The Changing Face of Military Power: Joint Warfare in an Expeditionary Era

The Changing Face of Military Power Joint Warfare in an Expeditionary Era

Edited by Andrew Dorman, Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley

The Changing Face of Military Power

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The Changing Face of Military Power Joint Warfare in an Expeditionary Era

Edited by Andrew Dorman Lecturer in Defence Studies Joint Services Command and Staff College

Mike Smith Lecturer in War Studies King’s College, London

and Matthew Uttley Senior Lecturer in Defence Studies Joint Services Command and Staff College

Editorial matter and selection © Andrew Dorman, Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 2002 Chapter 1 © Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 2002 Chapter 7 © Matthew Uttley 2002 Chapter 9 © Andrew Dorman 2002 Chapters 2–6, 8, 10 © Palgrave 2002 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2002 by PALGRAVE Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE is the new global academic imprint of St Martin’s Press LLC Scholarly and Reference Division and Palgrave Publishers Ltd (formerly Macmillan Press Ltd). ISBN 0-333-91892-4 This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The changing face of military power: joint warfare in an expeditionary era / edited by Andrew Dorman, Mike Smith, and Matthew Uttley. p. cm. – (Cormorant security studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0–333–91892–4 1. Unified operations (Military science) 2. Combined operations (Military science) 3. Great Britain–Armed Forces. 4. Great Britain–Military policy. I. Dorman, Andrew M., 1966- II. Smith, M. L. R. (Michael Lawrence Rowan), 1963- III. Uttley, Matthew. IV. Series. U260 .C49 2002 355.3’57–dc21 2001054889 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 11 10 09 08 07 06 05 04 03 02 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham, Wiltshire

Contents List of Tables

vii

Notes on the Contributors

ix

List of Abbreviations

xi

1 2 3

4

5

6 7

8 9

Military Power in a Multipolar World Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley

1

The Dimensions of Asymmetric Warfare Wyn Q. Bowen

15

Limitations on Joint Warfare: the Impact of the Proliferation of Conventional Weapons Technology Paul Rogers

45

Reconciling Humanitarianism and Reality: the Analytical and Moral Challenges of Urban Operations Alice Hills

73

Western Strategy in the New Era: the Apotheosis of Air Power? Philip Sabin

91

Britain and the Revolution in Military Affairs Lawrence Freedman

111

Equipping Britain’s Armed Forces: Continuity and Change in Defence Procurement and Industrial Policy Matthew Uttley

129

Defence Management and the Impact of ‘Jointery’ Martin Edmonds

151

British Defence Policy in the Post-Cold War Era: History Comes Full Circle? Andrew Dorman

177

v

vi Contents

10

The Economics of Joint Forces Keith Hartley

Index

201 217

List of Tables

10.1

Joint Forces, UK

203

10.2

UK Defence Budget, 2000/2001

205

10.3

Employment in Joint Units, 2000

206

vii

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Notes on the Contributors Wyn Q. Bowen is Lecturer in the Defence Studies Department, Joint Services Command and Staff College, Watchfield. Andrew Dorman is Lecturer in the Defence Studies Department, Joint Services Command and Staff College, Watchfield. Martin Edmonds is Professor and Director of the Centre for Defence and International Security Studies, Cartmel College, Lancaster University. Lawrence Freedman is Professor of War Studies, Department of War Studies, King’s College, University of London. Keith Hartley is Professor at the Centre for Defence Economics, University of York. Alice Hills is Lecturer in the Defence Studies Department, Joint Services Command and Staff College, Watchfield. Paul Rogers is Professor of Peace Studies, Department of Peace Studies, University of Bradford. Philip Sabin is Professor of Strategic Studies, Department of War Studies, King’s College, University of London. Mike Smith is Lecturer, Department of War Studies, King’s College, University of London. Matthew Uttley is Senior Lecturer in the Defence Studies Department, Joint Services Command and Staff College, Watchfield.

ix

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List of Abbreviations AAA ABL AMRAAM ARRC ASTOR ASW ATACMS AWACS BVRAAM CCW CDS CSC CSCE DCS DESO DEW DIB DLO DRA EADS EU FLF FMPG FRY FYROM IFOR IPT ISTAR JCS JHC JRDF JRRF

Anti-aircraft artillery Airborne Laser Advanced Medium Range Air-to-air Missile Allied Command Europe Rapid Reaction Corps airborne stand-off radar anti-submarine warfare Army Tactical Missile System Airborne Warning and Control System Beyond Visual Range Air-to-air Missile Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons Chief of the Defence Staff Chiefs of Staff Committee Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe Defence Cost Studies Defence Export Services Organization directed energy weapons defence industrial base Defence Logistics Organization Defence Research Agency European Aerospace & Defence System European Union Front Line First Financial Management and Planning Group Federal Republic of Yugoslavia Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia NATO’s implementation force in Kosovo Integrated Project Team Intelligence, surveillance, target acquisition and reconnaissance Joint Chiefs of Staff Joint Helicopter Command Joint Rapid Deployment Force Joint Rapid Reaction Forces xi

xii List of Abbreviations

JSCSC KFOR KLA LPD MANPAD MAXIS MINIS MOD NAO NATO NBC NGO NMD NMS OCCAR OSCE PGM PIRA PJHQ PPBS PPP PSO PUS QDR RAB RAF RMA RN ROE RPA RSI SACEUR SAM SBL SDR

Joint Services Command and Staff College NATO’s peace-enforcement force in Kosovo Kosovo Liberation Army amphibious landing craft man portable air defence system Budget System for Administrative Expenditure Management Information System for Ministers and Top Management Ministry of Defence National Audit Office North Atlantic Treaty Organization nuclear, biological and chemical non-governmental organization National Missile Defense New Management Strategy Organisme Conjointe de Co-operation en Matière d’Armament Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe precision guided munition Provisional wing of the Irish Republican Army Permanent Joint Headquarters programme planning budgetary systems Public–Private Partnerships peace support operations Permanent Under-Secretary Quadrennial Defense Review (US) Resource Accounting and Budgeting Royal Air Force Revolution in Military Affairs Royal Navy rules of engagement Revolution in Political Affairs rationalization, standardization and inter-operability Supreme Allied Commander Europe surface-to-air missile Space-based Laser Strategic Defence Review (UK)

List of Abbreviations xiii

SFOR SPI SSN STOVL THAAD TLAM TMD UCAV UN USAF USSOCOM WCMD WEU WMD

NATO’s stabilization force in Kosovo Smart Procurement Initiative nuclear-powered attack submarine short take-off and vertical landing Theatre High Altitude Area Defense Tomahawk Land Attack Missile theatre missile defence unmanned combat aerial vehicle United Nations United States Air Force US Special Operations Command Wind-corrected Munitions Dispenser Western European Union weapons of mass destruction

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1 Military Power in a Multipolar World Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley

Introduction The intention of this volume is to examine critically the contours of military power as they present themselves a decade after the end of the Cold War. The title, The Changing Face of Military Power, emphasizes the central assumption that underpins this study, that the fundamental nature of military activity has not changed but merely its outward forms. The role of military power, defined here as the construction, deployment and use of organized armed forces to attain political objectives, remains the same. In this connection military power is assumed to be a functional phenomenon that can be exploited to serve a number of purposes. It can be employed by states and non-state social organizations alike. It can be employed to prosecute warfare, to issue threats, to maintain deterrence. It can even be utilized non-aggressively for symbolic reasons, for pageantry, for nation-building.1 But the essential function to fulfil the ends of policy never changes. The ways in which military power is exercised and the context in which it is practised does, however, evolve. It is these processes in which this book is primarily interested because it is they which affect employment of military power. The origins of this book reside in two conferences held back in 1997. The first, in April of that year, at the then Royal Naval College, Greenwich examined the evolution of maritime power in the post-Cold War environment. The second conference, held at the newly formed Joint Services Command and Staff College, Bracknell, in June, looked at the broader themes in the military ambit. The 1

2 The Changing Face of Military Power

conference was notable for being the first of its kind to assess the trend towards what was known as ‘joint operations’, that is the ‘integration of significant elements of more than one armed service in order that they function as a single unit’.2 In both conferences, evolving patterns of military practice were examined against the backdrop of the changed international setting that was increasingly witnessing the deployment of armed forces in ‘out of area’ operations in peacekeeping and humanitarian roles. It might seem short-sighted to admit, but the stimulus for these conferences was the fact that six years after the end of the Cold War understanding of the manifold changes and increased complexity of the new multipolar world was still rudimentary. Analysts were, of course, aware that a ‘radical change in the global security system’3 had been ushered in which was challenging the familiar parameters of bipolarity and introducing us to the ‘New World Disorder’. However, beyond the feeling that the ‘ground was shifting beneath our feet’ there was little comprehension of where all this was leading. The truth was that the 45-year Cold War had made planning assumptions, to a remarkable degree, extraordinarily stable because the principal deterrent function of Western armed forces was, according to Admiral Paul D. Miller, ‘well-defined and understood’.4 International relations and strategic scholars were lulled by this stability, falling into line as supporting counsellors to the established defence policy orthodoxy, seeing their role essentially to analyse and nuance the rather narrow processes of deterrence thinking, rather than to challenge official thinking or to anticipate change. Come the end of the Cold War, scholars, as ever behind the times, were caught out by the multiple disruptions that afflicted the world order. These disruptions meant there was little time to reflect systematically on the nature and implications of the post-Cold War era. The primary emphasis in defence circles was to contend with the practical and operational imperatives brought about by the sudden shift to a complex, multipolar environment that was in some ways more unstable than the nuclear stand-off between the superpower blocs during the Cold War. Concurrent with the disintegration of the East European Communist bloc, the international community had to contend with Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990 and the subsequent coalition war in the Gulf in 1991. This was followed by the collapse of the Soviet Union and the violent breakup

Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 3

of the Balkans and Transcaucasia, which necessitated the intervention of outside powers to attempt to contain the spread of what was perceived to be a new and increasingly prevalent kind of war: ‘ethnic conflict’ fuelled by unmediable passions and hatreds.5 The perception of a rise in low-intensity challenges around the world was always a more complex picture than has sometimes been portrayed. For every incidence of a surge in nationalistic, separatist inspired conflict, one could point to putative, though often inadequate, peace processes and conflict settlements in places as far afield as Mozambique, El Salavador, Lebanon, Cambodia, Northern Ireland, the Middle East and South Africa. At the same time, by the later 1990s a number of these peace processes, most notably in the Middle East, were in serious trouble, while it was increasingly possible to discern a rising incidence of violent identity politics among non-state groups in certain areas of the world, notably in Southeast Asia where the relative failure of 30 years of nation-building efforts were exposed by the effects of severe economic recession, especially in places like Indonesia.6 The political effects of the end of the Cold War coincided with social and technological changes that also assisted in the transformation of the environment in which military power could be exercised. Technological innovations in developed states, most notably in the United States, heralded the prospect of the ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’ (RMA).7 The 1991 Gulf War displayed the potency of high-technology precision munitions and the integration of systems that collect, process and communicate information to bring devastating firepower to bear on enemy forces. The technological RMA combined with significant, yet paradoxical, social shifts that at one and the same time made it easier to fight wars yet also constrained other aspects of military power.8 At one level the end of superpower ideological conflict reinforced a tendency in Western society towards ‘post-heroic’ warfare, where it became increasingly unacceptable to expect citizens to lay down their lives for their country out of patriotic duty, thus making states – most notably the United States – ever more reluctant to incur casualties in military operations.9 At another level, a changing sense of international obligations resulted in a greater willingness to deploy forces in military operations, especially in so-called humanitarian and peacekeeping roles. This produced a further contradictory

4 The Changing Face of Military Power

effect. The post-colonial and post-Cold War eras had resulted in the creation of many new states, which seemingly accentuated the importance of sovereignty. Yet the new dispensation also gave rise to an apparent willingness to intervene militarily in the internal affairs of states, overriding traditional ideas of sovereign sanctity. This was most graphically demonstrated by the NATO intervention in the states of former Yugoslavia, particularly the province of Kosovo. Was this, as some allege, indicative of neo-imperialism in a post-colonial era? An additional twist was provided by the financial stringency and cost-cutting in defence establishments in the expectation of a ‘peace dividend’ at a time when the military forces of the developed world had never been busier. The early 1990s was therefore a time of uncertainty about what armed services and military power were for.10 The post-Cold War era had overturned many notions of traditional high intensity warfighting upon which the defence policies in most developed states had been predicated. Initially, scholars of strategy and international affairs did not read this situation well. Having failed to predict the end of the Cold War, they were poorly placed to offer any guidance for the post-Cold War world. Not that this inhibited them from offering their misdiagnoses. Before 1989 leading scholars had convinced themselves that it was the United States, not the Soviet Union, that was in decline and suffering from ‘imperial overstretch’.11 As Wohlforth remarked: ‘The debate focused like a laser beam on US decline, even when the Soviet Union was entering its final stages of collapse.’12 Even after the dramatically swift collapse of the East European Communist bloc, analysts were often reluctant to let go of such certainties or else engaged in idle speculation, little of which came to pass. Some said the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) had outlived its usefulness and would be swept away. Others predicted a resurgence in German militarism. Yet others clung to their belief in American declinism, arguing that Japan, East Asia generally, and the putative European Union would eclipse the United States in economic terms. Some were even moved to warn that the US would find it heavy going using military power against formidable opponents, like Iraq, warning before Operation Desert Storm that the war would not be a ‘three day turkey shoot’.13 We now know, of course, that Japan plunged into a decade-long recession, that the East Asian miracle was really a mirage, that

Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 5

NATO not only hung together but outshone the hopelessly ineffective European Union (EU) in dealing with the violent convulsions in south-eastern Europe and that the United States not only won a turkey shoot in the deserts of Arabia but went on further to entrench its leading position as the global economic and technological hegemon. Being so detached from reality, and thereby having so clearly got it wrong, some scholars retreated entirely from the empirical scene into so-called ‘international theory’, usually of a postmodern and rational choice provenance, the effect of which has, in the words of James Kurth, made the study of international relations ‘even more uninteresting and irrelevant’.14 Such analytical confusion was symptomatic of the early years of the New World Order. Even books that did try to evaluate the application of military power in a multipolar world, while cognisant of the changing strategic landscape, often had a limited grasp of the new, and old, kinds of military challenges that were presenting themselves.15 Even though armed forces were being deployed all over the globe in expeditionary roles, from the Persian Gulf and central Africa to the Balkans it still took a relatively long time for analysts to comprehend fully the implications. It was only towards the mid and later 1990s that commentators began to discern the confluence of factors, both tangible and intangible, that necessitated the rethinking of the ways in which military power was both applied and constrained.16 Up until this time, it was particularly noticeable that little systematic attention had been paid to the impact of these changes on the armed services of developed states, especially in terms of the moves towards expeditionary warfare in an era of budgetary constraints and greater inter-service collaboration. What thought was given to these matters was largely done ‘in house’ within the defence establishments themselves.17 It was a growing awareness of this gap in analytical attention that provided the initial stimulus for both conferences in 1997. The conclusions at that time were inevitably tentative: that while much had changed at the superficial level, the post-Cold War era had not propelled military thinking into innovative, ground breaking territory but had often led to a shift in really quite traditional notions of military activity. The task for the analyst was to monitor and investigate the trend.18 Thus, five years on, there is a clear imperative to review some of the key themes visited in 1997: the role of military power in

6 The Changing Face of Military Power

a multipolar world; emerging threats; the challenges in the military sphere posed by technology and the changing international environment; and the implications for the armed services themselves. Much of the assessment in this volume is premised on the assumption that military power is exercised in the defence of a state’s regional or global interests. In this sense, the primary focus of this volume reflects predominantly British perspectives on military power, an extension of the fact that all of the contributors are based in the United Kingdom. It might be contended that this emphasis inevitably circumscribes the wider applicability of the conclusions beyond the British case. It is true that the UK is hardly a superpower and is therefore heavily restricted in what it can do on the international stage both diplomatically and militarily. Neither is the UK representative of the vast majority of states at the other end of the spectrum which have neither the tradition nor the resources to sustain wider-ranging commitments. But, in other respects, Britain is illustrative of middle-ranking powers in Europe, North America and Australasia that do maintain global and regional interests, with attendant responsibilities, that in Britain’s case has seen it contribute to military operations in the Gulf, Bosnia, Kosovo, East Timor and Sierra Leone. This book, then, brings together a number of defence studies scholars to examine important ideas that are currently affecting the practice of military power in its broadest sense. The book makes no claim to assess the full complexity of all the themes at work in the military ambit today, an impossible task in a single volume. The aim is however to illustrate the sorts of debates taking place in the field, to analyse the principal drivers of change as well as the lines of continuity, and to raise some critical and challenging questions that may be necessary to delineate the outlines of the future practice of military power.

Changing defence roles Since 1989, the collapse of Soviet hegemony in Eastern Europe and the subsequent breakup of the Soviet Union have led to a fundamental transformation in the strategic setting. The demise of the bipolar system and the diminished military threat posed by the former Soviet Union19 have eliminated the short-warning threat of a

Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 7

large-scale offensive in Central Europe.20 Cold War certainties in Western defence planning previously provided by bipolarity have been replaced by perceptions of a more diffuse set of risks on a global scale. One important implication has been that Western armed forces are now expected to provide a spectrum of military capabilities ranging from nuclear deterrence and high-intensity warfighting to actions against relatively minor opposition, coercive diplomacy, peacekeeping and peacemaking, and alliance-building through to security assistance and disaster relief, or to use the US term, ‘full spectrum dominance’.21 Another implication has been a trend towards increased Western military involvement in so-called ‘wars of choice’ at the lower-intensity end of the conflict spectrum. The first four chapters of the book analyse the types of threats and risks that Western states currently face and the factors that are shaping the nature of their military responses. Since the Cold War two important tendencies have emerged in the employment of Western military power. First, Western states have become embroiled in conflicts where they have enjoyed a decisive technological advantage in weapons systems over their adversaries – a qualitative gap in capabilities illustrated initially by the comprehensive defeat of Iraq by the American-led United Nations (UN) Coalition in 1991 and, more recently, by the successful coercion of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia by NATO. Secondly, Western countries have been involved in conflicts where less than vital interests have been at stake – such as humanitarian values – but where the vital interests of their opponents – such as territorial integrity and regime survival – are directly threatened. On this basis, a growing Western concern is that potential adversaries will attempt to offset their military-technological capabilities and political resolve through ‘asymmetric warfare’ strategies. Wyn Bowen’s contribution analyses the conceptual dimensions of asymmetric warfare and the risks that asymmetric responses could pose for Western military intervention. Paul Rogers develops the theme of unconventional responses to Western intervention in the context of the proliferation of conventional weapons technologies. Professor Rogers outlines the key tenets of what he conceives as the ‘Western security paradigm’ and its impact on the post-Cold War structuring of military forces in terms of thinking about the projection of

8 The Changing Face of Military Power

power. He also demonstrates that there are a number of strategies and tactics that can be used to respond to Western intervention, which may involve conventional use of conventional military technologies but may also involve unconventional responses. The post-Cold War increase in so-called ‘complex emergencies’ and the trend towards urbanization have focused attention on doctrine and planning for ‘urban operations’. Alice Hills analyses urban operations against the backdrop of the UK’s assumption that armed forces organized primarily for high-level warfighting roles can succeed in complex urban environments. In doing so, the contribution synthesizes the analytical, theoretical, strategic and moral challenges that policy-makers need to address when considering military intervention in the urban context. An important post-Cold War development is the expectation among Western governments that air power can provide a low-risk mode of military intervention. This has been predicated on two assumptions. The first is that Western air forces have now acquired a decisive technological edge in offensive and defensive air systems over potential adversaries. The second assumption, evident in the Kosovo campaign, is that air power can offer a low-casualty solution to armed intervention. Philip Sabin’s contribution evaluates this orthodoxy. It shows that though air systems can act as a force multiplier, contemporary political and operational considerations also generate major constraints for policy-makers contemplating the application of air power. As Professor Sabin demonstrates, these constraints include, inter alia, the difficulty of achieving political consensus between allies in coalition operations, difficult targeting dilemmas and the adverse effects of the blurring of political and military responsibilities when air power is employed.

