion from a major power. It is anticipated that neither Australia nor the adversary are able to bring their entire force to bear – resulting in forces within the area of operations that are at approximate parity but with some notable differences: The ADF’s fifth-generation fighter force will have a technological advantage over the adversary’s mix of fourth  and fifth generation forces. The adversary force will be able to threaten the deployed ADF forces and home-bases with weapons launched from outside of the theatre. The adversary force will operate a highly capable, layered integrated air defence system (IADS) compared to the ADF’s limited air defence systems. Both forces have the capability and intent to conduct offensive operations against the other. This raises the question as to how the ADF should conduct its counter-air operations against an enemy that will conduct both offensive and defensive operations. A Pantsir-S1 (foreground) and an S-400 (background) at a Russian Military base in Syria, December, 16, 2015. [Image credit: Russian Ministry of Defence] Force Apportionment The current practice within Western air forces is to apportion available force against mission types, therefore a commander must decide what portion of aircraft should be assigned to defensive, offensive and support missions. For simplicity we will consider a weighting between defensive and offensive missions. A commander may weight his force towards offensive missions to take advantage of the strengths of offence to mass force against the enemy at a time and place of our choosing. As the context of this operation involves two balanced forces this strategy provides an opportunity to create conditions of temporal overmatch, however it places the defence of the force at risk. The enemy may conduct a strike against us while we are preparing for, conducting, or reconstituting from, our own strike. Should the enemy surprise us, the majority of our force will not be optimally prepared for defensive operations; aircraft that had been loaded with air-surface weapons will need to engage the enemy with less than an optimal number of air-air weapons on board. It will also delay our own offensive operations and allow the enemy to own the ‘OODA’ loop – potentially attacking us again before we can prepare a response. In apportioning their force to the offence, the enemy also places their own force at risk, however, with a highly capable, layered IADS they can mitigate the risk of strikes against them. This allows them to apportion a greater number of their aircraft to offensive operations for the same level of risk. Operational success in a regional intervention may not require offensive counter air missions to deplete the enemies’ ability to control the air. The ADF may be able to control the air within the area of operations by apportioning the majority of our aircraft to defence. In this situation the enemy may not attempt to engage the force, resulting in a stalemate. This may be sufficient to allow the operation to continue but the threat of the enemy force will always require a portion of the friendly force to be held in reserve and prevent them from being fully utilised in support of land or maritime forces. A strategy of apportioning to defence still holds the risk that the enemy may mass their forces and strike us at a time and place of their advantage. Typically, this risk is mitigated by comprehensive intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) however a prolonged stalemate may allow the enemy to identify our weaknesses. Should they be able to exploit their advantage just once, the resulting losses within our force will result in our defence becoming more difficult with the problem compounding with subsequent enemy strikes until we lose control of the air. Integrated Air and Missile Defence System As the above situations illustrate, an adversary with an advanced IADS complicates the allocation of our forces towards offensive or defensive missions. The adversary’s IADS give enemy commanders more  confidence to allocate aircraft to offensive missions, while the ADF’s comparatively limited IADS assets will compel the allocation of more friendly aircraft to defensive missions, thus limiting the assets available for offensive missions. In addition to this, the enemy possesses vast numbers and types of ballistic and cruise missile systems that we must also defend against. Fighter aircraft cannot defend against ballistic missiles and have limited effectiveness against cruise missiles. The surface-to-air weapon systems possessed by the ADF are also limited in their ability to defend against ballistic and cruise missiles. The most capable air defence system in the current and objective force is the Hobart class destroyer. While this is a capable air defence platform, competing priorities for the ship will complicate its employment. The ship must defend itself from air, land, surface and subsurface attack as a part of a task group that may have different priorities to the air component and may not be in the position required for optimum air component employment. Should it need to defend a surface task group, it may need to operate too far offshore to defend land bases. The NASAMS High Mobility Launcher firing an Advanced Medium Range Air-Air Missile missile. [Image credit: Defence] The National Advanced Surface to Air Missile System being procured for the Army will be a significant step forward for Army’s air defence however it is a short range system not suited for theatre air defence. The mobility of this system will be necessary for air defence of manoeuvring ground forces and therefore it may not be available to protect static air bases and logistics centres from attack. With the current and objective force in mind, an enemy who can coordinate air and missile strikes