The technological dimension One consequence of the role that American technological superiority played in the 1991 Gulf War and conflicts in the former Yugoslavia has been the fuelling of expectations about the ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’ (RMA): the notion that the marriage of technological systems that collect, process and communicate information will reinforce established tendencies towards the creation of a US capability far superior to that of any other country or

Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 9

group of countries. Lawrence Freedman analyses the RMA in the context of the ‘Revolution in Political Affairs’ (RPA), or the environment in which Western military force is likely to be applied, that has arisen from the long-term effects of decolonization and the short-term impact of the end of the Cold War. Against a background of almost universal enthusiasm for the RMA concept in military organizations, Professor Freedman provides words of caution for those who see it as a ‘solution’ for all forms of Western intervention and questions the extent to which medium-sized powers like Britain should aspire to independent national RMA capabilities. Despite the overwhelming emphasis on the RMA in much of the literature the UK’s current defence equipment plan focuses very much on the acquisition of ‘traditional’ defence platforms. Enunciated most extensively in the 1998 Strategic Defence Review (SDR), Britain’s defence equipment plans and priorities for the period to 2015 are predicated on the achievement of a flexible expeditionary warfare capability. Matthew Uttley’s contribution evaluates the SDR equipment programme and supporting defenceindustrial policies. It outlines the difficult decisions that British administrations will have to make if the SDR vision is to be achieved in full. Matthew Uttley shows that although the SDR and supporting initiatives are presented as policy ‘solutions’ to long-term British defence acquisition, future governments will continue to confront challenges arising from the high cost and inherent complexity of major equipment programmes and ongoing dilemmas in formulating supporting defence-industrial policies.

Reconfiguring national armed forces: defence management reform, ‘jointery’ and emerging force postures The post-Cold War transition in the international security milieu has had fundamental implications for force postures in individual Western states and collective defence and security architectures as a whole. During the Cold War Western forces were structured to deal with a specific threat and predicated primarily on collective security through the NATO alliance on the assumption of high-intensity conflict within the European theatre. After the Cold War, the objective has been to configure forces in terms of capabilities and intend

10 The Changing Face of Military Power

their use in expeditionary warfare in its various guises through flexible force packages capable of projecting power to meet the spectrum of military contingencies that Western states are likely to confront on a global scale. This transition from Cold War assumptions has had important effects on the level and nature of cooperation between the armed services within individual NATO states. During the Cold War ‘a distinction between the institutional and operational arrangements for the armed forces made some sense’22 because of the functional roles of each service within NATO’s overall force posture. That is not to say inter-service cooperation was absent: in the United States, for example, the Air Force and Army jointly developed the ‘Air-Land Battle Concept’ to counter the Warsaw Pact conventional threat to Western Europe.23 However, the primary focus of the Alliance’s land assets and supporting air elements was the Central Front in West Germany while maritime forces concentrated on anti-submarine warfare in the North Atlantic. The consequence was that operational integration was primarily combined between the maritime, land and air forces of the different Alliance members rather than with the other armed services of a particular state. Since the Cold War, however, the requirement to project military power has created an imperative for the systematic integration of national forces and planning, or as the current terminology has it, ‘jointery’: planning for ‘military operations in which elements of more than one service participate’.24 The primary drivers for jointery, or ‘jointness’,25 are the requirement for the projection of power from littoral areas of the sea by naval forces26 and the deployment of expeditionary forces27 which are supported by air elements, as a means to meet contingencies on a global scale. The fundamental shift away from Cold War planning assumptions is that ‘jointery’: signifies a reverse order of [Cold War] priorities; it connotes the fusion of effort in place of ad hoc arrangements and, most important, it subordinates all operations directly to events on land.28 In practical terms, in the United Kingdom, jointery has been reflected in the development of a range of measures to enhance joint operations including the formation of the Permanent Joint Headquarters (PJHQ), the Joint Rapid Reaction Forces (JRRF)29 and the Joint Services Command and Staff College (JSCSC).

Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 11

Professor Martin Edmonds addresses the issue of defence management today within the UK Ministry of Defence (MOD) and armed services and analyses where and how the concept of jointery has been applied. A primary finding is that the preoccupation with jointery after 1989 only happened when the MOD, in response to pressure from the Treasury to find savings in the defence budget, found that economies could be achieved by bringing the three armed services together in joint commands, combat support and ancillary functions. Moreover, as Professor Edmonds identifies, pressures for radical reform of British defence organization leading to increased jointery that pre-dated the end of the Cold War were driven, in part, by the particular and distinctive approach adopted by successive Conservative administrations after 1979. In practical terms, the shift towards an expeditionary capability has had significant implications for the doctrine, equipment and force postures of the individual armed services in the UK. Moreover, the development of the jointery concept has had a major impact on the nature and level of cooperation between the British Army, the Royal Air Force (RAF) and the Royal Navy. Andrew Dorman’s contribution analyses how these changes have been implemented and assesses their impact on overall British defence capabilities. The contemporary orthodoxy concerning jointery is that: Those who believe that military matters can easily be categorized into land, sea and air, in our modern technologically agile world, are making a facile and anachronistic judgement.30 Professor Keith Hartley critically evaluates this assumption in the final chapter. Adopting an economist’s perspective, he argues that uncritical acceptance of jointery can lead to the adoption of wrong or skewed performance indicators. Drawing on the tenets of ‘Public Choice’ economics, Professor Hartley’s analysis indicates that the armed services may use the jointery concept to collude with or entrench inefficient practices that do little to enhance operational capabilities. Moreover, other implications of the analysis are the concerns that jointery may not facilitate closer cooperation between the services, but rather, displace inter-service rivalries to other areas; that it may result in ‘minimalist jointery’, whereby jointness is only adopted in peripheral military functions rather

12 The Changing Face of Military Power

than applied to those activities that affect the core organizational interests of the individual services; and that it may obscure the flow of information to policy-makers on the costs and benefits of individual service procurement proposals that have traditionally been generated by overt inter-service competition.

Conclusion This volume addresses a range of key issues in what is a dynamic area of contemporary security policy. Taken collectively, the various contributions indicate some of the likely pathways in military thinking and practice in the years ahead. Inevitably, perhaps, a large element of post-Cold War defence planning will be characterized by a high degree of continuity. In part, this reflects the generic nature of military strategy and doctrine as well as the restrictive roles for which armed forces can be employed. However, as this book shows, the context and ways in which military power is exercised continue to evolve and affect the employment of armed force. For the analyst, therefore, while the challenge remains in investigating these trends, it is hoped that the contributions to this volume reveal more clearly where these trends are leading.

Notes 1. See J. Garnett, ‘The Role of the Military Power’, in J. Baylis, K. Booth, J. Garnett and P. Williams, Contemporary Strategy: Theories and Policies (New York: Holmes and Maier, 1987), pp. 74–6. 2. A. Dorman, M.L. Smith and M.R.H. Uttley, ‘Jointery and Combined Operations in an Expeditionary Era: Defining the Issues’, Defense Analysis Special Edition: Jointery and Combined Operations in an Expeditionary Era, vol. 14, no. 1 (January 1998), p. 5. 3. G. Till, ‘Maritime Strategy and the Twenty-First Century’, Journal of Strategic Studies, vol. 17, no. 1 (March 1994), p. 166. 4. Admiral P.D. Miller, ‘Both Swords and Ploughshares: Military Roles in the 1990s’, Journal of the Royal United Services Institute (April 1993), p. 13. 5. See J. Keegan, A History of Warfare (New York: Vintage, 1994), p. 58. 6. D.M. Jones and M. Smith, ‘Identity Politics in Southeast Asia’, Jane’s Intelligence Review, vo1. 12, no. 11 (November 2000), pp. 44–5. 7. For a discussion see J.R. Fitzsimonds and J.M. van Tol, ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’, Joint Forces Quarterly (JFQ) (Spring 1994), pp. 24–31; W.A. Owens, ‘JROC: Harnessing the Revolution in Military Affairs’, JFQ (Summer 1994), pp. 55–7.

Mike Smith and Matthew Uttley 13

8. See M. Clarke, ‘Constraints on UK World Power Projection and Foreign Policy in the New World Order’, in A. Dorman, M. Smith and M. Uttley, eds, The Changing Face of Maritime Power (London and New York: Macmillan/St. Martin’s Press, 1999), pp. 65–80. 9. See E. Luttwak, ‘Towards Post Heroic Warfare’, Foreign Affairs (May/June 1995), pp. 109-27, and E. Luttwak, ‘A Post Heroic Military Policy’, Foreign Affairs (July/August 1996), pp. 33-4. 10. See J.W. Honig, ‘Strategy in a Post-Clausewitzian Setting’, in G. de Nooy (ed.), The Clausewitzian Dictum and the Future of Western Strategy (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 1997), pp. 109–11. 11. See for example P. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers: Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000 (London: Fontana, 1989), pp. 564–692. 12. W. Wohlforth, ‘Realism and the End of the Cold War’, International Security, vol. 19, no. 4 (Winter 1994), p. 103. 13. K. Booth, ‘New Thinking’, in K. Booth (ed.), New Thinking about International Security (London: HarperCollins, 1991), pp. xii–xiii. 14. J. Kurth, ‘Inside the Cave: the Banality of I.R. Studies’, The National Interest (Fall 1998), p. 37. 15. See for example, M. Van Creveld, The Transformation of War (New York: Free Press, 1991). 16. See for example, C. Bellamy, ‘From Total War to Local War: It’s a Revolution’, Independent, 24 July 1996. Also see Bellamy’s book, Knights in White Armour: the New Art of War and Peace (London: Hutchinson, 1996). 17. In this respect the American armed forces journal, Joint Forces Quarterly (JFQ) has been consistently ahead of the game since the early 1990s in systematically examining the way in which the evolving strategic landscape will shape future military operations and defence establishments. See for example, S. Cropsey, ‘The Limits of Jointness’, JFQ (Summer 1993), pp. 72–9; F.R. Strain, ‘The New Joint Warfare’, JFQ (Autumn 1993), pp. 17–24; W.A. Owens, ‘Living Jointness’, JFQ (Winter 1993–94), pp. 19–26; and E.J. Rokke, ‘Military Education for the New Age’, JFQ (Autumn 1995), pp. 18–23. 18. M.L. Smith and M.R.H. Uttley, ‘The Changing Face of Maritime Power’, in Dorman et al., The Changing Face of Maritime Power, op. cit., pp. 189–90. 19. For a more detailed analysis of this point, see for example: S.E. Airey, ‘Does Russian Seapower Have a Future?’, RUSI Journal (December 1995), pp. 15–22; and J.S. Breemer, ‘The End of Naval Strategy: Revolutionary Change and the Future of American Naval Power’, Strategic Review (Spring 1994), pp. 40–52. 20. See R. Mottram, ‘Options for Change: Process and Prospects’, RUSI Journal (Spring 1991), p. 22. 21. See, for example, the United Kingdom’s ‘Seven Mission Types for British Forces’, in MOD, Statement on the Defence Estimates 1996, Cm 3223 (London: HMSO, 1996), p. 18. 22. J.R. Stocker, ‘Canadian Joint Operations’, RUSI Journal (June 1996), p. 36. 23. See, for example, Miller, op. cit., p. 18.

14 The Changing Face of Military Power

24. United Kingdom Doctrine for Joint and Combined Operations, Joint Warfare Publication 0–10, 3rd Study Draft, 1997, p. 1-1. 25. The term ‘jointery’ is employed in the United Kingdom, whereas ‘jointness’ is the term adopted in the United States. Both share the same meaning and they are used interchangeably in this volume. 26. See, for example, R. Cobbold, ‘A Joint Maritime-based Expeditionary Capability’, RUSI Journal (August 1997), pp. 23–30. 27. See, for example, R. Ross, ‘The Role of Amphibious Forces in a Changing World’, RUSI Journal (April 1996), pp. 21–3. 28. Breemer, op. cit., p. 46. 29. See P. Hine, ‘Developments in Measures to Enhance Joint Operations’, RUSI Journal (October 1996), pp. 28–30. 30. J. Slater, ‘A Fleet for the 90s’, RUSI Journal (February 1993), p. 8.

2 The Dimensions of Asymmetric Warfare Wyn Q. Bowen

The term ‘asymmetric warfare’ has been used with increasing regularity in recent years in reference to the emerging strategic environment. Specifically, it has been used to analyse and describe how future conflicts involving Western countries will be characterized by significant dissimilarities between them and potential opponents. The term has been used primarily in relation to the growing technological gap in conventional military capabilities between Western countries – with the United States occupying a pre-eminent position – and non-Western countries. This qualitative gap was illustrated initially by the comprehensive military defeat of Iraq by the American-led UN Coalition in 1991. More recently, it was demonstrated by the less convincing but ultimately successful coercion of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) by NATO in 1999. Most work on asymmetry to date has focused on the ‘means’ through which potential adversaries might attempt to circumvent Western conventional superiority in future conflicts. The term ‘asymmetric strategies’ has often been used to label approaches that such opponents might employ to avoid direct military confrontation and to focus instead on exploiting key political and military vulnerabilities, such as the perceived Western sensitivity to casualties and collateral damage. Examples of approaches cited throughout the literature on asymmetry include: the threat or use of nuclear, biological and chemical (NBC) weapons; threats or acts of terrorism; the use of propaganda and disinformation; and information attacks against military and civilian computer systems and networks. 15

16 The Changing Face of Military Power

The concept of asymmetry can also be applied to other areas where significant differences will exist in future between Western and non-Western adversaries. Two key areas stand out. The first involves the relative balance of interests likely to be at stake. For the foreseeable future, Western countries will probably get involved in conflicts where less than vital interests are at stake – such as humanitarian values – but where the vital interests of their opponents – such as territorial integrity and regime survival – are directly threatened. This mismatch could have a profound influence on the resolve of all parties to realize their objectives, stated or otherwise. The second area involves political, economic and cultural differences between opponents that will dictate the political, ethical and legal constraints under which both sides operate when engaged in armed conflict. The greater the divergence between opponents in this area, the more significant the impact will be on the conduct of conflict. This chapter examines each dimension of asymmetric warfare in turn. The first section addresses the relative imbalance of interests likely to be at stake in future conflicts between intervening Western powers and non-Western opponents. The second section looks at how political, economic and cultural differences between such adversaries could potentially influence the nature and conduct of warfare. The third, and most important, section examines the types of approaches and techniques available to potential Western adversaries to avoid direct military confrontation. To help illustrate the concept of asymmetric warfare, NATO’s conflict against the FRY over Kosovo is used as a case study throughout the chapter. Indeed, the fourth section looks specifically at what Belgrade did and did not do in terms of its asymmetric response to the NATO air campaign, Operation Allied Force. The aim is not to present an in-depth analysis of Allied Force or the Serbian politico-military counter-strategy. Rather, the objective is to offer a brief but nevertheless illustrative examination of this asymmetric encounter between an advanced military alliance conducting a limited conflict of choice against a militarily inferior, and politically dissimilar, opponent fighting a war of necessity.1

Asymmetry 1: imbalance of interests Since the end of the Cold War, external military threats to Western countries such as the United Kingdom (UK) and the United States

Wyn Q. Bowen 17

(US) have diminished radically. The resultant strategic environment has proved immeasurably safer, albeit relatively unpredictable and uncertain. Indeed, the conflicts in which Western countries have intervened militarily over the past decade have been notable because they have challenged desirable interests such as humanitarian values, rather than hard-nosed vital interests such as national survival. To quote the US Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), the types of conflict in which the US and its allies have become involved have primarily been ‘ambiguous situations residing between peace and war, such as peacekeeping and peace enforcement operations’.2 Examples include Bosnia, Somalia, Haiti, Kosovo, Indonesia and Sierra Leone. In all of these situations, Western countries intervened for altruistic reasons such as the need to avert humanitarian catastrophes or to restore legitimate government. Iraq is probably an exception because the invasion of Kuwait in 1990, and Baghdad’s continued threat to regional stability and security since the 1991 Gulf War, posed a direct threat to oil supplies vital to the world economy and consequently vital to Western economic interests. However, from a Western perspective all of these examples, including Iraq, were limited conflicts or crises of choice as opposed to total wars of necessity. Western countries had the choice of whether to get involved or to remain on the sidelines, and they are likely to retain this choice. In contrast, for the non-Western parties to the above conflicts, vital interests were directly threatened, whether this involved territorial integrity, regime survival or control of disputed areas. This imbalance in the stakes involved in recent conflicts will remain a key feature of Western military intervention for the foreseeable future. The stakes involved in regional conflicts will impinge directly on Western decisions to intervene, as well as on the resolve of all parties to pay the human and financial price to realize desired objectives. The greater the interests at stake, the greater this resolve is likely to be and vice versa. For example, domestic popular and political support for America’s humanitarian intervention in Somalia plummeted in September 1993 once casualties were taken and pictures were beamed around the world of dead US serviceman being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu. In short, US voters and politicians deemed the cost in American lives to be far too great relative to the humanitarian interests at stake in Somalia. Moreover, if