can potentially  overwhelm the ADF’s defences at little risk to their own forces. The procurement of long-range surface-air weapons would complicate the enemy’s problem by providing an additional layer to the ADF’s response options. A long-range surface-to-air weapons system, fully integrated into the broader IADS, could provide persistent protection of the force, freeing up aircraft to be allocated to offensive missions at a lower risk. The ADF will be challenged  when determining how best to apportion forces in an environment where offensive and defensive air operations need to be conducted simultaneously. This scenario is further complicated by the comparative advantage of the enemy’s IADS. Part 2 of this series will consider the changes that the ADF could make to its training regimen to prepare for the challenge. Squadron Leader Robert Vine is an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect those of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. #Training #commandandcontrol #RAAF #Army #AirPower #technology #Joint #Jointness #C2

Rbert Vine continues his exploration of the Australian Defence Force’s (ADF) future challenges and options for controlling the air by drawing on history to ask whether current training and exercises are optimised for fighting in contested skies. Part one of this series outlined the challenge facing the ADF in an environment where offensive and defensive air operations need to be conducted simultaneously and argued for investment in long-range surface-air weapons systems to enhance ADF defensive and offensive potency. Part two considers how doctrine, training and capabilities must be adapted to face the potential challenge of a peer adversary conducting simultaneous offensive and defensive operations. The Battle of Midway The Battle Of Midway occurred from 4 – 7 June 1942, and perfectly illustrates  the dilemma of apportioning forces appropriately. This battle saw a Japanese fleet of four aircraft carriers and 248 carrier based aircraft combat three American aircraft carriers with 233 carrier aircraft and 127 land based aircraft. On the 4 June 1942, each side conducted offensive and defensive operations against each other, conducting strike and counter-strikes despite heavy losses. The battle started at 0620 when Japanese aircraft bombed Midway Island causing severe damage to the aircraft stationed there. At 0710 American  aircraft that had launched from Midway prior to the Japanese attack struck the Japanese carriers. A second raid, comprising US Navy carrier-based aircraft  struck the Japanese fleet at 0755, while Japanese aircraft were returning and re-arming from the Midway Island attacks. Due to the need to change the armament of their reserve force from land strike to maritime strike configurations, the Japanese could not mount a complete defence and lost carriers. The Japanese then launched attacks against the US fleet from their remaining carrier, sinking one carrier. A subsequent American counter attack sank the remaining Japanese carrier. During the Battle of of Midway, both Japanese and US commanders were faced with the question  of how best to apportion their aircraft to offence, defence and also choose between land or maritime strike configurations. The decision of US commanders to weight towards the offence at a time when the Japanese defence was weakened was decisive in the battle. However, this decision left the US fleet with fewer defences and contributed to the loss of a US carrier. Training and Doctrine The tactical scenario in which Midway occurred is not exercised by the ADF, instead each activity focuses on employment of the force in an offensive or defensive role. No ADF exercise trains against an adversary air force that conducts both offensive and defensive missions either simultaneously or is quick succession. Therefore the collective and individual lessons that are learnt from ADF air combat exercises are limited and perhaps erroneous. The current air combat training paradigm for the ADF can be divided into: Unit level training Small force integration Large force integration Unit level training is the day-to-day activities of individual units that are necessary to maintain the skills of their workforce and prepare for operations or larger exercises. Small force integration activities occur between 2-3 different platforms types such as fighter integration with air battle management. Large force integration brings multiple types and large numbers of platforms together to exercise integration of the force towards a certain type of mission in an operational scenario. Examples of large force integration in Australia include Exercise Pitch Black, Diamond Storm and the East Coast Air Defence Exercise. There are no ADF activities where the operational scenario contains simultaneous offensive and defensive activities, similar to the Battle Of Midway and therefore ADF training  does not replicate the dilemmas posed by an adversary capable of simultaneous offensive and defensive operations. Separate offensive and defensive focused exercises are still a necessary training event to build core skills but there must be a capstone exercise where a coalition force must react to a free-play peer adversary that conducts its own defensive and offensive missions. The use of live, virtual and constructive (LVC) training technologies will be necessary to achieving this level of training at reasonable cost. Agile Employment A more agile concept of allocation so that actions can be rapidly taken to seize the initiative is needed to succeed against an adversary that conducts both offensive and defensive missions. Aircraft should not be allocated specific missions i.e. patrol a certain area or strike a certain target, but instead have their optimised for certain use scenarios. This would be balanced across the force, with some aircraft solely air-air while some would carry an air-ground and air-air payload. The force would then be prepared to conduct offensive or defensive missions at a moment’s notice, planning would still occur but execution would be far more dynamic. The commander would assess the tactical situation and utilise all resources to the greatest advantage. For example, on detection of an enemy attack, sufficient aircraft to counter this attack would be launched and a force left in reserve. After the attack is thwarted and the enemy’s force depleted our own strike could be launched to take advantage of the need for the enemy to refuel and re-arm his aircraft. This option provides the greatest opportunity to get inside the enemy’s decision cycle, quickly mounting a full-scale defence of a large enemy attack could occur quickly and then the same force could use the advantages of defending near home base to refuel, rearm and then launch a counter strike before the enemy has returned to base and made their force ready again. This concept will rely on command and control (C2) and intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance  (ISR) platforms to identify opportunities for decisive action and quickly coordinate a response. This will require greater levels of control to be transferred from operational to tactical level so that the necessary agility can be achieved. With these changes, the C2  system will become far more agile and resilient to attacks on the C2 network. However, agile employment does not optimise the force for any one mission and leaves both  defensive and offensive missions at risk. When a portion of the aircraft are configured with a mixed air-air and air-ground and payload they will be less effective if all are required to scramble to attack an incoming enemy raid. Mitigating these risks will rely on an adaptable air base capability that is able to quickly re-configure aircraft or accept that more weapons will need to be jettisoned. If the force accepts higher risk in the initial phases of an operation and then presses an advantage to rapidly make decisive gains it can rapidly deplete the enemy’s force and reduce the risk to future operations. Conclusion The current approach to control of the air does not account for an enemy that will conduct both defensive and offensive operations as well as our need to do the same. War games are required to fully explore the intricacies of operations against an offensive peer competitor and these activities can identify a new operating doctrine which can be practiced in LVC environments. Investment in long-range surface-air weapons as part of the ADF’s IAMD suite will better position the ADF to counter  ballistic and cruise missile threats and give commanders a greater level of defensive confidence, such that more aircraft can be allocated to offensive missions. Ensuring control of the air will require investment in IAMD to close this gap and to address the threat to air operations posed by ballistic and cruise missile threats. This needs to be combined with changes to counter air doctrine to converge offensive and defensive counter-air missions into a single counter-air approach. This change will need to be implemented through revised training regimes and joint force C2 concepts. Without these changes, the coalition force may fail to win control of the air, at best find itself in stalemate and at worst, defeat. Squadron Leader Robert Vine is an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect those of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. #commandandcontrol #history #AirPower #C2 #lessonslearned

30 September 2018 This paper was presented to the Williams Foundation Air Power Seminar on Joint Strike and Deterrence, 23 August 2018 at the National Convention Centre, Canberra, Australia. Introduction Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I feel very privileged to address this esteemed audience by starting off this Williams Foundation Joint Strike Seminar. My address will provide an overview of the intersection between deterrence strategy, the development of strike capability in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF), and contemporary considerations regarding integration and the development of joint strike. Since the advent of air power in the early 1900s, the threat of bombardment – both nuclear and conventional – has been perceived as one of the most effective measures for deterring potential aggressors or punishing those who have dared to cross the threshold of force. Deterrence is broadly defined as ‘discouraging states from taking unwanted military actions, especially military aggression’.[1] The strike capability that is offered by air power as a result of its characteristics – reach, responsiveness, firepower, and precision – and have made it a useful means by which to assert a deterrence strategy. Notably, much of the discussion in the 1970s and 1980s focused on the central place of air power in delivering Australian strike capability. In relative terms, during this period, land and maritime forces were not seen to have a significant role in offering a deterrent strike option, though both of them did add to Australia’s overall deterrence posture. Further, much of the deterrence thinking during the Cold War focused on strategic nuclear options that were delivered via Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles or heavy bomber aircraft. This again skewed much of the thinking regarding deterrence towards the primacy of strike via air power. The relatively favourable position occupied by Air Forces in this regard became a solid foundation for an independent Air Force that was not just an adjunct to the Navy or Army. The end result of all these developments was a line of reasoning that inevitably fused