18 The Changing Face of Military Power

one side’s vital interests are jeopardized that side is more likely to be willing to resort to drastic measures to protect them. This is particularly the case if a regime perceives it has no other option or nothing left to lose. From a Western perspective, a lack of clearly identifiable interests can be particularly problematical when Western states attempt to coordinate their military responses under UN, NATO or other multilateral auspices. This is because constituent members will need to reconcile potentially divergent interests in order to develop and sustain the political cohesion and unity of purpose necessary for effective military action. When things go wrong militarily, or political objectives are not met as quickly as initially hoped, such a divergence can prove highly divisive in terms of alliance or coalition politics. NATO’s war against the FRY to stop Serb ethnic cleansing of ethnic Albanians in Kosovo is an excellent example of a conflict characterized by a significant imbalance of interests at stake between the opponents. In the summer of 1998, the Serbian regime under Slobodan Milosevic initiated a violent counter-insurgency campaign in the Serbian province of Kosovo to end increasing ethnic Albanian resistance to Serb rule mounted by the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA). This campaign prompted a humanitarian crisis with many ethnic Albanians forced to flee their villages and towns.3 The Milosevic regime had three core objectives in resorting to force in Kosovo. First, increasing Albanian secessionism in the province posed a challenge to the territorial integrity of the Serbiandominated FRY. Second, Albanian resistance exacerbated Serb nationalism vis-à-vis Kosovo because several sites of historic and religious significance to Serbian national identity are located in the province. Third, Milosevic could not risk losing Kosovo for fear of undermining his ‘domestic national credentials’ which were ‘often doubted’ among his nationalist supporters. Consequently, if Milosevic lost Kosovo his political survival would have been jeopardized. When diplomatic attempts to resolve the crisis failed following Belgrade’s rejection of the Rambouillet Accords in March 1999, and NATO action looked increasingly imminent, these objectives took on greater importance.4 Indeed, it has been argued that the Milosevic regime rejected Rambouillet because of a perception that any political agreement would have threatened the future freedom of Serbia because of the potential for NATO supporting future secessionist activity by other ethnic minorities.5 The stakes involved for

Wyn Q. Bowen 19

the Milosevic regime in Belgrade, then, included the vital interests of territorial integrity, national identity and regime survival. In contrast, NATO intervened over Kosovo for less than vital interests. Five political objectives were identified: a verifiable stop to all military action and the immediate ending of violence and repression within Kosovo; the withdrawal of Yugoslav military, police and paramilitary forces from the province; the stationing of an international peacekeeping force with NATO at its core; the unconditional and safe return of all refugees and internally displaced persons and unhindered access to them by humanitarian aid organizations; and the establishment of a political framework for Kosovo, on the basis of the Rambouillet Accords.6 These objectives did not reflect the vital interests of the NATO member states. Rather, the Alliance’s involvement was driven by the humanitarian imperative of ending the ethnic cleansing of Kosovar Albanians by Serbian police and security forces. Moreover, Allied Force was fought outside NATO’s borders and it was not an act of collective self-defence under Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty. The absence of vital interests was to cause significant problems for the Alliance in its attempt to coerce Milosevic militarily into accepting NATO’s objectives. In the words of General Klaus Naumann, Chairman of the NATO Military Committee during the Kosovo conflict, Allied Force was conducted ‘by a coalition of 19 democratic nations who did neither have a clearly defined common interest in Kosovo nor did they perceive the events in Kosovo as a clear and present danger to anyone of them’.7 This lack of vital interests contributed to a lack of political cohesion and unity of purpose among the member states vis-à-vis military action, with Italy and Greece standing out as notable weak links. It should be noted, however, that as the air campaign progressed and Belgrade did not capitulate as quickly as hoped, the stakes for NATO increased as the Alliance’s future credibility was jeopardized. Indeed, the credibility issue arguably served to stiffen NATO resolve as Allied Force developed into a more protracted affair than initially planned. Following the Kosovo conflict, Klaus Naumann said the Alliance had been faced by ‘an opponent who accepted war whereas NATO nations had accepted an operation’.8 This imbalance had a significant impact on the conduct of the conflict in terms of the political and military strategies and tactics adopted by both adversaries. To fully appreciate this impact, however, attention first needs to be focused on the second dimension of asymmetric warfare.

20 The Changing Face of Military Power

Asymmetry 2: political, legal and ethical constraints The manner in which a government or regime approaches armed conflict is shaped by the interaction of numerous political, cultural, economic and military factors. This interaction determines the specific value systems, mindsets and hence perceptions of reality of key political and military decision-makers. In turn, this determines issues such as the extent to which political, legal and ethical constraints are a factor in decision-making and implementation, the ability of a government or regime to take or impose heavy casualties, and the ability to conduct military operations without regard to popular support. If adversaries are significantly dissimilar from one another in these areas, the impact on a conflict can be profound. Although all Western democratic countries possess their own unique characteristics based on history, language and culture, they also possess certain general attributes that set them apart from undemocratic, non-Western countries. Charles Dunlap, for example, identifies the following qualities as characteristic of the Western mindset: individualism, liberalism, constitutionalism, respect for human rights, equality, liberty, rule of law, democracy, free markets, separation of church and state, and the key role of technology as a fixer or enabler.9 These are all desirable qualities. However, such qualities can prove highly constraining when democratic governments contemplate the use of military force. There are two principal reasons for this. First, democratic governments are dependent upon generating and maintaining popular and political support for largescale military action. Indeed, popular support is particularly important when less than vital interests are involved because it is far more difficult for politicians to justify the expenditure of national resources, and the imposition of casualties and collateral damage, if only desirable interests are at stake. It is probably true to say that political sensitivity on these issues is currently the biggest constraint on democratic governments contemplating the use of military force in limited regional conflicts. This has been evident in recent years from Western involvement in Iraq, Somalia, Bosnia and Kosovo. The second reason is that democratic governments are subject to legal and ethical constraints such as the need to fight in an acceptable and civilized way by adhering to the norms and laws of armed conflict. Pertinent examples include adherence to the principles of

Wyn Q. Bowen 21

proportionality and the non-targeting of civilians. Obviously, the specific mix of constraints will differ between individual democratic countries and depends on the specific context of the intervention. However, the key point to make here is that the types of constraints outlined above often inhibit democratic countries when it comes to military intervention to protect less than vital interests. It follows that undemocratic regimes are likely to possess significantly different value systems and mindsets. Consequently, their perception of reality is likely to differ as is their view on what is permissible in conflict. For example, undemocratic regimes are unlikely to be influenced in the same way by political, legal and ethical constraints. They are less likely to be concerned about human rights and will not feel the same responsibility to ensure a conflict is conducted in a just manner. Moreover, undemocratic regimes will not have a similar need to generate and maintain popular support for action and they are not likely to be as averse to casualties and collateral damage. In future conflicts political, legal and ethical constraints will not only influence Western military strategies and tactics, they will also shape the political and military counter-strategies and tactics adopted by less advanced opponents. When Western countries intervene for less than vital interests, aversion to friendly casualties and collateral damage is a key constraint on military action. This constraint constitutes a key strategic vulnerability open to exploitation by opponents that are not similarly averse to, or constrained by the political need to avoid, casualties and collateral damage; the Somalia example was used earlier to illustrate this point. Another Western vulnerability stems from the dependence of technologically-advanced democratic societies on advanced computer and information systems in both the military and civilian fields. This vulnerability could potentially be targeted asymmetrically by future opponents to produce strategic, operational and tactical effects. In Kosovo, significant political differences existed between the NATO member states and their Serbian opponents and these had a marked impact on the nature of the conflict. On one hand, NATO was a defensive alliance of 19 democratic states with each government accountable to its own electorate and dependent upon popular support for military action. Moreover, each member state possessed its own unique characteristics which further influenced the issue of popular and political support. Two pertinent examples

22 The Changing Face of Military Power

are Greece and Italy, both of which were geographically close to the conflict and governed by administrations from the traditional left of the political spectrum. In Italy, these factors interacted to undermine popular and political support for Allied Force. During the air campaign the Italian Communist Party threatened to withdraw from Prime Minister Massimo D’Alema’s centre-left coalition, and to destabilize the Italian political system, if the bombing did not stop.10 Moreover, D’Alema himself called for air strikes to be brief and for a quick resumption of political negotiations. Traditional pro-Serb feelings in Greece meant the Greek government refused to make aircraft available or to send troops to the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM).11 Indeed, poll ratings of 98 per cent against air strikes were recorded in Greece during the conflict.12 Elsewhere within NATO, Germany’s Social Democrat-led coalition government grew increasingly nervous about public opinion as the campaign proceeded, because of collateral damage concerns but also because the Luftwaffe’s participation in Allied Force marked the country’s first offensive military action since the Second World War.13 In contrast, the British and American governments appeared relatively enthusiastic although both had to cope with domestic opposition. Differences in the level of popular and political support between the NATO member states were exacerbated by the fact that humanitarian rather than vital interests were at stake. This was a significant issue because the ultimate success of Allied Force was largely dependent on sustaining the political cohesion and unity of purpose of the 19 countries and other coalition members. Several months after Allied Force, US Secretary of Defense William Cohen and Chairman of the JCS Henry Shelton told the Senate Armed Services Committee that, ‘without the direct support of our NATO allies and key coalition partners, the campaign would not have been possible’.14 Indeed, although the United States provided the majority of operational capabilities, Allied Force was dependent on the airfields, military bases, airspace and political and diplomatic support of other key coalition members.15 This was particularly true for those countries in close proximity to the theatre of operations including Albania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Italy and the FYROM.16 Belgrade differed markedly from its NATO adversaries in political terms. The pseudo-democratic governments of Serbia and the FRY

Wyn Q. Bowen 23

(Serbia and Montenegro) were dominated by FRY President Slobodan Milosevic. Although Milosevic’s Socialist Party of Serbia did not possess a majority in the Federal or Serbian parliaments, it still dominated the ruling coalitions and occupied the key administrative positions. Milosevic retained power through control of the Serbian police – a force of approximately 100 000 responsible for internal security. Other foundations of the regime’s power included the state-controlled media and the industry barons who provided Milosevic with the finances necessary to stay in power.17 Consequently, NATO faced an adversary that was not similarly dependent upon, or constrained by the need to maintain, popular and political support. Moreover, vital interests were at stake for Milosevic including territorial integrity, the security of a province of great significance to Serbian nationalism, and regime survival. The first and second dimensions of asymmetry were pivotal in influencing the nature of the Kosovo conflict because their interaction determined the political, legal and ethical constraints imposed on NATO military planners in terms of the strategy and tactics adopted. The chief constraint was the imperative of minimizing friendly casualties and collateral damage to avoid undermining domestic support for action. This was key to maintaining the political cohesion and unity of purpose of the Alliance. The Serbs were quick to identify this constraint as a key vulnerability and adopted an asymmetric politico-military strategy that focused principally on rupturing NATO’s political cohesion. This leads to the third dimension of asymmetric warfare.

Asymmetry 3: asymmetric strategies and techniques The final area where critical differences will exist between Western countries and future non-Western opponents is conventional military strength and capability. Western conventional forces currently enjoy a vast qualitative superiority in areas such as precision-strike munitions, surveillance, targeting, reconnaissance, intelligence and command, control, communications and computers. The defeat of Iraq’s armed forces in 1991 by the far more technologicallyadvanced Coalition forces led by the United States is regularly cited by military commentators as having demonstrated the gap between the conventional capabilities of the developed and developing

24 The Changing Face of Military Power

world. Moreover, this gap continued to grow in the decade following the Gulf War with continued investment by the United States and other Western states in hi-tech conventional weapons, primarily air power systems. The upshot of this divergence in military capabilities has been a realization, by potential adversaries and Western defence planners, that it would be unwise for a less developed country or group of countries to take on the United States and its allies in a direct, forceon-force military confrontation. This is primarily because less developed countries will not possess, and cannot afford, the capabilities to guarantee victory in a conventionally ‘symmetrical’ conflict. Consequently, it is apparent that the only realistic way to take on the West in a military confrontation is by adopting indirect approaches: approaches which seek to negate Western conventional superiority by avoiding direct confrontation on the battlefield through targeting key military and political vulnerabilities using non-traditional or ‘asymmetric’ approaches. In 1997, the US Department of Defense’s Quadrennial Defense Review (QDR) referred to the potential employment by future adversaries of asymmetric means: ‘to delay or deny US access to critical facilities; disrupt our command, control, communications, and intelligence networks; deter allies and potential coalition partners from supporting US intervention; or inflict higher than expected US casualties in an attempt to weaken our national resolve’.18 The following year, Britain’s Strategic Defence Review (SDR) picked up the concept by stating that in future ‘potential adversaries may choose to adopt alternative weapons and unconventional (or asymmetric) strategies, perhaps attacking us through vulnerabilities in our open civil societies’. Moreover, the SDR referred to ‘new ways of fighting such as information warfare’ involving attacks via computer systems on which military forces and civil society ‘increasingly depend’. In addition, reference was made to the impact of media reporting that can result in the application of great pressure on operational decisions. Finally, the SDR highlighted the proliferation of technologies, specifically those that could be used against the UK and its allies including biological weapons.19 It is now rare for a major American or British publication on defence and security policy to omit at least one reference to the asymmetric dimension of future conflict. Indeed, Joint Vision 2020, published in June 2000 by the JCS, stated

Wyn Q. Bowen 25

that the appeal to adversaries of ‘asymmetric approaches’ would increase in future in the face of strong conventional American military capabilities.20 It should be noted, of course, that the concept of asymmetry is not new. In the words of a recent director of the US Defense Intelligence Agency, ‘attacking an adversary’s weaknesses with unexpected or innovative means while avoiding his strengths, is as old as warfare itself’.21 That said, the concept has received significant attention in Western defence and security circles in recent years.

Levels of conflict Asymmetric approaches and techniques can be implemented at all levels of conflict. At the strategic level,22 an asymmetric strategy would focus on influencing national, alliance or coalition policy objectives. The aim could be to deter extra-regional intervention, to compel an adversary to alter behaviour or objectives once hostilities are underway, or merely to complicate an opponent’s decisionmaking to buy time to realize military or political designs. Whatever the aim, the focus will be on targeting the opponent’s strategic vulnerabilities. As already demonstrated, a key Western vulnerability is the requirement to generate and maintain popular support to conduct large-scale military operations. This is particularly important when humanitarian rather than vital interests are at stake. A lack of, or deteriorating, popular support will sap a democratic government’s political will to pursue a particular course of action. Moreover, when coalitions or alliances are involved the degree of popular support can vary greatly between member states as a result of divergent interests and objectives. This can have negative consequences for political cohesion, especially if there are one or more ‘weak links’ in an alliance potentially open to exploitation. A lack of political cohesion can undermine credibility as well as the operational effectiveness of coalition forces. An asymmetric strategy designed to deter outside intervention would need to focus on convincing the target that the potential costs of involvement far exceed the potential gains. In limited conflicts of choice, potential costs are likely to be measured in terms of the expenditure of national resources but primarily in friendly

26 The Changing Face of Military Power

casualties and collateral damage. Potential gains are likely to be calculated in terms of how an intervention could further national or alliance interests. In an era of humanitarian interventions, it often appears that the potential cost–gain equation is loaded in favour of the former. Indeed, it is in the interest of future Western adversaries to help create and sustain this perception. Alternatively, an asymmetric strategy could be designed to compel the target to withdraw or to disengage. The aim would be to threaten or to act in a particular way with the hope of convincing the target that the costs incurred, or likely to be incurred, are too great relative to the interests at stake, thereby undermining popular and political support for continued action. At the operational level, asymmetric techniques would focus on hindering an opponent’s application of military resources towards the realization of military strategic objectives. Specifically, attention would centre on techniques to influence an opponent’s planning, sustenance, sequencing, direction and conduct of its military campaign. Vulnerabilities at this level are primarily the product of constraints imposed on an adversary projecting military power far from home. A good example here is the vulnerability of deployed or deploying forces in allied countries in proximity to the theatre of operations. Ports of disembarkation, airfields and other static targets such as troop and equipment concentrations constitute large and potentially rewarding targets for future adversaries. Successful attacks or threats against such targets could reduce an adversary’s operational effectiveness. This could be achieved by slowing the build-up of forces in theatre or diverting resources to provide for necessary defensive measures. In doing so, an adversary could potentially create the conditions required to realize operational or strategic objectives. At the tactical level, asymmetric techniques would be typified by relatively inexpensive and low-tech approaches that seek to counter the effects of advanced conventional weapon systems, primarily air power systems. The aim would be to disrupt an opponent’s tactical application of military resources in the pursuit of operational objectives. This could be attempted by reducing susceptibility to strategic bombardment and reducing the vulnerability of friendly forces to air attack. Asymmetric approaches can be applied, therefore, at all levels of conflict. In this era of humanitarianism, it should be remembered that approaches applied at the tactical level always have the poten-

Wyn Q. Bowen 27

tial to produce strategic effects, especially if the target is desperate to keep casualties to a minimum. Indeed, an underdog may attempt to generate tactical events with the sole purpose of producing a strategic effect when confronting an opponent fighting to protect desirable rather than vital interests. To help illustrate this and other asymmetric issues, the Kosovo conflict is offered as an example in the following section. First, NATO’s military objectives in Allied Force are outlined, the constraints under which the Alliance operated are highlighted, and the air campaign style is briefly described. Consideration is then given to the approaches and techniques adopted as part of Serbia’s asymmetric counter-response to the NATO air campaign. Attention is also given to what the Serbs did not do either because of capability gaps or the potential existence of thresholds which the Milosevic regime was not prepared to cross.

Kosovo 1999 Operation Allied Force: objectives, constraints and campaign style NATO began Allied Force with the following military objective: to degrade and disrupt the military and security forces of Yugoslavia responsible for depopulating and destroying the Albanian majority in Kosovo23 in order to ‘systematically reduce the ability of President Milosevic to sustain his repressive operations’.24 From the outset it was apparent there would be significant constraints on Alliance operations. These included the effects of bad weather and rugged terrain on targeting, a ‘robust’ integrated air defence system and the ability of Serbian forces to disperse and camouflage equipment to avoid detection and destruction.25 However, the principal constraints were political because, as discussed earlier, this was a limited conflict of choice waged on humanitarian grounds. Hence, from day one the issue of popular and political support among the 19 member states became a pivotal issue. The need to sustain the political cohesion of NATO resulted in a heavy emphasis on avoiding collateral damage in Kosovo and Serbia as well as minimizing allied losses.26 This dictated the imperative of avoiding a potentially very costly ground war, the graduated nature of the air campaign and the imposition of minimum flight ceilings for NATO aircraft. These constraints reduced NATO’s military effectiveness and to a large extent determined Serbian counter-strategies and tactics.