deterrence with strike (bombardment) and air power. This model was useful for Western countries during the Cold War, when there was a known threat – the Soviet Union –that could form the subject of detailed deterrence strategies; and when air power capability was the most appropriate option to support it. The contemporary security environment offers a different set of challenges from the Cold War that arise from the changing character of war. There are multiple, diverse, threats from both state and non-state actors; the information domain has become a vital part of the battlespace that must be managed accordingly; and there have been revolutionary developments in the means and methods of war. This includes the increasing accuracy and range of weapon systems available to all the Services, the development of non-kinetic options that may also offer the same effects as traditional kinetic strike, and an integrated approach to warfare. All these factors will require Australia to determine the kind of military posture that is required to maintain an effective and credible deterrence strategy in this context. While deterrence and strike will continue to be linked, air power is unlikely to remain the primary provider, with greater emphasis being placed on the enhanced capabilities delivered by joint strike. Further, as the lines between peace and war become blurred, strike as a deterrence option must be nested within broader conceptions of diplomacy and strategic engagement that accommodate ongoing shaping and influencing efforts, through effective management of the information environment, that form Australia’s narrative of deterrence. Deterrence and airpower Strategic concepts and theories about deterrence became linked to air power as it was perceived as the means by which classic deterrence strategies could be applied.[2] Adapting the classical airpower theorists, Arthur ‘Bomber’ Harris advocated that area bombardment, and striking at materiel and industry, provided the ability to effectively end wars more swiftly by undermining the morale of the civilian population through strategic bombardment.[3] Such bombardment, or the threat of it, provided states with the capability to reach beyond the ‘front line’ and to use force as a coercive measure against other states, beyond the need to defeat or attrite its deployed military forces. Air power therefore became a sellable and explainable solution for the execution of deterrence strategies. In addition, the use of the atomic bomb in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 led to a visceral appreciation of the dramatic and widespread effects of aerial bombardment, using this new weapon system. In 1946, Bernard Brodie claimed that ‘Everything about the atomic bomb is overshadowed by the twin facts that it exists and that its destructive power is fantastically great’.[4] Consequently, much of the academic literature in this field highlights the fact that nuclear weapons ‘really did all the “talking” that was necessary’ as a method of deterrence.[5] This common understanding is what guided nuclear deterrence theories during the Cold War, to the point that a level of ‘Mutually Assured Destruction’ was enough to deter both sides from undertaking both conventional and nuclear conflict with each other. Air power continued to play a significant role in deterrence strategies throughout the Cold War and beyond, which is exemplified by the Australian experience. The Australian experience – deterrence, airpower, and the RAAF The First World War experience involved the use of fledgling air power capabilities, yet it was not until the post-war period that the link between strategy, deterrence, and air power was made. In the Australian context, the link between air power, naval, and military forces was considered in the maritime strategies that underpinned British Imperial Defence plans in the 1920s and 1930s. These plans determined that any threat to British Imperial interests in this region would be dealt with by the Royal Navy, with support from Australian military forces, including the newly created RAAF.[6] In 1925, the then Chief of the Air Staff, Air Commodore Richard Williams, wrote a memorandum on the role of aircraft in securing Australia’s maritime approaches, highlighting the importance of air power in the defence of Australia in a maritime strike role.[7] This was an important memorandum that provided a foundation from which this new service could counter the hostile attitudes towards its existence as an independent service, because the strike mission could be considered as something more than simply providing support to the other services. The development of strike capability in the RAAF proved to be a challenge, due largely to the limited resources available during its formative years. In this post World War One period, the classical air power theorists – primarily Douhet, Trenchard, and Mitchell – proposed the virtues of strategic bombardment as a means to end wars quickly by targeting the civilian population.[8] These ideas were tested during the Second World War, when aerial bombardment was used extensively by Allied and Axis powers in an attempt to erode the resolve of the opposing populace, as well as strike at the means of war production and materiel support. The RAAF experience in contributing manpower to the RAF for the war in Europe, and contributions made to General Douglas MacArthur’s campaign in the South West Pacific meant that the RAAF amassed experience in a number of, what are now, recognised air power roles – particularly control of the air, and strike.[9] The RAAF’s capability to undertake a maritime strike role was clearly demonstrated during the Battle of the Bismarck Sea in March 1943. This battle involved a number of set piece actions by naval and air forces against Japanese logistics convoys that had set out to consolidate the Japanese presence on New Guinea. Arguably, the deciding factor in this successful battle against the Japanese was the maritime strike conducted by aircraft from the RAAF and US Army Air Force aircraft, including Beauforts, Bostons, Flying Fortress, and Mitchell bombers.[10] The RAAF experience during the Second World War undoubtedly consolidated the perceptions of its senior leaders regarding the contribution that strike and control of the air could make to realising strategic goals. The controversial appointment of Sir Donald Hardman, a British officer, to the position of RAAF Chief of the Air Staff led to significant reforms to the RAAF command and control, force posture, and strategic outlook.[11] Hardman believed that strike was a fundamental means by which to attain control of the air. He said, ‘true and enduring air superiority’ could only be attained by striking at the enemy to deprive him of the means of conducting air warfare.[12] While Hardman’s views on the importance of strike to the creation of air superiority reflected the majority view of airmen at the time, his successor Air Marshal McCauley was tasked by Defence Minister Sir Philip McBride to rearm the Air Force with a different focus. Minister McBrides’ new policy directed that the primary responsibility of the RAAF was to protect maritime forces from air attack.[13] The new policy consolidated the RAAF’s primacy in air defence, maritime strike and reconnaissance, which was subsequently supported by significant Defence funding apportionment from 1954 to 1957. During the late 1950s military strategic guidance asserted the prevalence of limited war over global war, and the need for Australia to develop military forces that could form part of an alliance or take independent action to defend Australia’s northern approaches against potential aggressors. Strike aircraft, for the purposes of deterrence, were central to this policy. The Chiefs of Staff Committee at the time considered that China and Indonesia posed the likely air threat to Australia.[14] The Sukharno policy of ‘Confrontation’ towards the new state of Malaysia also elevated the perceptions of the threat posed by Indonesia in the early 1960s. These factors led to policies that emphasised the need to deter such potential aggressors through the development of a strong air strike capability. As a result, in 1963, the Menzies government ordered a number of ‘Tactical Fighter Experimental’ or ‘TFX’ bombers – later remaned the  F-111, which remained the RAAF’s primary strike aircraft during the Cold War until its retirement in 2010.[15] Before the decision to acquire the F-111, tactical nuclear weapons for the Canberra bomber were also considered, but the option was shelved due to intelligence assessments that dismissed the possibility of nuclear attack on Australia as a primary target. Further, reliance was placed on the nuclear umbrella provided by the United States under the ANZUS alliance.[16] For the RAAF, the conventional bomber became the ‘strike force’ that was seen by the air staff as ‘the essence of deterrence’ and ‘the primary expression of military strength’.[17] Strike aircraft were necessary for seizing control of the air through destruction of enemy air forces on the ground, followed by the destruction of strategic targets, and then support to the Navy and Army.[18] This doctrinal foundation was maintained throughout the 1980s and 1990s. Former Chief of the Air Staff, Air Marshal David Evans wrote: ’In Australia’s situation the ability to hit back quickly and to attack selected elements of an enemy’s armed forces… rests with the strike aircraft of the RAAF. It is indeed the only practical form of retaliation against an enemy ensconced in the island chain to our north’.[19] Evans discussed the ‘RAAF combat triad’ consisting (at the time) of the F-111C aircraft armed with ‘smart weapons’, the P-3C Orion and the F/A-18 Hornet. The 1987 Defence White Paper focused on defence of Australia and focused on the need to protect the ‘air sea gap’, echoing the memorandum written by Sir Richard Williams in 1925. The future of strike and deterrence – the importance of a narrative for deterrence and a joint approach I have focused largely on a role for the Air Force in providing a strike capability, via a bomber force, that was historically recognised as vital for deterrence in a number of strategic policies from the Cold War onwards. Indeed, the reach, speed, and firepower that could be delivered by conventional aerial bombardment made air power the most likely capability to be used in a limited deterrence strategy. However, developments in military capability, including non-kinetic options such as cyber-attack, have provided the ADF with the opportunity to create integrated joint capabilities to support Australia’s deterrence strategies. For example, the acquisition of deployable land based anti-ship missiles, long-range rocket systems, and mobile surface-to-air missiles will enable the Australian Army strike into Australia’s maritime and air approaches.[20] These capabilities will provide the Australian Army with the ability to undertake maritime strike roles that were once considered the domain of the RAAF. The need for an effective joint force as a credible deterrent was foreseen by Air Marshal Evans in 1990, when he said: ‘If the Australian force is seen likely to be capable of swift, positive and effective counteraction, and if the enemy estimates that he would be unable to prevent such counteraction, he may well be deterred from initiating hostilities against Australia. That is, there would be no low-risk option available to the enemy. This is of course the very best defence this country could have – the ability to deter any action inimical to Australia’s interests. However, this concept of deterrence can succeed only if the Australian Defence Force is seen to be capable of causing an attacker unacceptable damage and if the Australian government is seen to have the will to use such force.’