28 The Changing Face of Military Power

By making it clear at the outset that the use of ground forces was out of the question, NATO effectively told Belgrade the Alliance did not have the stomach for a prolonged fight or for taking significant casualties.27 According to Klaus Naumann, NATO failed ‘to preserve uncertainty in Belgrade’s mind regarding the consequences it might face in the case of his [Milosevic] rejection of peaceful solutions’. Naumann added that ‘some NATO nations began to rule out simultaneously options such as the use of ground forces and did so, without any need, in public’, thus allowing Milosevic ‘to calculate his risk and to speculate that there might be a chance for him to ride the threat out and to hope that NATO would either be unable to act at all or that the cohesion of the Alliance would melt away under the public impression of punishing air strikes’.28 The air campaign was designed to ramp up pressure gradually on Belgrade to end the ethnic cleansing of Kosovar Albanians and to withdraw Serb forces from the province. It was evident that NATO hoped Milosevic would return to the negotiating table after a few days of minimal air strikes. However, the initial few days of the campaign further solidified Belgrade’s resolve because it demonstrated that the Alliance lacked the stomach for anything more than limited operations. What followed was a 78-day air campaign that progressed through several phases as Milosevic refused to give in as quickly as at first hoped. The campaign focused initially on a limited list of fixed targets associated with the air defence system throughout the FRY. Once it was evident that Milosevic had not been coerced and ethnic cleansing was continuing,29 NATO expanded the campaign to include security forces infrastructure, the military in Kosovo and reinforcement forces (for example, headquarters, telecommunication installations, matériel and ammunition depots, military barracks, oil terminals).30 Eventually, once it became apparent that Belgrade had stepped up its campaign of ethnic cleansing, the air campaign was expanded to include simultaneous attacks on a broad range of targets of military significance throughout the entire FRY, including individual tanks and positions in Kosovo, as well as strategic civilian targets in Serbia itself (including bridges, factories, party headquarters, TV transmitters, power stations).31 Since the end of the conflict numerous analysts have argued that NATO should have gone after strategic targets much earlier and with greater force. According to Klaus Naumann, phase two should have focused ‘more

Wyn Q. Bowen 29

and earlier on those targets which hurt a ruler such as Milosevic and which constitute the pillars on which his power rests’.32 However, in political terms the expansion of the campaign to hit strategic targets in Serbia was a highly controversial and divisive issue within the Alliance. According to William Cohen and Henry Shelton, ‘for selected categories of targets – for example, targets in downtown Belgrade or targets likely to involve high collateral damage – NATO reserved the approval for higher political authorities’.33 After the conflict, General Michael Short, the NATO Joint Force Air Component Commander, said the French government played the red card so often on target choices that these restrictions made air operations predictable and thus dangerous. The political imperative of avoiding friendly casualties forced NATO military planners to limit tactics to a medium-level bombing campaign to protect pilots from Serbian air defences. The rationale was to minimize the risk of losing Allied aircraft and air-crew because of a perception that downed aircraft would provide the Serbs with a propaganda victory and potentially turn Alliance public opinion against NATO involvement.34 Consequently, the majority of NATO aircraft operated above 15 000 feet for protection, especially against the most unpredictable threats posed by shoulderlaunched MANPADs (man portable air defence systems) and AAA (anti-aircraft artillery).35 According to Michael Short, this ceiling offered NATO’s ‘best opportunity to survive’ in association with night attack and the use of precision-guided munitions.36 Approval for weapons release and forward air control excursions below 15 000 feet was subsequently granted, however, after NATO aircraft hit a convoy of civilians, generating the political need to avoid similar events occurring again. This enabled NATO pilots to fly much lower to see if targets were ‘tanks, tractors or buses’ and then return to a safer altitude.37 The style of the air campaign ensured that only two allied aircraft were lost to air defences in nearly 10 000 bombing missions. As the air defence threat degraded, operating restrictions on NATO aircraft were eased and some operated down to 6000 feet.38 However, the general reluctance to fly at low levels was not conducive to engaging mobile tactical targets including the vehicles and military personnel perpetuating the humanitarian conflict on the ground. Moreover, Michael Short said that by seeking to reduce civilian casualties, NATO placed its aircrews in danger. For example,

30 The Changing Face of Military Power

by bombing bridges only on week-nights between 10.00 pm and 4.00 am. Such regular schedules made NATO planes more vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire.39 The whole situation was exacerbated during the first 45 days by cloud cover and thick mist.40 However, the strategic element of the air campaign did prove more effective because the targets were generally static in nature. The public refusal by NATO leaders to consider ground forces at the outset, the graduated nature of the air campaign and the imposition of height restrictions on Alliance aircraft all interacted to reduce the ability of NATO military planners to do their job effectively. These constraints were lifted somewhat when NATO resolve was bolstered as it became clear the Alliance was losing credibility. Although ultimately successful in coercing Milosevic, the political constraints on the Alliance did, to a large extent, determine the nature of Serbian counter-strategies and tactics. Serbian counter-strategies and tactics Speaking after Allied Force in September 1999, William Cohen and Henry Shelton said the United States and NATO would have to prepare in future for adversaries who rely increasingly on unconventional and ‘asymmetrical warfare’. In doing so, Cohen and Shelton said Kosovo had not been a ‘traditional conflict’ because there was no ‘direct military clash of massed military forces’. Indeed, the Milosevic regime was not in a position directly to challenge the Alliance’s superior military capabilities, so it chose to fight indirectly. The means adopted included ‘terror tactics’ against Kosovo civilians as part of an ethnic cleansing strategy; ‘attempts to exploit the premium the alliance placed on minimizing casualties and collateral damage’; the ‘creation of enormous refugee flows to create a humanitarian crisis’; and the ‘conduct of disinformation and propaganda campaigns’.41 Although the Milosevic regime knew NATO could not be defeated militarily, Belgrade clearly believed that if the conflict could be prolonged then it might outlast NATO politically. This was because the Alliance suffered from internal differences in terms of objectives, interests and responses vis-à-vis the Kosovo crisis. Indeed, the overarching counter-strategy pursued sought to exploit Western fears about friendly combat casualties – especially in the United States – and enemy civilian casualties in the hope of exacerbating these differences.

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An initial approach adopted by the Serbs, and subsequently pursued throughout most of the conflict, was ‘Operation Horseshoe’.42 Cohen and Shelton claimed that the operation was ‘comprehensively planned months in advance’ as a ‘brutal means to end the crisis’ on Milosevic’s terms by ‘expelling and killing ethnic Albanians, overtaxing bordering nations’ infrastructures, and fracturing the NATO alliance’.43 Klaus Naumann claimed the expulsion of Kosovars was ‘an obvious attempt to counter NATO in an asymmetric response and to deprive NATO of its theoretical launching pad for ground force operations through a destabilization of FYROM and Albania’. To Naumann, NATO was lucky it still had the Extraction Force in the FYROM and was thus ‘able to deploy and assemble an appropriate force’.44 However, the expulsion of Kosovars caused operational problems for NATO and the wider coalition, and made the prosecution of the air campaign problematic.45 Following Allied Force, Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR), General Wesley Clark, said the Serbs had been ‘very smart on the ground’ in the way they reacted to the air campaign.46 The Serbs adopted extensive concealment and deception tactics which served to protect much of the FRY mobile ground forces, consisting of self-propelled artillery and tanks, armoured personnel carriers, mortars and other military vehicles. The initial lack of a ground war threat contributed to this situation because the Serb forces did not have to gear up for a ground attack by preparing defensive positions and stockpiling supplies. Thus, instead of providing vulnerable defensive targets for NATO air power, Serb ground forces were able to remain mobile and to hide from Alliance aircraft.47 KLA representatives reportedly told SACEUR in April 1999 that NATO’s refusal to consider a ground war had ‘allowed the Serb army to disperse its armoured forces, personnel and equipment throughout the province often using the cover of the homes of ethnic Albanians purged over the past month’.48 Another counter included widespread deception techniques and concealment of the damage suffered by ground forces.49 According to the SACEUR Strike Assessment following the conflict, the Serbs removed evidence and cleaned up the battlefield to conceal the damage inflicted by NATO. For example, equipment was towed out of bomb-damaged revetments and transported out of Kosovo.50 The Serbs also built decoy bridges to divert NATO’s attention from

32 The Changing Face of Military Power

camouflaged bridges nearby. Other bridges were painted with infrared paint in zigzag patterns to break up their shape to forwardlooking infrared sensor systems on NATO aircraft. In addition, road movements were conducted in and around refugee columns to confuse NATO reconnaissance systems and to deter attacks.51 Moreover, male Kosovars were placed in a variety of vehicles to act as ‘human shields’ in front of and behind Serbian convoys. Civilian hostages were also held at military barracks, factories and power plants.52 These tactics were designed to play on NATO concerns about collateral damage and served to constrain air operations against Serbian ground forces.53 According to one account, ethnic Albanians were herded into an ammunition factory and a metal processing plant used as a depot for Serb armoured vehicles.54 After the conflict, Michael Short said Milosevic had no compunction at all about putting civilians inside ‘valid military targets’ and on a couple of occasions NATO ‘struck those targets’ and subsequently ‘saw the results on CNN’.55 As the air campaign progressed, however, NATO air activity increased and Serb ground forces were forced to remain hidden from view and to move only in limited circumstances. This had a detrimental effect on their tactical combat effectiveness,56 which subsequently enabled the KLA to engage Serbian ground forces with increasing success. Throughout Allied Force the integrated air defence system remained functional despite a sustained NATO effort to put it out of action.57 In the face of local NATO air superiority – based on enemy air defence suppression, altitude sanctuaries and precision stand-off weapons58 – the Serbian strategy was designed to conserve air defence assets ‘while attempting to down NATO aircraft as targets of opportunity’.59 In short, the Serbs sought to employ its air defence assets to strengthen opposition within the Alliance by shooting down a few NATO planes. In doing so, the Serbs were forced to ‘husband’ their anti-aircraft missile defences to sustain their challenge to NATO aircraft.60 Throughout the conflict, surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) posed the only credible threat to NATO aircraft; more than 700 radar-guided SA-3 and SA-6 SAMs were launched.61 However, Serb radar operators realized that using tracking radar to attempt to guide missiles against NATO aircraft meant they were invariably subject to counter-attack. Thus, Serb air defence systems were suppressed in that they were forced to hide or move around to

Wyn Q. Bowen 33

remain undetected. Moreover, tracking radar was only activated briefly when Allied aircraft were in close proximity in order to minimize their vulnerability to counter-attack.62 Occasionally, the Serbs even launched missiles without radar guidance.63 Although prompted by NATO suppression, these defensive tactics made the targeting of Serbian air defence systems problematic. Indeed, at the end of the air campaign, according to US Marine Corps BrigadierGeneral Flanagan, ‘only a handful of Serbian SAM sites and early warning radar networks had been destroyed’. As a result, ‘bombing missions on day 70 were potentially as dangerous as missions on day one’.64 Moreover, the command and control system supporting the air defences was ‘redundant, flexible and adaptable’ which further complicated its defeat.65 Fortunately for NATO, on the whole Serbian air defence tactics failed, achieving only very limited success in shooting down Alliance aircraft. Belgrade waged a sustained propaganda and disinformation campaign throughout Allied Force. This was designed to manipulate both internal and external perceptions of the air assault and was made possible through Milosevic’s state-controlled media and Belgrade’s control of international media access to Serbia. Internally, the aim was to suppress news about ethnic cleansing emanating from Kosovo to the rest of Serbia to sustain morale during what was believed would be a long campaign. The movement of ethnic Albanians in Kosovo was depicted as the result of their need to flee unprovoked NATO air strikes. Moreover, within a week of the hostilities commencing, the regime had claimed that seven NATO planes had been shot down, two pilots had been captured and the Alliance was deliberately targeting the civilian population.66 Externally, the regime sought to project images of death and destruction to undermine domestic popular support within the NATO member states. The aim was to fracture the Alliance politically, but also to prompt international condemnation of NATO’s actions. Initially, Western journalists in Serbia received threats, they suffered from harassment and many were deported.67 However, the Serbian approach altered subsequently when it became evident the international media could be manipulated.68 Indeed, some of the graphic images of death and destruction that emanated from the FRY did help to generate opposition to Allied Force within the NATO member states and the international community as a

34 The Changing Face of Military Power

whole. Although this approach ultimately failed to fracture NATO’s political cohesion, it did undermine the operational effectiveness of the Alliance. During Allied Force, the Serbian media claimed that NATO had dropped napalm on children.69 Moreover, one Serbian general claimed that 47 NATO aircraft and four helicopters had been shot down.70 Serbian officials also claimed that during the campaign around 2000 civilians were killed by NATO. For example: it was claimed that 55 were killed when two missiles hit a train crossing a bridge in southern Serbia; 75 were killed when NATO accidentally bombed a refugee column; and 87 died when the village of Korisa was bombed. The Alliance countered these claims by asserting that the Serbs used civilians as ‘human shields’ and that Korisa was a legitimate military target.71 However, it was evident that the Serbs were exploiting and generating tactical events in an attempt to produce strategic effects. Moreover, intelligence sources reportedly stated that Serb forces had been seen parking trucks packed with explosives in civilian areas in several towns in Kosovo. According to these sources, the intent was to detonate the trucks when NATO aircraft flew overhead and to blame the resulting civilian casualties on NATO.72 Another tactical event exploited for potential strategic effect was the capture of American soldiers on the Kosovo border with the FYROM. This appeared to be designed to undermine American domestic support. Another example included the appearance of Milosevic on Serbian TV with Ibrahim Rugova, the moderate leader of the ethnic Albanians. During his TV appearance, Rugova said he was under the protection of Serb forces and he appealed for an end to the NATO campaign and called for a political solution instead. It was widely speculated that Rugova had been captured and was speaking under duress.73 NATO’s accidental bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade also provided the Milosevic regime with an event it exploited for significant strategic effect. Throughout the conflict Belgrade attempted to capitalize on its pre-existing politico-strategic relationship with Moscow in an effort to generate a wider international crisis. In large part, this played on Russia’s general opposition to Western interventionism. Given that the eventual withdrawal of Russian support for Belgrade has since been identified as a key factor in influencing Milosevic’s decision to give in to NATO, he evidently believed this approach had the poten-

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tial to be quite effective. The Russian connection was demonstrated in late March 1999 when Moscow announced it was sending a naval reconnaissance vessel to the Adriatic Sea.74 Indeed, the Russian government reportedly ‘confirmed that intelligence gleaned by a reconnaissance ship on way to the Mediteranean would be passed to Belgrade to help counter the air campaign’.75 Belgrade’s strategy of exploiting its relationship with Russia was also evident in Moscow’s attempts to broker a political settlement during the conflict. These attempts appeared designed to undermine the political will of NATO member states to continue with the air campaign. What the Serbs didn’t do: capability gaps and threshold perception Ultimately, of course, the Alliance prevailed over Belgrade and there has been much debate since regarding the key factors that brought Milosevic to accept NATO’s ceasefire terms.76 Given NATO’s victory, was there anything the Serbs could have done to avert defeat? This question is potentially significant in terms of identifying capability gaps and potential thresholds that Belgrade chose not to cross in its counter-response. An oft-cited asymmetric response is that of terrorism against civilian and/or military targets. Belgrade did not consider, or chose not to resort, to terrorist activity against NATO interests outside the Kosovo theatre of operations. However, the threat of terrorism was considered to be very real by several NATO governments. The Italian government was concerned about possible revenge attacks by Serb missiles or aircraft, or even acts of sabotage or terrorism, because the majority of NATO warplanes were operating from Italian bases.77 Similar concerns about terrorist acts were also present in France. In late March 1999, media reports drew attention to the potential vulnerability of Royal Air Force (RAF) personnel to terrorist attacks in and around the NATO airbase at Gioia del Colle, Italy. In response to these stories, an RAF spokesman was reported as saying that if there had not been a terrorist threat before, there ‘bloody was one now’.78 Although terrorism outside Kosovo was not a feature of the conflict in 1999, this does not mean future opponents will not resort to this approach. Indeed, future underdogs might perceive the absence of this technique as a key failing of the Serbian counter-campaign. This omission could have been the result of the Serbian leadership’s perception that resorting to such

36 The Changing Face of Military Power

means would have crossed a NATO threshold by posing a direct threat to Alliance security. This could then have prompted greater political cohesion and resolve within NATO. In the future, it appears the likelihood of terrorist activity will be determined by three issues: the degree to which a regime feels threatened; the extent to which a regime believes it has nothing left to lose; and whether a regime calculates that such an approach would prompt greater rather than less resolve in an opponent. The Serbs did not employ or threaten to use chemical weapons, at least not publicly. This was despite reports that Serbia inherited a chemical warfare capability after the breakup of Yugoslavia in 1991. Chemical agents reportedly possessed by Serbia include soman and VX nerve agents, sulphur mustard and phosgene, and chemicalcapable delivery systems included artillery shells, air-delivered bombs, rockets and mines.79 Again, the issue of threshold perception could have been important here. For example, it is possible that Milosevic would have resorted to chemical threats or use if the survival of his regime had been threatened during the air campaign itself. The threat or use of chemical, biological and even nuclear weapons has received great attention in the literature on asymmetric warfare. It is widely postulated that chemical and biological weapons in particular are likely to become weapons of the underdog in future conflicts primarily because they are relatively straightforward to manufacture, in comparison to nuclear weapons, and they offer the capability to inflict casualties out of proportion to their conventional military capability. In future, the possession of chemical, biological or nuclear weapons could help adversaries raise the potential costs and risks of Western intervention way above the interests at stake. Indeed, their destructive potential and Western sensitivity to casualties implies they may become the preferred means to deter Western involvement. This is especially the case if the stakes involved are much lower for the intervener. A disturbing prospect is that a regime under siege could consider threatening or actually initiating terrorist acts employing these types of weapons. However, the decision to do so would probably be influenced by whether an attack is deemed necessary to prevent the total defeat of a regime or if it perceives there is nothing left to lose. During Allied Force there was speculation in the media that Belgrade would exploit the Hungarian connection. At least one

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report claimed there was ‘a risk that Milosevic might order a hitand-run raid across the border by specialist troops to exploit opposition in Hungary to the bombing campaign and try to shatter NATO unity’. One potential option singled out was ‘a raid on the nuclear power station at Pecs in southern Hungary’.80 There were also reported to be concerns in Hungary that Belgrade might conscript men from the 300 000 ethnic Hungarians in Vojvodina, Serbia, as a reprisal for Hungary’s role in Allied Force including the provision of bases and air space to NATO aircraft.81 However, any direct attack on this new NATO member would have constituted an Article 5 aggression requiring all other member states to come to Hungary’s assistance. If Belgrade did indeed contemplate this option, the Article 5 issue could have been a sufficient deterrent. Allied Force also drew attention to Serbia’s lack of a long-range strike capability. It has been speculated that if Serbia possessed ‘long-range power projection’ capabilities such as ballistic or cruise missiles this could have helped to deter NATO involvement or to impose operational constraints on the Alliance. Such capabilities, potentially married with chemical or biological weapons, could have played on Western concerns about avoiding casualties. One analysis asked the question: ‘if Serbia had possessed even the comparatively crude Scuds used by Iraq during the Gulf War, would American and allied planes have operated from bases so conveniently close to the Yugoslav border?’82 Moreover, what if Serbia had possessed the capability to hit Rome, Paris or London? Would France, Italy and the UK have participated? Would US planes have operated from bases so close to the border?83 These are hypothetical questions in the case of the Kosovo conflict. However, they draw attention to the strategic and operational leverage such capabilities can potentially afford Western adversaries in future asymmetric conflicts. During Allied Force NATO expected the Serbs to launch information attacks against military and civilian targets. Prior to the conflict, Britain’s Government Communications Headquarters reportedly warned about the potential threat that Serbian computer hackers posed to the UK’s critical information infrastructure in retaliation to the air campaign.84 According to a report in the Sunday Times, the warnings took on greater urgency once Allied Force commenced. There was reported to be a particular concern about those

38 The Changing Face of Military Power

utilities and services ‘highly reliant on Internet connections’ and which were most ‘vulnerable to attack’.85 Indeed, the Serbs were reported to have considerable expertise in computing and to have trained programmers in electronic espionage and sabotage skills.86 It appears the Serbs did not attempt, or did not possess the requisite capabilities, to perform an effective cyber-campaign against NATO. However, there is little data available in the open sources on the extent to which Serbia attempted to wage such a campaign. One exception was the saturation with approximately 2000 e-mails a day of the server hosting the NATO website (http://www.nato.int) by an individual in Serbia. This effort put the website out of action for three days. Although high security electronic systems were unaffected, the attack did partially undermine NATO’s ability to project the Alliance’s policy and views vis-à-vis Allied Force. Moreover, it did demonstrate the potential for information warfare in future conflicts.87 Indeed, by developing the means to hold the information infrastructure of advanced countries to ransom, future adversaries could be in a position to deter or constrain Western intervention in regional contingencies.