[21] Indeed, the focus of the current ADF Service Chiefs is on the further development of joint and integrated capabilities that will provide the government credible options for conventional deterrence. For example, the Chief of Air Force, Air Marshal Davies, highlighted at the Air Power Conference earlier in the year, ‘[w]e have seen that air power can strike deep; integrated with the joint force, it can generate decisive effect… Airpower must be comprehensively integrated across the joint force to contribute meaningfully to the future fight’.[22] While the Cold War and nuclear weapons changed the discussion in relation to deterrence, it remains an enduring part of international relations.[23] One of the three major Strategic Objectives listed in the 2016 Defence White Paper is ‘Deter, deny and defeat attacks on or threats to Australia and its national interests, and northern approaches’.[24] However, despite the continuity of deterrence, the strategic environment has changed significantly since the Cold War. The strategic environment has become complicated by factors such as the proliferation of non-state actors and the existence of security problems that blur the lines between war and peace, which demands a new approach. Further, while nuclear deterrence and the threat of nuclear weapons ‘speaks for itself’, conventional deterrence is challenging because it requires the opponent to process and receive a deterrence message as the sending party has intended. These variables leave much room for miscommunication and misinterpretation. While deterrence has always been considered a whole-of-government strategy, the added complexity of the current strategic context requires us to re-consider the importance of all elements of national power. An example of this is the holistic approach to deterrence that can be found in Russian strategic culture, which takes a ‘cross-domain’ approach to coercion that is tailored for different actors. What is interesting about the Russian approach is the significance that is accorded to the informational tools of influence, involving manipulation of an opponent’s perception of reality to impact on decision-making.[25] Termed, ‘informational struggle’, it involves a holistic merging of digital and cognitive-psychological actions; it is unified in that it synchronises kinetic and non-kinetic military effects; and it is continuous or uninterrupted in that it is employed in peace and in war.[26] The Russian approach involves a merging of hard and soft instruments of power. Conventional deterrence theories are centred on military capabilities – I just spoke about joint and integrated warfare previously. However, given that deterrence is largely about communication and credibility, the incorporation of hard and soft power, and the focus on information effects in Russian deterrence theory has much to offer the Western strategist considering deterrence in the 21st century. Conclusion Eliot Cohen wrote that: ‘Air power is an unusually seductive form of military strength, in part because, like modern courtship, it appears to offer gratification without commitment’.[27] This is perhaps why air power has traditionally been perceived as the best means for carrying out deterrence strategies. This capability was complemented by nuclear weapons as deterrents for the superpowers during the Cold War. However, the emergence of new security threats such as non-state actors, and the significance of information as the currency of the 21st century, means that approaches to deterrence must be reconsidered. Credible conventional options for Australia go beyond air power, and require an effective and integrated joint force. Communicating a credible message to opposing countries requires a consistent narrative that involves hard and soft power options and a consistent deterrence message that bridges war and peace. These approaches to deterrence require Western countries, such as Australia, to take a long term and coordinated approach to national strategy, whose credibility is underwritten by a resilient and capable joint force. Wing Commander Brick is a Legal Officer in the Royal Australian Air Force and is currently the Legal Officer to the Chief of Air Force. She has served on a number of operational and staff appointments from the tactical to the strategic levels of the Australian Defence Force. Wing Commander Brick is a graduate of the Australian Command and Staff College. She holds a Master of International Security Studies (Deakin University), a Master of Laws (Australian National University) and a Master (Advanced) of Military and Defence Studies (Honours) (Australian National University). She is a Member of the Military Writers Guild, an Associate Editor for The Strategy Bridge, and an Editor for The Central Blue. The author acknowledges the feedback and guidance provided by Dr Alan Stephens, Major-General Mick Ryan, Air Commodore Stephen Edgeley, Air Commodore Anthony Forestier, Wing Commander Travis Hallen, Wing Commander Chris McInnes, and Squadron Leader Jenna Higgins on early drafts of this paper. [1] Michael J. Mazarr, Understanding Deterrence. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2018. https://www.rand.org/pubs/perspectives/PE295.html (accessed 08 August 2018). For an overview of deterrence, see Jenna Higgins, ‘#jointstrike Part 1: Defining Deterrence’, 05 August 2018. http://centralblue.williamsfoundation.org.au/jointstrike-part-1-defining-deterrence-jenna-higgins/ (accessed 06 August 2018). [2] Denial and punishment are broadly the two aspects of deterrence theory. For further discussion, see Mazarr, ‘Understanding Deterrence’. [3] For a discussion on the debates involving aerial bombing, see Charles S. Maier, ‘Targeting the city: Debates and silences about the aerial bombing of World War II’, International Review of the Red Cross, Vol. 87, No. 859, September 2005; pp. 429-444. See also Giulio Douhet. The Command of he Air (translated by Dino Ferrari), Washington: Office of Air History, 1983. [4] Quoted in John Stone, ‘Conventional Deterrence and the Challenge of Credibility’, Contemporary Security Policy, Vol. 33, No. 1, pp.108-123; p. 116. [5] John Stone, ‘Conventional Deterrence’, p. 116. [6] See Air Power Development Centre, 2013; p. 25. [7] See discussion in Alan Stephens. Going Solo; 2. See also Air Power Development Centre. The Air Power Manual for the air power roles. [8] See Mark J. Conversino. ‘The Changed Nature of Strategic Air Attack’, Parameters – US Army War College Quarterly, Winter 1997-1998. [9] Stephens, Going Solo, pp. 2-3. See also [10] Air Power Development Centre. ‘Battle of the Bismarck Sea’, Pathfinder – Air Power Development Centre Bulletin, Issue 256, November 2015. See also Stephens, Going Solo, p. 5. [11] Air Power Development Centre, ‘Sir Donald Hardman’s Reorganisation of the RAAF’, Pathfinder – Air Power Development Centre Bulletin, Issue 106, March 2009. [12] Stephens, Going Solo, p. 38. [13] Stephens, Going Solo, pp. 38-39. [14] Stephens, Going Solo, p. 46. [15] Stephens, Going Solo, p. 39. For a detailed examination and discussion of the decision to acquire the F-111, see Mark Lax. From Controversy to Cutting Edge. A History of the F-111 in Australian Service. Canberra: Air Power Development Centre, 2010. [16] Stephens, Going Solo, p. 368. [17] Stephens, Going Solo, p. 369. [18] Stephens, Going Solo, p. 369. [19] David Evans. A Fatal Rivalry – Australia’s Defence at Risk. South Melbourne: The Macmillan Company of Australia Pty Ltd, 1990, 39-40. [20] See Colonel Chris Smith and Dr Al Palazzo, ‘Coming to Terms with the Modern Way of War: Precision Missiles and the Land component of Australia’s joint force’. Australian Land Warfare Concept Series Vol. 1, August 2016 https://www.army.gov.au/sites/g/files/net1846/f/160819_-_concept_-_lw_-_australian_land_warfare_concept_series_1_-_unclas_0.pdf (accessed 03 August 2018). [21] Evans, A Fatal Rivalry, p. 37. [22] Brendan Nicholson, ‘RAAF Chief Leo Davies: We Face the greatest evolution of air power in our history’, in ASPI The Strategist, 20 March 2018, https://wwwaspistrategist.org.au/raaf-chief-leo-davies-face-greatest-evolution-air-power-history/ (accessed 27 July 2018). For some discussion of self-reliance and the importance of a joint force, see Stephan Fruhling, ‘The Concept of Self-Reliance’, Australian Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 68, No. 5; 531-547. [23] Patrick M. Morgan, ‘The State of Deterrence in International Politics Today’. Contemporary Security Policy, Vol. 33 No. 1, April 2012, pp 85-107, p. 85. [24] Commonwealth of Australia. 2016 Defence White Paper; Canberra: Department of Defence, 2016, para3.11. [25] Dmitry (Dima) Adamsky, ‘From Moscow with coercion: Russian deterrence theory and strategic culture’, Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol. 41, Nos. 1-2, 33-60, 41. [26] Adamsky, ‘From Moscow with coercion’, 42. [27] Eliot Cohen, ‘The Mystique of US Air Power’, Foreign Affairs, January / February 1994.

China is developing and deploying a broad-based long-range precision strike capability that will in the near-term enable Beijing to project power regionally, and in the mid-to-long-term, provide global reach. Alongside an already potent force of land-based conventionally-armed precision-guided short and medium-range ballistic missiles, China has also deployed a dual-capable (that is, conventional and nuclear) precision-guided intermediate-range ballistic missile (IRBM), the DF-26, and a long-range cruise missile, available in ground-launched (CJ-10), air-launched (CJ-20), and sea-launched variants. China is also reported to be developing two air-launched ballistic missiles (ALBM), at least one next-generation bomber, and hypersonic strike systems. Moreover, China is investing in advanced intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) capabilities, including innovative unmanned air systems (such as the Xianglong), that provide the critical targeting support essential to long-range precision strike. The core of China’s long-range strike capability is currently provided by the precision-guided ballistic missiles operated by the People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force (PLARF), and a growing cruise missile capability, at presented centred on the PLARF CJ-10 and the People’s Liberation Army Air Force’s (PLAAF) CJ-20-equipped H-6K Badger bomber. The People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) will increasingly contribute to China’s long-range strike potential as new cruise missile-armed submarines and surface combatants enter service. The PLARF currently operates four ballistic missile systems capable of long-range strikes: the 600-900 km range DF-15; the 800-1,000 km range DF-16; the 2,100 km range DF-21C; and the 4,000 km range DF-26. The PLARF also operates the 1,500 km range DF-21D anti-ship ballistic missile (ASBM); the DF-26 is capable of operating in the ASBM role. The DF-15, DF-16, DF-21 and DF-26 are dual-capable, road-mobile systems incorporating terminal guidance systems and either feature control surfaces or a manoeuvring re-entry vehicle to improve accuracy. A DF-26 medium-range ballistic missile as seen after the military parade held in Beijing to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the end of the Second World War. (Image Credit: Wikimedia) The PLARF also operates the 1,500 km range CJ-10 ground-launched cruise missile. The missile is deployed on a road-mobile launcher equipped with three rounds. An air-launched variant of the CJ-10, the CJ-20, equips the H-6K Badger (up to six missiles can be carried). The H-6K has a combat radius of 3,500 kilometres; the CJ-20 thus extends the reach of the Badger to 5,000 km. A naval variant of the CJ-10 has also been deployed. The Type 052D Luyang III-class destroyer, of which 13 are in service with the PLAN, is equipped with the CJ-10, the new Type 055 ‘destroyer’ will be equipped with the cruise missile, whilst the Type 093B and future nuclear-powered attack submarines are likely to be armed with the missile. China is actively developing hypersonic technologies and is likely to deploy in the near-term, that is, within the next two to three years, a hypersonic cruise missile and hypersonic glide vehicle. In December 2017 it was reported that China had successfully tested a new ballistic missile armed with a hypersonic glide vehicle. The new missile, the DF-17, is believed to be a medium-range ballistic missile with a range of 1,800-2,500 km and potentially based on the DF-16: the missile may enter service around 2020. In May 2018, a scramjet test vehicle, the Lingyun 1, was publicly exhibited for the first time in Beijing; first flown in 2015, the Lingyun 1 could serve as the basis for a hypersonic cruise missile. In August 2018, China successfully tested a hypersonic waverider test vehicle, the Xing Kong-2, which attained a speed of Mach 6, and may be intended for operational deployment. The PLAAF is in the midst of efforts to develop a significantly enhanced long-range strike capability. This is focused on the development of at least one new bomber and air-launched missiles, including two ALBMs, one of which may be an air-launched variant of the DF-21D ASBM – the CH-AS-X-13, and one may be nuclear-capable. The CH-AS-X-13 is believed to have a range of 3,000 km and will equip a new variant of the H-6, the H-6N. China is reported to be developing a new strategic bomber to replace the H-6. Referred to as a ‘new-generation long range strike bomber’ by then-Commander of the PLAAF, Ma Xiaotian in 2016, the new bomber is believed to be a large subsonic flying-wing or cranked-wing stealth aircraft with a combat radius in excess of 5,000 km, and capable of carrying a payload potentially of between 10 and 20 tons, including nuclear weapons. The aircraft, possibly designated H-20, will likely feature a significant electronic warfare capability, potentially employ defensive directed energy weapons, and act as an airborne command, control, communications and ISR node. The H-20 is likely to enter service in the first half of the 2020s. A second bomber may also be under development, and in contrast to the H-20, may be intended to principally operate in the regional strike role. A concept for a supersonic stealth strike aircraft with a combat radius of perhaps 1,500-2,000 km, has been observed and been the subject of rumours since 2013; whether an actual development programme exists is uncertain. Implications China is making significant progress toward the development of a robust long-range precision strike capability, providing Beijing with the means to prosecute strikes against targets on land and sea across the Asia-Pacific region. Further, China will increasingly be capable of conducting strikes globally as new systems, particularly the next-generation strategic bomber and cruise missile-armed ships and submarines enter service. The introduction of catapult-assisted take-off but arrested recovery-configured aircraft carriers into PLAN service in the 2020s, potentially embarking unmanned combat air systems such as the Lijian, will also enhance China’s long-range strike capabilities. A potential interest in developing an arsenal ship and equipping surface combatants with ASBMs and hypersonic glide vehicles has been reported. The combination of air-, ground-, and sea-launched ballistic and cruise missiles, together with anticipated developments in hypersonic capabilities, carrier airpower, unmanned combat air systems, and a new strategic bomber, will enable China to conduct multi-axis strikes, including in otherwise denied airspace, in the Asia-Pacific, and albeit on a smaller-scale, beyond. Notably, China is likely to acquire the means to conduct precision strikes against targets within the US (for example, via submarine-launched cruise missiles, and potentially the H-20). This is likely to have significant implications for US-China relations, in particular in terms of deterrence and escalation control: for example, would China seek to deter US intervention in the Asia-Pacific with the threat of targeting the continental US? If the H-20 does indeed have an unrefuelled combat radius of 5,000 km (effectively 6,500 km if armed with the CJ-20), would China seek to deter the US through the threat of horizontal escalation via strikes against US interests outside of the Asia-Pacific? In this regard, the long-term strategic implications of China’s investment in long-range strike capabilities can be discerned, that is, an enhanced ability to project power and a wider choice of force employment options available to Beijing. Ultimately, how China’s long-range strike capabilities are employed will be dependent on the character and trajectory of Chinese national policy. Dr James Bosbotinis is a UK-based specialist in defence and international affairs, and Co-CEO of JB Associates, a geopolitical risk advisory. Dr Bosbotinis has written widely on British defence issues, Russian strategy and military modernisation, China’s evolving strategy, and regional security in Europe, the Former Soviet Union and Asia-Pacific. #strikeoperations #PeoplesLiberationArmyNavy #China #Hypersonics #PeoplesLiberationArmyAirForce #PeoplesLiberationArmyRocketForce #DrJamesBosbotinis