Conclusion This chapter used the recent conflict in Kosovo as a case study to illustrate that three factors are likely to characterize armed conflicts in which Western countries become involved for the foreseeable future. First, there is likely to be an imbalance of the interests at stake between the adversaries, skewed in favour of Western opponents. Second, future conflicts are likely to be characterized by significant political, economic and cultural differences between the adversaries. As a result, the opposing sides will be subject to different political, legal and ethical constraints. This factor will be exacerbated by the first because future opponents will be defending vital interests whereas this will not be case for intervening powers. Third, future opponents will increasingly seek to avoid direct military confrontation and adopt indirect approaches that target key vulnerabilities such as the perceived sensitivity of democracies to casualties when intervening to protect less than vital interests.

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It is inevitable that potential adversaries will study Kosovo to derive lessons in countering intervention by a hi-tech opponent capable of rapidly establishing air superiority. SACEUR recognized this fact when he told the US Senate that future adversaries would examine Kosovo ‘with the goal of improving their own capabilities’.88 Some of these potential capability gaps were highlighted in the previous section. It is imperative for NATO states to accord equal attention to this issue, including how best to offset future enemy counter-strategies and tactics. The context of the Kosovo conflict was, of course, shaped by ‘distinct military, cultural, geographic, political and economic factors’.89 This fact places a premium on timely and pertinent intelligence gathering and analysis vis-à-vis the emergence of future regional opponents. Indeed, as early as 1997 the National Defense Panel’s report on the QDR of that year stated that, ‘As the asymmetric challenges of the future increase the complexity of warfare, the importance of human intelligence (HUMINT) and other intelligence disciplines will likely grow.’90 Moreover, given the multidimensional nature of asymmetric threats, it follows that any effective response must be interagency in nature and the issue should be viewed in broad ‘security’ rather than narrow ‘defence’ policy terms.

Notes 1. It should be noted that an open-source analysis of this type can in no way be exhaustive and therefore will be open to debate. 2. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Vision 2020, Director for Strategic Plans and Policy, J5, Strategy Division (Washington, DC: USGPO, June 2000), p. 8. 3. B.R. Posen, ‘The War over Kosovo: Serbia’s Political-Military Strategy’, International Security, vol. 24, no. 4 (Spring 2000), pp. 42–4. 4. Ibid., pp. 42–9. 5. Ibid., p. 48. 6. See: combined prepared statement of W. Clark, J. Ellis and M. Short of the United States European Command before the Armed Services Committee of the United States Senate, 21 October 1999, pp. 2–3; and prepared statement of the Honourable W.S. Cohen to the Armed Services Committee of the United States Senate, Hearing on Operations in Kosovo, 20 July 1999, p. 3. 7. Statement of K. Naumann, German Army, former Chairman NATO Military Committee, to the Senate Armed Services Committee, 3 November 1999, p. 2.

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8. Ibid. 9. C.J. Dunlap, ‘Preliminary Observations: Asymmetrical Warfare and the Western Mindset’, in Lloyd J. Matthews (ed.), Challenging the United States Symmetrically and Asymmetrically: Can America be Defeated? (Carlisle, PA: US Strategic Studies Institute, 1998), p. 2. 10. C. Bremner, ‘Waiting Game Puts Resolve to Test’, The Times, 1 April 1999. 11. M. Binyon, ‘How NATO Members Are Facing the Flak’, The Times, 27 March 1999. 12. A. Campbell, ‘Communications Lessons for NATO, the Military and Media’, RUSI Journal, 144/4 (August 1999), pp. 31–6. 13. ‘Spinning for Victory’, Daily Telegraph, 16 October 1999. 14. Joint Statement of US Secretary of Defense W.S. Cohen and JCS Chairman General H.H. Shelton to a hearing on the Kosovo AfterAction Review, Senate Armed Services Committee, US States Congress, 14 October 1999, p. 3. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. See also Clark, Ellis and Short, op. cit., p. 4. 17. See US Department of State, ‘Background Notes: Serbia and Montenegro’, Bureau of European Affairs, August 1999 (http://www. state.gov/www/background_notes/serbia_9908_bgn.html); Naumann, p. 4; and ‘Serbia and Montenegro’, US Central Intelligence Agency (http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/sr.html). 18. W.S. Cohen, Secretary of Defense, ‘Report of the Quadrennial Defense Review’, May 1997 (http://www.defenselink.mil/pubs/qdr). 19. ‘Security Priorities in a Changing World’, Strategic Defence Review, Ministry of Defence, London, July 1998, Chapter 2, para 34. 20. Joint Vision 2020, p . 6. 21. P.M. Hughes, Director US Defense Intelligence Agency, statement to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, 28 January 1998, ‘Global Threats and Challenges: the Decade Ahead’. 22. Grand Strategy involves the application of a country’s, or an alliance’s, entire resources in line with policy objectives. It involves bringing to bear all elements of national or alliance power – economic, political, diplomatic and military. See for example P. Paret, ‘Introduction’, in P. Paret (ed.), Makers of Modern Strategy: from Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), p. 3. Military Strategy involves the application of military resources to achieve Grand Strategic objectives. Aims have to be identified and selected and then exposed to critical examination of feasibility and likely enemy strategy and reactions. K. Macksey and W. Wodehouse, The Penguin Encyclopaedia of Modern Warfare (London: Viking, 1991), pp. 312–13. 23. See Clark, Ellis and Short, op. cit., p. 3; Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 1; Statement of W.S. Cohen, Hearing on US Policy towards FRY, House Armed Services Committee, 15 April 1999 (http://www. house.gov/hasc/testimony).

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24. Statement of General H.H. Shelton, Hearing on US Policy Towards FRY, House Armed Services Committee, 15 April 1999 (http:// www.house.gov/hasc/testimony). 25. Ibid. 26. Wesley, Ellis and Short, op. cit., p. 3. 27. R. Norton-Taylor, ‘Conflict Where Politicians Called the Shots’, Guardian, 11 June 1999. 28. Naumann, op. cit., pp. 3–4. 29. ’Operation Allied Force’, Federation of American Scientists, Washington, DC (http://www.fas.org/man/dod-101/ops/allied_force. htm). 30. ‘Operation Allied Force’, Daily Telegraph, 22 July 1999. 31. ’Operation Allied Force’, Federation of American Scientists, Wash -ington, DC (http://www.fas.org/man/dod-101/ops/allied_force.htm); ‘Operation Allied Force’, Daily Telegraph, 22 July 1999. General J.P. Jumper, Commander US Air Forces in Europe, USAF, to the Military Readiness Subcommittee of the House Armed Services Committee, 26 October 1999, pp. 2–3. 32. Naumann, op. cit., p. 4. 33. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 9. 34. Taylor, op. cit. 35 John A. Tirpak, ‘Short’s View of the Air Campaign’, Air Force Magazine, September 1999, pp. 43–7. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid. 38. Lord Robertson, ‘Kosovo: an Account of the Crisis – NATO Air Strikes’, Ministry of Defence, London (http://www.mod.uk/news/kosovo). 39. D. Priest, ‘Air Commander Says He Would Have Bombed Belgrade First’, Washington Post, 22 October 1999, p. A34 (http://www. washingtonpost.com). 40. J.A. Tirpak, ‘Short’s View of the Air Campaign’, Air Force Magazine, September 1999, pp. 43–7; ‘Lessons from Kosovo: Military Operational Capabilities’, The Military Balance 1999–2000 (Oxford: Oxford University Press/IISS, 1999), p. 289. 41. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 4. 42. Naumann, op. cit., p. 2. 43. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 2. 44. Naumann, op. cit., pp. 4–5. 45. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 17. 46. W. Clark and J. Corley, Press Conference on the Kosovo Strike Assessment, 16 September 1999, US European Command (http:// www.eucom.mil). 47. Jumper, op. cit., p. 4. 48. A. Loyd, ‘NATO Campaign Not Working Say Guerrillas’, The Times, 24 April 1999.

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49. T. Butcher and B. Rooney, ‘Damage Done by Bombing was Overestimated’, Daily Telegraph, 19 June 1999. 50. Clark and Corley, op. cit.. 51. T. Ripley, ‘Kosovo: a Bomb Damage Assessment’, Jane’s Intelligence Review, September 1999, pp. 10–13. 52. D. McGrory and S. Walker, ‘You Will Go Everywhere With Our Tanks, Human Shields Are Told’, The Times, 27 March 1999. 53. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 13. 54. P. Bishop, P. Smucker and C. Randall, ‘Children Used as Human Shields’, Daily Telegraph, 27 March 1999. 55. Tirpak, op. cit., pp. 43–7. 56. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., pp. 13–14. 57. Statement of D.J. Murphy, US Navy Commander, US Sixth Fleet and Striking and Support Forces, Southern Europe, to the Military Readiness Subcommittee of the House Armed Services Committee, 26 October 1999, p.5 58. Ibid. 59. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 12. 60. Ibid., p. 4. 61. Jumper, op. cit., p. 4. 62. Ibid. 63. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 12. 64. Statement by R.M. Flanagan, Deputy Commander, II Marine Expeditionary Force, United States Marine Corps, to the Military Readiness Subcommittee of the House Armed Services Committee, 26 October 1999, pp. 2–3. 65. Cohen and Shelton, op. cit., p. 12. 66. M. Binyon, ‘Dubious Tactics Mar Hearts and Minds Campaign’, The Times, 3 April 1999. 67. M. Henderson and C. Midgley, ‘Belgrade Steps Up Expulsion of Press “Spies’’’ , The Times, 26 March 1999. 68. R. Boyes, ‘Serb Unity is the Deadliest Weapon Confronting NATO Alliance’, The Times, 30 March 1999. 69. Campbell, op. cit., pp. 31–6. 70. Clark and Corley, op. cit. 71. ‘Operation Allied Force’, Federation of American Scientists, Washington, DC (http://www.fas.org/man/dod-101/ops/allied_force. htm). 72. M. Evans, T. Walker and R. Boyes, ‘NATO Steps Up Bombing With 24-Hour Raids’, The Times, 31 March 1999. 73. M. Evans, T. Walker and I. Brodie, ‘Outrage at PoW Show Trial’, The Times, 2 April 1999. 74. M. Warren, ‘Russian Ship to Sail for Adriatic’, Daily Telegraph, 1 April 1999. 75. Evans, Walker and Brodie, op. cit. 76. General contributory factors included sustained Alliance cohesion; the build-up of NATO ground forces in Albania and FYROM and public discussion by NATO leaders of a ground invasion; a recognition that

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77. 78. 79.

80. 81. 82.

83.

84. 85.

86. 87. 88. 89. 90.

Russia could not rescue Milosevic; the persistent efforts of Kosovar Albanians against Serbian ground forces; war fatigue of the civilian population and military conscripts; mounting damage from NATO’s intensified air campaign against industrial infrastructure and national command and control targets, as well as attacks against Milosevic’s fielded forces in Kosovo; an inability to cause any notable damage or casualties to NATO forces. See for example, Cohen to the Armed Services Committee of the United States Senate, op. cit.; Naumann op.cit.; Tirpak, op. cit., pp. 43–7; Cohen and Shelton, op. cit. R. Owen, ‘Missile Batteries Set Up to Defend Adriatic Resorts’, The Times, 25 March 1999. R. Owen, ‘RAF Fights Press in a Time-warp War’, The Times, 31 March 1999. Federation of American Scientists, ‘Chemical Agents in the Former Yugoslavia’, 23 April 2000 (http://www.fas.org/nuke/guide/serbia/ cw/index.html); I. Alborghetti, ‘Serbia’s Chemical Weapons Stock Detailed’, Zagreb Globus, 16 April 1999, pp. 18–19 (http://ww w.fas.org/news/serbia/fbis-eeu-1999-0416.htm). T. Butcher, ‘NATO Plans to Open up New Front’, Daily Telegraph, 20 May 1999. N. van der Laan and C. Lockwood, ‘Bulgarians and Hungarians Fear Effects of War’, Daily Telegraph, 9 April 1999. E. Fox and S. Orman, ‘Lessons Others Will Learn from Kosovo’, Centre for Defence and International Security Studies, Lancaster University, August 1999 (http://www.cdiss.org). E. Fox and S. Orman, ‘National Missile Defense Deployment Could Have Unforeseen Consequences for US-Allied Relations’, Centre for Defence and International Security Studies, Lancaster University, July 1999 (http://www.cdiss.org). S. Farrar, ‘British Firms on Alert for Hackers’, Sunday Times, 4 April 1999. High-value targets include communications and financial networks, telephone exchanges, power grids and transportation networks. Although systems accessible via the Internet will be the most vulnerable even stand-alone systems could be targeted by insiders. Examples of stand-alone systems include air traffic control, train networks and nuclear power plants. Farrar, op.cit. C. Bremner, ‘Belgrade Holes Net’, The Times, 1 April 1999. Clark, Ellis and Short, op.cit., p. 7. H. Shelton, testimony to the Senate Armed Services Committee, 20 July 1999, p. 3. ‘The National Defense Panel, Assessment of the May 1997 Quadrennial Defense Review’, Department of Defense, Washington, DC (http://www.defenselink.mil/topstory/ndp_assess.html).

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3 Limitations on Joint Warfare: the Impact of the Proliferation of Conventional Weapons Technology Paul Rogers

In October 2000, the USS Cole, an 8600 ton Arleigh Burke class destroyer was en route to join the Fifth Fleet for a deployment in the Persian Gulf. As one of the world’s most modern warships, it was equipped with a range of land-attack systems including Tomahawk cruise missiles. In the event of a further crisis with Iraq during its period of deployment, the Cole would have been one of the warships likely to fire its weapons. In the event, on 12 October the Cole was subject to a paramilitary attack while at anchor in Aden harbour, when a small inflatable boat packed with explosives came alongside and its two-man crew detonated the charges, killing themselves and 17 sailors and injuring 39 others. The damage to the ship was massive, with a 40-foot by 20-foot hole in the side, and decks and bulkheads compressed out from the point of explosion. By early January, the Cole had been returned to the shipyard where it was built in Mississippi for repairs estimated to cost $350 million. The attack on the Cole was widely seen as a terrorist assault on the United States, part of a general anti-American sentiment throughout the Middle East. This may have been the case, but it is probably more correctly seen as a direct military response to US intervention in the Persian Gulf. As such, it is part of a line of attacks over recent years, all of them either directly or indirectly linked to US action in the region.

45

46 The Changing Face of Military Power

In the analysis presented in this chapter, it is argued that unconventional responses to Western intervention are likely to be more common than the direct use of conventional forces, not least because of the overwhelming military superiority now enjoyed by the United States and its allies. In developing this analysis, though, it is advisable first to look at some of the broad parameters of conflict now developing and to examine how Western military forces are currently being configured to meet the circumstances of an apparently volatile and insecure world. The chapter then specifically discusses the manner in which states that are subject to military intervention by Western states or alliances might respond to that intervention using military or paramilitary methods involving conventional weapons technology. It does not extend the discussion to the use of weapons of mass destruction, whether they be nuclear, chemical, biological or radiological, although it is recognized that a number of states are developing such capabilities, in part to be in a position to deter such intervention. Neither is it primarily concerned with peacekeeping interventions, whether these are under a United Nations directive or a result of regional or alliance initiatives. Such interventions might elicit a military or paramilitary response, but the emphasis here is on opposed interventions in pursuit of the perceived foreign policy interests of the state or alliance undertaking the intervention. An underlying theme of this chapter is that the proliferation of conventional weapons technologies may be a significant hindrance to joint warfare in an expeditionary era, but what is of at least equal importance is the manner in which even crude weapons technologies may be used to considerable effect in responding to Western intervention.

The Western security paradigm When President Clinton’s nominee for the Directorship of the Central Intelligence Agency, James Woolsey, was questioned in Senate hearings he characterized the new security paradigm consequent on the ending of the Cold War by saying that the United States had slain the dragon but now faced a jungle full of poisonous snakes.1 Although this comment was made in the early 1990s, it remains an effective representation of US security attitudes, the

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near-universal view in security circles being that the US is the sole superpower, but its worldwide economic and political interests will be subject to diverse and unpredictable threats, not from a single superpower as in the Cold War era, but from a variety of states and sub-state actors, or to put it rather more crudely, rogue states and terrorists.2 Within this view of an uncertain world, there are four features that are likely to endure. The first is that there is some risk that United States ascendancy could eventually be challenged, either by Russia or China. Russia is currently seen as impoverished and its armed forces are close to collapse, but a resurgence remains possible in the longer term, perhaps under an intensely nationalistic government, and in any case Russia remains a significant nuclear power. In the more immediate future, it is recognized that one of the few ways in which Russia can gain export earnings is by the sale of armaments and the transfer of technological expertise. China may still be a poor country, but its huge population, rapid economic growth and self-perception of great power status means that it could eventually lead an Asia-Pacific challenge to Western power. Second, two areas of the world are likely to present persistent security challenges to the United States – East Asia and the Middle East. In East Asia, the future status of North Korea is uncertain, although it remains, in the US view, a potential source of instability, but the Middle East is, without question, of enduring strategic significance. This is primarily because of the oil reserves of the Persian Gulf, but it also relates to the status and security of Israel and its special relationship with the US. The third feature is that there are numerous lesser areas of potential instability and conflict in which US interests might be threatened, not least the narcotics trade from Latin America and Central Asia, problems in parts of Africa and Asia and continuing conflict in the Balkans. Permeating all of these areas of risk is the final factor, a persistent concern with missile proliferation and with sub-state political violence directed at the US or its overseas interests. In part this comes from the experience of the Scud attacks in the Gulf War, in part from the Nairobi and Dar es Salaam embassy bombings in 1998 and other attacks on US interests. The overall international security paradigm, as seen from the United States but largely accepted elsewhere in the West, is thus reasonably clear. The United States is the world’s pre-eminent military

48 The Changing Face of Military Power

power, it is not currently threatened by any state of even remotely similar power, yet it does consider that it faces diverse threats to its own security and its wider economic and political interests. Even so, it has the capability to adapt its military forces to meet the new threats and, in the final analysis, should be able, along with its allies, to maintain international security in such a way as to protect its own interests and preserve its inherent power. Within this general security context, and since the ending of the Cold War, there has been a perceived risk in the eyes of some analysts that the United States could retreat into a form of isolationism reminiscent of the period before World War II. After all, it is the world’s most powerful economy, it is rich in resources and it faces no direct military threats to its continental territory. The more common view, certainly in the US diplomatic community, is that this is unrealistic in that the United States is thoroughly and irreversibly integrated into the global economy. While it remains a resource-rich country, the extent of this is far less than 60–70 years ago, with a considerable and increasing dependency on imported energy resources, especially from the Middle East, and an overseas requirement for a wide range of strategic minerals. Furthermore, a number of US industries depend fundamentally on export markets and US financial and business interests form a substantial part of a global network. There is a growing recognition that economic globalization increases vulnerability to particular forms of political violence. As a report of the United States (US) Commission on National Security in the 21st Century put it: Many of the threats emerging in our future will differ significantly from those of the past, not only in their physical, but also in their psychological effects. Threats may inhere in assaults against an increasingly integrated and complex, but highly vulnerable, international economic infrastructure, whose operation lies beyond the control of any single body.3 Actions might involve elements of cyber-war – namely, disruption of communications or computer systems controlling regional stock exchanges or other centres of the global economy through hacking and viral infections, through to direct acts of violence against nodes of economic control.

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One other factor that is significant in terms of US security is the intense desire to minimize casualties in foreign military operations. The ‘body bag’ syndrome has, in the past decade and especially since the Somalia disaster, been taken to extraordinary lengths, not least in Kosovo and Serbia in the early months of 1999.

Military forces for an uncertain world Structuring military forces for the uncertain decades ahead has been a core concern for all four branches of the US military. The United States Air Force (USAF) was relatively quick to adapt to the postCold War era. While it lost about 40 per cent of its personnel during the 1990s through the contraction of the service, it was able to withdraw substantial forces from Europe and to reconfigure its forces for global reach, utilizing a far smaller number of overseas bases, mainly in secure locations such as Guam, Diego Garcia and Britain. The USAF has set out to develop two main forms of force projection to enable it to participate in overseas interventions in pursuit of US interests. The first is to maintain a capability to undertake air strikes anywhere in the world, either from the continental United States or with limited dependence on overseas facilities. The first air raid of the 1991 Gulf War was an air-launched cruise missile strike from B-52 strategic bombers flying non-stop from Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana 4 and B-2 air raids on Serbia in 1999 were also staged direct from the United States. The second tactic is to reorganize the USAF into a number of Air Expeditionary Wings, each comprising about 15 000 people with up to 200 aircraft including strike aircraft, interceptors, tankers, transports, reconnaissance and electronic counter-measures aircraft. Two air expeditionary wings are to be on deployment readiness at any one time, and are able to move rapidly to secure overseas bases.5 Global reach, by either of these two main means, is aided by an increasing reliance on stand-off weapons such as conventionally-armed cruise missiles, and by the use of precisionguided weapons delivered by stealthy aircraft such as the F-117A, B-2 and, in the future, the F-22 and the Joint Strike Fighter.

50 The Changing Face of Military Power

The well-known emphasis on precision-guided weapons for point attack is, however, somewhat misleading, in that this is proceeding in parallel with the development and deployment of a wide range of area-impact munitions. These include cluster munitions, fuel-air explosive systems and specialized weapons such as versions of the Wind-corrected Munitions Dispenser (WCMD) designed to destroy power networks.6 Such weapons, provided there is appropriate targeting, can be used alongside conventional weapons to do massive damage to the economy of a target state. In the air war against Serbia in the early months of 1999, it proved extremely difficult to detect and destroy Serbian military facilities, partly because of poor weather but mainly because of a restriction on operating at altitudes below 15 000 feet (to protect air crew) together with the Serb tactics of dispersal, camouflage and protection of their military forces. During the course of the war, the US forces and their NATO allies moved progressively to attack the Serbian economy as a whole. By attacking power plants, refineries, factories, transmission lines, roads, railways, bridges, tunnels and other aspects of the economy, NATO forces did some $60 billion of damage to the Serbian economy, reducing the already weakened state to the poorest country in Europe.7 During the 1990s, the US Navy and the Marine Corps underwent substantial changes. The navy experienced heavy cuts in personnel, from nearly 600 000 to less than 400 000, but it divested itself of much of the forces pertinent to the Cold War, especially antisubmarine forces, while largely maintaining its capacity for force projection. Central to this are aircraft carriers and ships armed with land attack cruise missiles. In 1989, there were 14 carriers, five of them nuclear-powered, yet by 1999 there were still 12, nine of them nuclear-powered. Cruise missiles were used on several occasions against Iraq and have also been used against targets in Afghanistan, Sudan and former Yugoslavia. The marines have experienced the smallest cut in personnel, barely 10 per cent in a decade, and the combination of the navy’s force projection capabilities and the Marine Corps’ amphibious forces has ensured that the US armed forces maintain by far the most substantial power projection capability in the world. The US Marine Corps is larger than the combined British Army and Royal Navy, and a single US carrier battle group has the sea-borne air strike capability of all other navies combined.

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The US Army faced the most substantial cuts in the 1990s. It has faced up to a more volatile security dimension by placing more emphasis on rapid deployment and the deployment of longer-range mobile artillery systems such as the Army Tactical Missile System (ATACMS). The army also forms a major part of the US Special Operations Command (USSOCOM) and an indication of training priorities within the US military is the increase in training available to friendly regimes, especially in Latin America. From the 1950s to the 1980s, US forces were involved in many internal conflicts, most commonly aiding conservative governments fighting left-wing rebels. Many of the conflicts were part of the Cold War confrontation, opposing rebels aided on occasions from Cuba and Eastern Europe, and many of the activities, including those of the School of the Americas, were seen as controversial, not least because of human rights abuses. With the Cold War more than ten years distant, the training of foreign armies, especially that involving US special operations forces, has expanded. Much of it appears at first sight to be directed at anti-narcotics action, but it all too commonly involves counterinsurgency training in support of local elites. In 1998, some 2700 special operations troops were involved with training the armed forces of every one of the 19 Latin American states and nine Caribbean states, including armies in Guatemala, Colombia and Suriname that have been widely criticized for human rights abuses.8

Future force projection The direct projection of military force currently depends primarily on the use of land-based or carrier-based air power, frequently employing stand-off weapons, together with amphibious forces and air-mobile ground forces. The use of an increased array and number of stand-off weapons is an existing trend, and beyond that there is likely to be a substantial investment in the development and deployment of unmanned combat aerial vehicles (UCAVs), akin to reusable stand-off weapons. Arising primarily from a concern with the interception of ballistic missiles in their boost phase, there is an expanding research and development budget for directed energy weapons (DEWs).9 In the United States, this currently focuses on the Airborne Laser (ABL) due

52 The Changing Face of Military Power

for deployment before 2010 and intended to be capable of boostphase interception at ranges of up to 400 miles. Beyond that, by up to a decade, is the development of the much more powerful Spacebased Laser (SBL), with current configurations suggesting 12–24 17ton satellites in low Earth orbits.10 While such directed energy weapons are a few years into the future, there is already considerable interest in their potential use against a wide range of targets, especially if it proves possible to develop hybrid DEWs utilizing combined laser and particle beam technology to overcome atmospheric attenuation of lasers. An early indication of this interest has been a US Air Force study, Directed Energy Applications for Tactical Air Combat11 set up in 1998 specifically to look at the use of DEW systems in various forms of power projection. Current and future developments in force projection are being undertaken in the context of a heavy concentration on improvements in surveillance and communications systems. Central to this is considered to be the need to have clear and unequivocal control of space, an aim fundamental to the US Space Command’s Long Range Plan through to the year 2020. Finally, the concern over missile proliferation has resulted in substantial investment in anti-missile systems, extending to a possible National Missile Defense (NMD) programme. This will be developed in parallel with appropriate conventional and nuclear offensive forces, and one perceived value of NMD is that it will give US forces more freedom of manoeuvre in theatres of war where an opponent may have a limited deterrent capability for action against the continental United States. If weapons of mass destruction could potentially be weapons of the underdog, then NMD would have a value in the process of controlling such underdogs.

NATO and European allies The changes in the armed forces of the major European members of NATO have, to an extent, mirrored those in the United States, with a cutting back of forces deployed as part of the East–West rivalry of the Cold War years, accompanied by an increase in mobility and power projection. Southern European countries have also tended to reorien-

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tate their forces to the south rather than the east, not least because of political instability and migratory pressures from North Africa. Even so, although the European members of NATO are collectively larger than the United States, the capacity of these countries to project military force is far smaller, not just individually, but even collectively. They did not have the capability to intervene in Kosovo without US involvement, and SFOR/IFOR/KFOR (NATO’s stabilization force, implementation force and peace-enforcement force) commitments have stretched the resources of several states. There is a recognition of the need for closer Western European cooperation and the establishment of collaborative force projection capabilities, but there are political differences behind such developments. The view from Washington is that, in the case of such collaborative forces, ‘burden sharing’ is all that would be expected from European allies, whereas in some European capitals, notably Paris, the opinion is that cooperative European military forces could do much more than this, providing Europe with a much-needed focus of strategic influence. According to this view, Europe should not only develop a defence identity that counterbalances US power and influence within Europe, but it should also have some capability to operate ‘out-of-area’, with a degree of military power that enables it to curtail or at least limit US control of major military operations. This is not a view shared by Washington and the underlying tension is likely to persist well into the twenty-first century.

Keeping the violent peace The view from the Western security community, especially in the United States, is that the Cold War was won, that there is no one state that can challenge US military dominance, but that there will still be many significant security problems to face. For the United States, the ‘jungle full of snakes’ will present many issues of control, most of them regional and distant from the United States itself, but US military forces have already undergone a transition from their Cold War posture and are developing new forms of military power appropriate to a volatile world. This is not to minimize the problems ahead, not least in terms of the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction and risks of terrorism, but the basic view is that the United States and its Western

54 The Changing Face of Military Power

allies have the means to maintain international security in a manner which safeguards their way of life. Furthermore, free market democracy is the appropriate form of economic and political behaviour for the world community as a whole, and Western security postures will protect it against any likely threats. It will be possible to keep the violent peace. This is a seductive paradigm, especially from a Western perspective, but it is open to fundamental criticisms in that it takes little or no account of two increasingly substantial trends in world affairs, the growing gap between the wealthy and the poor, and the development of environmental constraints on human activity. Taken together, these ‘drivers’ suggest a far more unstable world than is otherwise predicted, with the rise of particular kinds of conflict, together providing a degree of insecurity that may prove difficult if not impossible for the West to control.

The wealth–poverty divide and its security implications The world economy is now a largely unimodal free market economy, as distinct from the more bimodal system of the Cold War years. Both during and since the Cold War, this liberal market system has delivered economic growth but has been persistently unsuccessful at ensuring social justice. Put simply, the end result has been the success of the few at the expense of the many. Socioeconomic disparities are growing and extreme poverty is experienced by a substantial proportion of the world’s population. The actual numbers are massive – between one and two billion – and show little sign of any decrease; they may even be increasing as the world’s population continues to grow by over 80 million a year. The liberal market system is not delivering economic justice and there is a decline in welfare across much of the system, a process exacerbated by the erosion of publicly funded welfare provision. During the Cold War there were powerful motives in the liberal market economies for ensuring the maintenance of social stability, not least through welfare provision. With the ending of the Cold War, and the perhaps temporary ascendancy of a single economic system, these motives have declined, and so has public welfare provision. Perhaps most important of all, international wealth transfers in the past five decades have consistently gone from the poor to the

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rich. The main engine of this inequality has been the post-colonial trading system and its endemic imbalances, expressed most persistently in the steadily deteriorating terms of trade borne by most excolonial states in the 1950s and 1960s, but continuing through to the 1990s with the brief exception of the commodities boom of the early 1970s. More recently this situation has been exacerbated by the debt crisis which remains a huge hindrance to the development potential of most Southern states. As well as endemic deep poverty, there is a steadily widening gap between a rich minority of the world’s population, located primarily, but not solely, in North America, Western Europe and Japan, and most of the rest. One of the crudest measures is that the 300 or so dollar billionaires in the world are collectively as wealthy as the poorest 2.4 billion people. In 1960, the richest 20 per cent of the world’s people had 70 per cent of the income; by 1991 their share had risen to 85 per cent while the share of the poorest 20 per cent had declined from 2.3 per cent to 1.7 per cent. It is also notable that the rich/poor gap widened at a faster rate in the 1980s as free market liberalization took hold. There are indications that there was a further widening in the 1990s, a consequence of the severe economic problems affecting first Southeast Asia and then South Asia, Africa and Latin America. This widening rich–poor divide contrasts markedly with an implicit assumption of most current economic thinking that economic growth is part of the worldwide phenomenon of globalization that is delivering economic growth for all. This is not so. As Cavanagh has remarked: More than three-quarters of the new investment into the developing world goes into China and nine other rapidly developing countries. A new global apartheid of 24 richer countries and 140 that are growing slowly or not at all becomes one of the major new threats to global security.12 All the indications are that the increasing rich–poor divide will continue over the next 30 years and may even accelerate, with the development of a trans-state global elite surging ahead of the rest. This elite, of rather more than one billion people, a sixth of the world’s population, lives mainly in the countries of the North Atlantic community, Australia and parts of East Asia.

56 The Changing Face of Military Power

There is a further factor in this global socio-economic polarization. In the past four decades, there has been substantial progress in some aspects of development in the South, often achieved against the odds and in a global economic environment that works more in the interests of the states of the North. Progress has been particularly marked, at least until recently, in the fields of education and literacy and there is current progress in communications. An effect of this is that an increasing number of marginalized people in the South are aware of their very marginalization and of the rich–poor gap. Such a circumstance, the combination of a widening rich–poor gap with an increasingly knowledgeable poor, is leading to a ‘revolution of unfulfilled expectations’, an increasingly prominent feature of instability in Latin America, North Africa and the Middle East. The Zapatista rebellion in Mexico is a recent example, notable, among other features, for the manner in which its leaders have communicated their message via the Internet. Another is the far more radical Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) movement in Peru. Sendero Luminoso may be temporarily in retreat, but its tough and often brutal quasi-Maoist ideology took root among the poor both of the high Andes and of the urban shanty towns, resulting in a long and bitter conflict with the Peruvian security forces that saw over 20 000 people die. Similar revolts from the margins are evident in other countries, with much of the attraction of organizations such as Hamas coming from their ability to offer a way out of exclusion. Hamas cannot be understood without appreciating the position of tens of thousands of young Palestinians growing up in the 50-year-old refugee camps of Gaza. Of concern in France, if less widely recognized in the rest of Europe, is the bitter civil war in Algeria that has claimed over 60 000 lives in less than a decade. It has been a war fought between a repressive government and radical (and often extreme) fundamentalist groups who gather support from among the millions of marginalized people, especially unemployed young men, who are largely excluded from the Algerian economy. The conflict in Algeria, with its violent effects felt in France, may well be a prototype conflict for the next several decades. One of the most spectacular examples of a revolt from the margins was the uprising in many parts of Indonesia in 1998, with incidents in Jakarta described vividly by one journalist as the dispos-

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sessed rising out of the shanty towns to loot the shopping malls of the rich. Mexico, Algeria, Peru and Indonesia are among the increasing number of examples of anti-elite action and insurgencies that look likely, on present trends, to spread to many other countries – not so much a clash of civilizations, more an age of insurgencies.

Environmental constraints and conflict If increasing socio-economic polarization is already apparent, it is happening in parallel with the second global trend, the growing impact of environmental constraints on human activity. In essence, the limitations of the global ecosystem now look likely to make it very difficult if not impossible for human well-being to be continually improved by current forms of economic growth. This is not a new prognosis, and forms a key part of the frequently derided ‘limits to growth’ ideas of the early 1970s. Since then, though, some of the early indications of environmental constraints such as deforestation and decline in fisheries have been joined by much more significant global effects, the first to be recognized being the depletion of the ozone layer. Two further global phenomena are likely to have profound security implications. The first of these is the resource shift,13 the tendency for strategic non-renewable resources to be located primarily in Southern countries as the supplies in the North that largely fuelled the industrial revolution have been progressively exhausted. By far the most important strategic resource is oil, and the Persian Gulf region has rapidly acquired a quite astonishing role in energy resource provision, becoming the world’s key resource zone. This is attributable in part to the location of close to 70 per cent of the world’s oil reserves in the region, even allowing for Central Asian and Latin American reserves. Furthermore, oil from the Persian Gulf is now essential for the oil-based economies not just of Western Europe and Japan but also the United States. While oil is the most important resource, there are others of significance. These include minerals yielding ferro-alloy metals such as cobalt and tungsten, catalytic metals such as platinum and anticorrosion metals together with certain non-metallic minerals such as rock phosphate and industrial diamonds. Several recent conflicts have had much to do with strategic resource location. They include

58 The Changing Face of Military Power

the protracted conflict over Western Sahara, with its remarkable reserves of rock phosphate, a basic component of compound fertilizers used throughout world agriculture. The Franco-Belgian and other interventions in Shaba Province of Zaire/Congo since the mid1970s are closely related to the cobalt resources of the Central African copper belt. These amount to some two-thirds of known world cobalt reserves, cobalt being a key ferro-alloy metal whose use includes missile motors and electronics. Perhaps most obvious as a resource conflict was the 1990–91 Gulf crisis and war. When Iraq invaded Kuwait in August 1990, it doubled the oil reserves it controlled to one-fifth of the world’s total, and was seen by the United States and its allies to be a threat to the Saudi Arabian reserves which represented a further quarter. The ability of the United States and its coalition allies to assemble a massive force to evict Iraqi forces from Kuwait was itself dependent on the existence of numerous bases and port facilities built in the previous decade in case of a threat to Gulf oil from the then Soviet Union during the Cold War years. The second environmental constraint is the developing phenomenon of climate change, especially the likelihood that one substantial effect of climate change will be changes in rainfall distribution.14 In global terms there is expected to be a shift in world rainfall patterns, with more rain falling over the oceans and polar regions and less over the tropics. Areas affected will include most of South and Central America, almost the whole of Southern and Southeast Asia and the majority of Africa. The effect of this climatic change, likely to take effect increasingly in the early decades of this century, will be a ‘drying out’ of many of those parts of the humid and semi-humid tropics that currently support the majority of all the world’s people, many of them living by subsistence agriculture. As a result, the ecological carrying capacity of the land itself will decline sharply, putting a greatly increased pressure on migration and internal insecurity as poorer people become further marginalized. One assessment suggests that pressures on migration could increase more than ten-fold from current levels to involve up to 400 million people. Such migratory pressures come on top of movements that already focus on regions of relative wealth that are leading to shifts in the political spectrum in recipient countries including the increased prevalence of nationalist attitudes and cultural conflict. Such ten-

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dencies are often most pronounced in the most vulnerable and disempowered populations within the recipient regions, with extremist politicians ready to play on fears of unemployment, a trend apparent in a number of European countries.

Revolt of the middle kingdoms Deepening socio-economic divisions and environmental constraints on economic growth provide a context for instability and conflict that should be expected to affect the security of Western states, primarily through a range of effects on their international interests, including anti-elite insurgencies and resource conflict. Many of the military interventions will relate to particular threats to Western interests, as indeed they have in the past 20 years, whether in the Gulf, Latin America, Africa or elsewhere, but these two ‘drivers’ of insecurity make it likely that intervention will be frequent. In this context, what are likely to be the attitudes of major nonWestern states? States that may be led by radical anti-Western regimes or dictatorships can readily be regarded as rogue states, a catch-all term increasingly applied to smaller states considered to threaten regional Western interests. But beyond them are much more powerful states that may have their own entrenched elites yet are unwilling to accept a global polity dominated by a Western military, political and economic alliance. China, India and Iran are all examples of states which, in many ways, seek to challenge a perceived Western hegemony, and many of their attitudes and outlooks are shared by numerous other states of the South. There are many examples of these divergent views and outlooks. There is opposition to the development of further trade reforms through the World Trade Organization, and there remains resentment at the attempt to force through a Multilateral Agreement on Investment. There is a deep and persistent bitterness at the entrenched attitudes of Northern states to environmental issues. They are seen as having the major responsibility for problems such as ozone depletion and climate change yet as being deeply reluctant to accept responsibility or take remedial action. This perception of hypocrisy extends to many other areas. In the view of many Southern states, the Non-Proliferation Treaty enables

60 The Changing Face of Military Power

a few states to retain nuclear status while controlling further proliferation. While there was deep antagonism to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, there was also a widespread view that the subsequent US-led intervention had far more to do with controlling Gulf oil than with righting a wrong. Even the NATO bombing of Serbia in 1999 was seen as an essentially economic war – causing $60 billion in damage to the Serbian economy by an alliance deeply unwilling to take risks with its own military, and once again readily bypassing the United Nations. For public opinion in much of the West, the Serbia/Kosovo War was a just war against an aggressive regime. In much of the rest of the world, it was a selective war, using selective force against an objectionable regime, yet one that was no worse than many that continue to maintain friendly relations with the West. Many of the new parameters of insecurity may operate at substate level, and will be directed at local elites and their collaborative Western interests, but they will operate within the context of a broader ‘axis of disagreement’ between Western governments and leading states of the South. While this may not deteriorate into conflict, it could further encourage a perception of ‘the civilized West versus the rest’. During the Cold War, the West saw the Soviet bloc as the ever-dangerous ideological giant, encroaching on and threatening the free world. It will be all too easy for Western attitudes to a new world disorder to coalesce into a perception of ‘them and us’ – a combination of insurgencies and competitive Southern states threatening the peace, security and economic well-being of the self-appointed Western guardians of civilized values.

Responding to intervention As has been discussed earlier in this chapter, developments in Western military postures have resulted in a range of forces appropriate to intervention in pursuit of Western interests, including powerful air assets and naval and amphibious forces, and a substantial capability for counter-insurgency and elite support. It follows that states or sub-state groups that are facing such Western intervention will have considerable difficulty in responding to such intervention using traditional military forces – in most circumstances

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they will not have the capacity to resist in conventional head-tohead conflict. However, the response options are far wider than may be ordinarily recognized and to examine this further it is appropriate to explore the security perceptions and potential behaviour of two different kinds of actor, a state with modest technical and military capabilities pursuing its security interests which are in conflict with those of, for example, either NATO as a whole or the United States in particular, and an insurgency which is directed at a local elite supported by elements of the Western alliance. These two examples are likely to represent the most common forms of conflict involving Western intervention in the coming decades. While they are not all-embracing, an examination of the defence potential of such actors will also give a more general indication of problems facing Western military intervention in other circumstances. It should also be recognized that there is an area of security overlap. A state responding to intervention may employ paramilitary techniques, and an insurgency may be aided, directly or indirectly, by supportive states. After the 1991 Gulf War, there were many analyses undertaken in the United States and other coalition states in order to ‘learn the lessons’ of the war. It is reasonable to assume that any state, and indeed any insurgency, likely to face Western military intervention will examine the Gulf War with a similar motivation, and will also look at experiences in Afghanistan, Panama, Grenada, Lebanon, Libya, and Serbia, as well as more distant conflicts such as Vietnam, Cuba and wars of decolonization. From an accepted position of weakness in the face of substantial and technically superior intervention forces, attempts will be made to look for ‘force levellers’ which will improve the security balance and, just possibly, serve to deter or at least limit the intervening military force and its ultimate political leadership.

Military responses from states Taking the state first, it is tempting immediately to fall into the mindset of thinking only of so-called ‘rogue states’ such as Iran, Iraq, Libya or North Korea as being likely to be subject to intervention. This is misleading – the rogue state categorization is essentially

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ephemeral and frequently relates to the foreign policy interests of the US and its allies rather than to the intrinsic status of a particular regime, particularly in relation to its own inhabitants. Iraq was regarded as a Western ally, and received substantial military aid in the 1980s, whereas Syria was treated with great suspicion until its support for Desert Storm in 1991. Israel is a surrogate Western state that has intervened repeatedly in several states and occupied a substantial part of Lebanon for nearly two decades. The authoritarian military junta in Argentina had close links with the British government until a matter of days before its invasion of the Falkland/Malvinas Islands in March 1982. Any consideration of responses to Western intervention therefore has to take in a more general range of states than those subject to recent intervention, although key strategic regions such as the Gulf and those involved in narcotics production remain prime candidates. However, a state pursuing its own interests in the knowledge that they might ultimately incite a Western military response has a singularly difficult task to face, given the likelihood of a highly asymmetric ratio of force capabilities, even allowing for Western forces operating ‘out-of-area’. Even so, it has a range of military and related options to safeguard its security, and these may frequently operate within the context of two potential weaknesses for the intervening force. The first, especially in the case of the United States, is the ‘body bag’ syndrome – the need to minimize casualties, so that any tactic likely to increase casualties is of unusual military value, even if it does not have much effect on the overall military capabilities of the intervening force. The second is action that might be taken against states allied to the intervening force, especially those that are logistically or otherwise necessary for support of the intervention. One of the main options, obviously, is the pursuit of a capability to deploy weapons of mass destruction – the nuclear option being the most difficult, the chemical, biological and radiological options less so. This option is being pursued by a number of states, the most notable example of recent times being Iraq, with a remarkable range of chemical and biological programmes in addition to its nuclear ambitions. While the development and potential use of weapons of mass destruction is beyond the scope of this particular chapter, there are

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two relevant points to make. The first is that the Iraqi experience with biological and chemical weapon deployments is of far greater interest and significance than was generally recognized at the time of the Gulf War. Following strong Western responses to the invasion of Kuwait in 1990, Iraq faced the prospect of large-scale intervention and initiated a crash programme to weaponize its biological warfare systems. By January 1991 it had deployed numerous missiles and spray bombs to four sites in Iraq, pre-delegating launch authority to regional commanders in the event of the destruction of Baghdad. The broad details of this strategy were known to US intelligence, and formed an important part of the Iraqi strategy of regime survival which was so central to its war aims.15 The second point is that developments in weapons of mass destruction (WMD) tend to go together with ballistic missile delivery systems – and, in the future, cruise missile systems as well. This, in turn, is leading to an intense interest in theatre missile defence (TMD) in countries such as Israel and the United States, resulting in the need for states that are potentially subject to intervention to invest in methods to counter TMD systems.

Missile options While it may be considered that the development or acquisition of ballistic and/or cruise missiles sufficient to cause problems for a belligerent intervention force may require the use of WMD warheads, even conventionally-armed missiles can have a considerable tactical and even strategic significance. They might have a primarily psychological value – perhaps for threatening a local state that is allied to the intervention forces – they might have a role against choke points, or they might have a direct value against a variety of deployed forces. In this connection, the proliferation of area-impact munitions, whether air-to-surface or surface-to-surface, is of some relevance, especially when ballistic or cruise missiles may be capable of use against soft targets within the intervening forces such as logistics supplies, base camps, disembarkation ports or air bases. During the 1991 Gulf War, Iraq launched a number of Scud-type missiles against Israeli cities. The missiles were armed with conventional unitary warheads, some were intercepted, other failed, and a few reached their targets. Even when they did so, they caused little

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damage and relatively few casualties. If the missiles had been fitted with efficient sub-munitions warheads, the results might have been much more devastating, but is also clear that the use of the missiles by Iraq, crude though they were, did have a substantial political effect. Within Israel, the 1991 attacks represented the first occasion for some decades in which major Israeli cities had come under any kind of attack from external forces. Israeli society already had some considerable concerns about paramilitary groups operating within its borders, but the impact of any external power being able to attack Israeli cities caused huge concern. Similarly, missile attacks on civil targets in Saudi Arabia had political effects, and coalition responses included the emergency deployment of Patriot anti-missile systems and the diversion of a large proportion of coalition air power in the so-called ‘Scud-hunts’. Although the Iraqi missiles were crude and inaccurate, they had a military as well as a political impact. The most substantial US losses in the entire Gulf War were incurred towards the end of the war, on 25 February 1991, when a missile hit a storage and billeting depot in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, killing 28 people. Another Scud incident, a few days earlier and not made public at the time, came close to being a much greater disaster for US forces. On 16 February, a missile narrowly missed a large pier complex in the Saudi port of Al Jubayl. The missile landed in the sea some 300 yards from the US Navy’s aviation support ship Wright and close to the large amphibious warship Tarawa, both of which were moored alongside the pier complex which included a large ammunition storage dump and a petrol tanker parking area.16 A substantial effect of the Gulf War, especially for Israel and the United States, has been intensive research, development and deployment of a range of theatre missile defences. For Israel this has focused on the Israeli-American Arrow anti-missile system and for the United States there has been the PAC-3 (Patriot Advanced Capability) system, the Theatre High Altitude Area Defense (THAAD) system and a number of other initiatives. All are designed to guard against Scud upgrades and related missiles, but they are made more difficult by the need to guard against warheads carrying sub-munitions, especially those capable of dispersing these munitions early in the flight path of the missile. Boost-phase interception is inherently more difficult than terminal-phase or even mid-course interception. Even so, concern

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with such warheads is leading to a much greater concentration on boost-phase interception. Options include very high-speed air-launched interceptors, interceptors based on loitering UCAVs (unmanned combat aerial vehicles) or directed energy systems such as the airborne laser. All of these are up to a decade in the future, and states potentially subject to intervention will obviously seek ways to limit their effectiveness. At the immediate operational level, emphasis will obviously be placed on developing or acquiring precisely these warheads that make terminal interception so problematic. There is also a need to accentuate highly mobile multiple launch capabilities, preferably with launch authority pre-delegated – under defined circumstances – to field commanders to avoid interruption of communications. As well as enhancing the potential effect of current missiles and their unitary warheads, a priority will be to counter boost-phase interception and there are three approaches to this. First, boost-phase interception will require airborne launch platforms typically operating up to 400 miles from the missile launch sites, or ground-based UCAV launch sites. Airborne launch platforms might be relatively close to the borders of the country, so would potentially be susceptible to long-range surface-to-air missile systems, and ground-based UCAV launch sites would be priority targets for ballistic missile attack. Second, some limited measures can be taken to counter boostphase interception based on directed energy systems. Directed energy weapons such as the airborne laser depend on lasing the booster to weaken it at a time when it is under the very high mechanical stresses consequent on rapid acceleration. Some strengthening of the booster body is feasible, though weight and therefore performance penalties are considerable, and spinning the missile can make lasing more problematic, even if it causes guidance problems. Finally, the most effective counter to boost-phase interception is likely to be the use of booster decoys, large crude rockets that have the sole purpose of simulating the appropriate infrared and radar signatures and early flight characteristics of actual missiles. Barrage firing of a cluster of cheap simulated missiles in parallel with, or followed immediately by actual firing of missiles would overload the boost-phase interception capabilities of an intervening force.

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Deception, dispersal and protection Apart from mobile ballistic missile responses, to which may be added cruise missiles, the more routine military forces, and the command, control, communications and intelligence facilities of the defending state will be subject to attack with near-impunity by the intervening forces. The United States could hit any part of a defending state with stand-off weapons or stealthy strike aircraft, including penetrating warheads against hardened targets, and this must be a working assumption in the military posture of the defending state. Deception, principally through camouflage and decoys, was used by Iraq in 1991 and even more prominently by Serbia in 1999. Iraq also chose to keep most of its elite forces, including six out of eight Republican Guard divisions and all of the Special Republican Guard units well away from the fighting, helping to ensure regime survival. Serbia also used dispersal to particular effect, more so than Iraq which had a weaker dispersal geography, although the latter found it possible to conceal weapons and equipment in urban areas. Serbian and Iraqi tactics will have been studied carefully by potential target states and future interventions may find these tactics much more fully developed, including much higher levels of redundancy built into communications systems. The defending state may have an option of ‘digging in’, especially in order to protect its highest-value assets such as the national command authority or WMD facilities. Again this was a feature of the Gulf War, where Iraq had prepared for a possible air war with Israel. States such as Libya, Iran and North Korea have taken a lead in this kind of defence. Since 1991, there has even developed an arms race between the diggers and the bombers. According to a US Army source in 1997: Following the Gulf War, the number of deeply buried targets began to proliferate rapidly as countries round the world realized that going deep was the only way to protect their critical assets from our precision strike weapon systems. Today, there are thousands of hard and deeply buried targets in countries such as Libya, Syria and North Korea. These hardened structures protect command and control centers, chemical and biological weapon

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production and storage facilities, rocket and missile launchers, and other high-priority targets. Destruction and neutralization of these targets will be essential in any future conflict.17 The experience of the Gulf War was that only the most heavily protected shelters, deep underground, were impervious to coalition attack. Since then, in addition to constructing even deeper shelters, some states have opted for deep tunnelling through rock in mountainous regions, producing shelters which are invulnerable to conventional attack. In response, the United States is investing in detection systems to help them plot the location of such facilities, together with advanced conventional earth-penetrating warheads to ‘dig deep’ against underground systems. There has also been heavy investment in systems designed to map the many entrances to tunnel complexes – if the tunnels themselves are too deeply buried, the other option is to block the entrances. This ‘dig/bomb’ race continues, and there remain many questions concerning Western capabilities to destroy deeply buried hardened structures. This has led the United States to modify its standard tactical nuclear bomb with a hardened case and fusing to produce a new variant, the B61-11, specifically intended for the earth-penetrating role18 with delivery platforms including the B-2 stealth bomber. In addition to hardening and dispersal, one of the most effective responses to intervention is the deployment of protective systems such as land mines and sea mines, and the deployment of dispersed offensive systems aimed specifically at launch platforms. Thus, antiship missiles, deployed on warships or, more likely, merchant ships or shore-based sites, would represent problems for intervening forces, and any kind of system that could affect forward-based facilities including air bases and ports, would have the effect of being a force multiplier. Such a system might include crude UCAVs, but could also involve appropriately equipped paramilitary units, especially if operating in an adjacent state that had been prepared to offer forward-based facilities to the intervening state. One example of this was, in all probability, the attack on the Khobar Towers barracks complex at Dhahran in Saudi Arabia in June 1996, when a crude bomb hidden in a sewage truck killed 19 and injured over 500. The US Air Force subsequently relocated its key air assets to a new air base in a remote part of Saudi Arabia at a cost of

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$500 million. It is still not clear who was responsible for this attack, but there are suspicions of direct or indirect Iraqi involvement. Although not directly involving a state, a further example is the militia attack on the US Marine Corps barracks at Beirut Airport in October 1983, killing 241 people and hastening US withdrawal from Lebanon. Although this, and the Khobar Towers attack are traditionally seen as ‘terrorist’ actions, it is much more appropriate to see them as surrogate responses to Western intervention.

Military responses from sub-state actors As has already been argued, there is a substantial overlap between the activities of states and of sub-state actors in responding to intervention, but there are also a number of lessons to be drawn from a further examination of the actions of sub-state groups, principally paramilitaries, whether or not allied to states that are facing intervention. It has further been argued that a major factor in the current evolution of conflict is the development of anti-elite action, stemming partly from the widening socio-economic divide within and between countries. Since joint operations are highly likely to involve the support of local elites in unstable periods of rebellion and insurgency, it is appropriate to examine the manner in which such action may impinge on the external forces of intervention. Most paramilitary forms of political violence have tended to involve traditional and often rather conservative tactics involving kidnappings, knee-cappings and assassination of members of the police, armed forces or political elite. On more rare occasions, groups have targeted the business community, and there have been occasions when paramilitary organizations, such as Sendero Luminoso in Peru, have directly targeted elite groups, as when Sendero Luminoso killed 18 and injured 140 in a wealthy quarter of Lima in 1992. Similarly, the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka have engaged primarily in conflict with the Sri Lanka Army, but have also engaged in economic targeting. In January 1996, a Tamil Tigers suicide attack with a lorry bomb did massive damage to the central business district of Colombo, as well as killing nearly 100 people and injuring over 1000. Although not a traditional paramilitary action, the Tokyo subway nerve gas attack in 1995 by the Aum Shinrikyo sect was intended to kill thousands, but failed because of technical

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difficulties and incompetence, although several thousand people were affected and 12 died. Another ‘failed’ action was the hijacking of an Air France A300 in 1994 by a radical Algerian group. Their intention of crashing the plane on the centre of Paris was countered by a commando assault during a refuelling stop at Marseilles. In contrast, a ‘successful’ action was the devastating bombing of a federal building in Oklahoma City, a clear demonstration of the enduring availability of ‘soft’ targets. Perhaps the most notable failed action was the attempt to demolish the twin towers of the New York World Trade Center in 1993, an action that killed six and injured over 1000 but was intended to kill at least 30 000, potentially the most devastating military action since the nuclear bombing of Nagasaki in 1945. Perhaps the most sustained example of anti-state paramilitary action was the extensive use of economic targeting by the Provisional IRA (PIRA) against central business districts and transport networks in Britain between 1992 and 1994 and again between 1996 and 1997. This campaign included four major city-centre bombs, three in London and one in Manchester, the bombing of a major road interchange in London and protracted disruption of road, rail and air routes, at a collective cost of several billion pounds. Even though many PIRA attempts failed, there is evidence that the campaign had a profound effect on key aspects of the UK business community, and, as a result, had a substantial effect on the willingness of the UK government to engage in substantive negotiations.19 All of these examples demonstrate, in different ways, the potential for paramilitary action, and it should be recognized that these incidents during the 1990s are examples which, along with the embassy bombings and many other incidents, demonstrate the potential for indirect rather than direct action against forces of intervention. By no means all of them have actually been in relation to responses to specific Western interventions, although many of them were just that. What they do show is the potential for indirect responses, and this body of experience is available for future development and use. It was demonstrated to devastating effect on 11 September 2001 when hijacked aircraft were crashed into the New York World Trade Center and the Pentagon, killing over 3000 people. The response was a sustained military campaign to destroy the group believed responsible, the al-Qaida network, together with the Taliban regime in Afghanistan

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that had allowed it to operate there for several years. There was less analysis and understanding of the complex political, social and economic issues existing in south-west Asia that had engendered substantial support for the network

Conclusion What this chapter has sought to show is that there are a number of strategies and tactics that can be used in response to Western intervention, that these may involve the conventional use of conventional military technologies but that they may also involve unconventional responses. As Western capabilities for intervention improve, not least with the development of long-range stand-off weapons, hard-target kill vehicles, UCAVs and even directed energy weapons, it is possible that the balance of conventional force and counter-force will tend to move in favour of Western states. This is by no means certain, and traditional tactics of dispersal, hardening and camouflage may make intervention uncertain, as in Serbia in 1999, with this leading to a propensity to use economic targeting. In either circumstance, however, if the balance does move in favour of Western states, then the expected response should be one of unconventional tactics, not least with an increasing use of paramilitary forces. Given the experience of the past ten years, it would appear that there is considerable potential for action in response to Western intervention using conventional systems, and even various forms of weapons of mass destruction. Thus the uncertain and volatile world that seems to be evolving may involve considerable risks for elite Western states as they seek to maintain control. It might therefore be sensible to question whether such a security paradigm represents the wisest cause of action, or whether it might be more appropriate to put greater emphasis on analysing the underlying causes of potential conflict. It might be the case that there are more fundamental responses to insecurity that may make intervention itself less necessary, though those responses might lie well outside conventional strategic thinking.20

Notes 1. Statement by J. Woolsey at Senate Hearings, Washington, DC, February 1993.

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2. See, for example, Prepared Statement by P.M. Hughes, Director, Defense Intelligence Committee, before the Senate Armed Services Committee, ‘Global Threats and Challenges: the Decades Ahead’, 2 February 1999. 3. The Commission was a Department of Defense funded bipartisan panel of experts set up in 1998. Its initial report was published in September 1999, see Disarmament Diplomacy, no. 40 (September/October 1999). 4. J. Tirpal, ‘The Secret Squirrels’, Air Force Magazine, April 1994. 5. D.A. Fulghum, ‘USAF Embraces New, Fast-moving Air Units’, Aviation Week and Space Technology, 10 August 1998. 6. D.A. Fulghum, ‘Secret US Warhead Nearer to Fielding’, Aviation Week and Space Technology, 3 April 1995. 7. Economist Intelligence Unit, 21 August 1999. 8. D. Farah, ‘Shadowy US Troop Training Operation Spreads across Latin America’, International Herald Tribune, 14 July 1998. 9. G.E. Forden, ‘The Airborne Laser’, IEEE Spectrum, September 1997; ‘YAL1A Attack Laser’, Air Force Research Laboratory Office of Public Affairs Fact Sheet, Kirtland Air Force Base, New Mexico, January 1998. 10. ‘Space-based Laser’, Ballistic Missile Defense Organization Fact Sheet TO-98-01, Washington, Department of Defense, July 1998. 11. ‘Directed Energy Study Kicks Off ‘, Air Force Research Laboratory Office of Public Affairs DE Release No. 98-32, Kirtland Air Force Base, New Mexico, 26 June 1998. 12. J. Cavanagh, ‘Globalization: Fine for Some and Bad for Many’, International Herald Tribune, 24 January 1997. 13. P. Rogers, ‘Resource Issues’, in T. Salmon (ed.), Issues in International Relations (London: Routledge, 2000), pp. 132–58. 14. D. Rind, ‘Drying Out the Tropics’, New Scientist, 6 May 1995. 15. P. Rogers, ‘Security Consequences of the Osiraq Raid’, Contemporary Security Policy, vol. 19, no. 2 (1998), pp. 115–17. 16. J.D. Gresham, ‘Navy Area Ballistic Missile Defense Coming On Fast’, Proceedings of the United States Naval Institute, January 1999. 17. Defense News, 6 October 1997. 18. ‘US Nuclear Bomb Passes Final Drop Test’, Jane’s Defence Weekly, 1 April 1998. 19. For a detailed account of the PIRA campaign, including a consideration of other examples of economic targeting, see P. Rogers, ‘Political Violence and Economic Targeting – Aspects of Provisional IRA Strategy, 1992–97’, Civil Wars, vol. 3, no. 4 (Winter 2000) pp. 1–30. 20. For a tentative discussion of an alternative security paradigm, see P. Rogers, Losing Control: Global Security in the Twenty-first Century (London: Pluto, 2000).

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4 Reconciling Humanitarianism and Reality: the Analytical and Moral Challenges of Urban Operations Alice Hills

One of the most notable global transformations in recent decades has been the change from a predominantly rural world to an urban one, often in the context of rapid large-scale urbanization. Neither the military, political, societal or environmental implications of this shift are fully understood though it is clear that urbanization will provide an interactive context for future politico-military operations. A number of conflicting trends in military thinking about the effects of urbanization are already evident. Urban operations are thought increasingly probable even as experience suggests they are costly, vicious and best avoided. Threats are becoming more diverse, less predictable and probably less challenging in terms of conventional warfare but intervention is also increasingly discretionary. British forces are repeatedly described by politicians and government officials as being a ‘force for good’ and operations are subject to a restrictive legal and moral framework. At the same time, however, the British Ministry of Defence (MOD) considers that operations (including those of peace support and crisis response) require capabilities based on warfighting because ‘Optimising the force structure for either a warfighting or non-warfighting role is not the way forward. Building a force by planning for both will produce a more robust force structure with wider utility.’1 What we know of urban operations suggests that such tensions will increase and will be further emphasized by controversy over the extent to which such operations can, or should, be reconciled with 73

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contemporary social norms.2 Tension between humanitarian imperatives and warfighting capabilities is at the heart of the challenges confronting the contemporary military but it will be acute in urban operations.

Urbanization Demographers, the World Bank, the United Nations, the CIA, and experts from urban studies and disaster management all suggest that future tension points will be found in urban areas, primarily in cities.3 In fact urbanization already shapes contemporary conflict, with many of the most notable operations of recent years taking place in an urban environment. Events in Mogadishu, Belfast, Srebrenica, Mitrovica and Ramallah also illustrate the stress and frustration felt by military forces, especially those with strong warfighting capabilities, in the face of politically restrained operations. Not surprisingly a recent MOD essay on ‘The Future Strategic Context for Defence’ suggests that we should expect future operations to take place in urban areas in which it will be difficult to balance military objectives with the desire for minimal collateral damage and casualties.4 The resultant analytical and moral challenges of urban operations are many, not least because much depends on the concerns of the individual or organization identifying them, but three general concerns can be identified. The first is the lack of a theoretical framework for understanding urban operations. This is important because success in such operations is rarely an isolated technical process; it is not enough, for example, to say that social trends determine the technology used, when the trends result from the interaction of physical, social and structural continuities. The second is that urban operations present their greatest challenges at the levels of strategy and policy, not least because operations will probably be conducted differently in 2020. Linked to this is the third challenge, which is that the central question confronting political and military leaders about military operations in an urbanized world is less about prediction than about reconciling an increasingly restrictive legal and moral framework with what we already know of the nature of urban operations.

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Analytical challenges There is no shortage of current initiatives addressing urban operations at the operational and tactical level. Predictions of the likely strategic context of operations are also a recognized part of governmental business even if the strategic value of urban operations appears to receive significantly less attention. Most professional work is directed to maximizing fighting power5 or enhancing a battle group’s ability to conduct close operations within a combined or multinational arms context. It is reflected in future-army work on the key trends (social and environmental as well as technical) likely to affect land operations. But, as the MOD essay referred to above notes, such analysis is insufficient on its own; it cannot predict major discontinuities with the potential to change fundamentally strategic circumstances. In a similar vein the British future-army project acknowledges that significant short-term improvements are more likely to be influenced by training and equipment than by emerging concepts or doctrine. The US consultancy group RAND has, however, gone some way towards suggesting ways in which the balance might be redressed; recent publications have evaluated the significance of perceived changes in urban operations, investigated means by which the conceptual complexity of urban operations might be reduced to manageable proportions, and considered the implications of legal and political restraints on the use of air power over urban terrain.6 Despite this the analytical challenges of urban operations are significant, not least because many of the issues underpinning operations, such as national interest, globalization, information technology, social change, and, indeed, the application of military force itself, to say nothing of warfighting, are themselves controversial and need to be seen in the wider security context. Important challenges include the mapping and modelling of cities and the critical dependencies within them, not least because a change in one of the elements underpinning a functionally important city could set in train a cascade of reflexive changes in others involving substantial British interests. Identifying technical changes – such as the changing hazard environment across a range of cities – with security implications also represents a formidable task.

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Theoretical challenges The challenges of urban operations extend beyond those of geometry. Of course terrain remains critical at the operational and tactical levels but the geopolitical importance of urbanization means that we need to incorporate insights from a range of disciplines beyond defence and security studies in order to understand the possibilities inherent in such operations. The battlespace is now multifaceted, having expanded to include terrain, time, space, perception, and, potentially, the activities supporting socio-political stability and reconstruction. Thus urban studies, disaster management, police studies, architecture, anthropology, sociology, and geography can all illuminate the potential strategic importance of, and variables influencing, urban operations.7 A fundamental analytical challenge will be to build a consensual model of urban operations incorporating insights from non-military experience. Understanding the nature and strategic potential of urban operations will require a contextual model which can incorporate, for instance, criteria for assessing the applicability of current standard scenarios or for judging the effects of the increasingly common mix of natural, technological and social hazards within cities, especially when the interactive mix presents problems as yet unrecognized.8 Contextualizing full-spectrum operations will deepen understanding of the dynamics at work in the urban environment, especially in big cities. Acknowledging overlapping issues will not guarantee understanding on its own but it should provide insights into the physical and human environment and into what success might mean in such operations. A contextual approach would address the fact that there are also more fundamental theoretical issues (often linked to strategy) to be considered. For what is important is not that there is a spatial linkage between operations but that there is a conceptual link. The development of such an approach might involve consideration of how compellent campaigns might be framed – whether shaping operations could take place at a greater distance than decisive operations is one such possibility. Such a development would also extend the current move away from a linear understanding of conflict based on the traditional hierarchical framework of separate strategic, operational and tactical levels.9 It would enhance the more integrated approach that has resulted

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from this move. Policy goals now represent a central core, framed by strategic direction, while the operational dimension includes the tactical capabilities needed to achieve the stated goals. Thus success at the tactical level translates into operational impact and strategic significance. Typical investigations based on a contextual understanding might as a result focus on the analysis of how military operations interact with trends such as the diffusion of new technologies, worldwide economic restructuring and integration, and reconfigurations of political authority in geopolitically critical cities. Adopting a wider perspective will facilitate the identification of the myths and misconceptions of urban operations and open up new questions and new areas for research. It will encourage consideration of the unexpected or exceptional events that might compel us to change the focus of our attention. Such flexibility is especially important for urban operations because cities are not neutral environments; they can act as catalysts through which conflict is exacerbated or ameliorated because they introduce ‘a set of characteristics – proximate ethnic neighbourhoods, territoriality, economic interdependency, symbolism, and centrality – not present to such an extent on wider geographic scales’. 10 This can bend or distort the conventional linkages on which our understanding of cities – and thus urban operations – is based. It is for such reasons that we need to review the narrow range of assumptions on which current expectations about urban operations are built.

Strategic challenges The strategic challenges of urban operations are becoming clearer. Markedly more attention is now given to the geopolitical and social factors underpinning urban infrastructure and operations than was the case in 1990. Flawed operations, most notably those involving the US intervention in Mogadishu, Somalia, in the early 1990s, resulted in an explicit recognition of the need to understand such factors, and this has since become part of contemporary orthodoxy; its importance is further emphasized by the US Marine Corps’ influential work on three-block operations.11 A recent article by Tim Thomas on Grozny reflects this view too, arguing that attention should now be raised from tactics to overarching concepts such as

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the limitations of city fighting, the worldwide integration of economic assets, types of city and infrastructure, and probable enemy methods for negating Western superiority.12 Yet precisely how urban operations might fit into strategic policies remains unclear, partly perhaps because the cultural and economic conditions of many cities in which we are interested are changing in complex ways. The effects of internationalization and globalization must be factored in too, not least because, although multinational operations involving British forces in a megacity such as Dhaka or Seoul may be unlikely, instability in such cities could affect British interests in unforeseen ways. More generally such cities contain a large proportion of the world’s material investments and economic wealth and are often important by virtue of their role in the global economy and trading networks. What this might mean can be seen from disaster studies. The effects of conflict are not necessarily dissimilar to those of disaster and, as the earthquake which devastated the Kobe area of Japan in 1995 showed, a single metropolitan disaster in a rich country can produce economic losses that shake the global reinsurance industry.13 An understanding of the way in which operations in an important city could disrupt global economic functioning should be developed alongside conventional military concerns. It may yet prove as necessary to redefine urban operations in the 2020s as it was to redefine security in the 1990s. As the World Bank has pointed out, there is, for instance, potential for the political importance of cities (and the provinces they often represent) to increase at the expense of national governments; certain cities are becoming important actors on the world stage and may well represent a critical security issue for the twenty-first century.14 For such reasons the strategic and policy challenges of urban operations will probably be greater than those of conventional military-based analyses.15 And if this is the case then it is likely that future operations, especially those in important cities, will be marked by policy incoherence and will be of an essentially ad hoc nature regardless of the quality of predictive work.16 Such a conclusion emphasizes the weight of the strategic and policy challenges of operations.

Moral challenges The strategic challenges of future urban operations are daunting but the associated moral challenges are potentially more intractable

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because, even when combat is not involved, military operations require escalation dominance in order to manage or contain a situation at the same time as they are subject to regulation by international law, conventions and self-imposed constraints. As Mogadishu showed, this is required even in humanitarian relief operations, while the inevitable presence of civilians and the media means that the moral challenges of operations will be graphically portrayed. The result is that a balance must be struck between avoiding casualties and collateral damage, minimizing risks to allied forces, maintaining minimum levels of domestic and international support, and maximizing military effectiveness. The presence of non-combatants has directly affected the course of operations in all recent conflicts, shaping tactics, strategy, planning and rules of engagement (ROE). Civilians have served as forcemultipliers and as human shields.17 Civilian casualties have even ended a militarily successful campaign. The Israeli bombing of a UN refugee camp in Qana in south Lebanon in 1996, for example, resulted in international outrage and a hurriedly negotiated ceasefire that stopped the successful Israeli operation.18 Military planners must divert resources to deal with refugees or public safety tasks such as emergency law enforcement and the reconstruction of civilian infrastructure, while ROE often conform more closely to political than military logic. The balance of the process is variable though and public statements are not necessarily an accurate reflection of policy, as NATO’s ‘humanitarian war’ over Kosovo showed. Kosovo was justified primarily in terms of stopping actual and anticipated killings and expulsions by Serbs in the Serbian province but the bombing campaign, with its emphasis on air power and the avoidance of Allied casualties, was held by many commentators to result in unacceptable collateral damage. Pressure to attack fixed targets, rather than mobile military targets, for instance, meant that in practice targets were chosen whose destruction had a significant effect on civilians.19 The tangled themes of humanitarian intervention, political expediency and special interests (primarily those associated with air power) displayed in Kosovo are useful but also misleading in terms of urban operations, and it is salutary to compare the scale of destruction and collateral damage in Kosovo to that in the third battle for Grozny. NATO’s involvement in a Grozny is inconceivable but the battles for Grozny epitomize urban combat and are the

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nearest thing the developed states have had to a warfighting laboratory – and Grozny was reduced to rubble at the same time as an estimated 10 000 to 40 000 civilians remained in the city, either unable or unwilling to escape the bombardment of Christmas 1999.20 Operations in Grozny represent a contemporary extreme. The main Russian commander, General Viktor Kazantsev, said that only women, children and men over the age of 60 should be regarded as refugees, everyone else was to be detained. Leaflets dropped by Russian aircraft on 5 December warned that anyone remaining in the city after 11 December would be viewed as ‘terrorists and bandits’ and would be destroyed. In contrast the pressure on NATO forces to avoid civilian casualties and collateral damage is more likely to impact in terms of the perceived immorality of militarily desirable weapons. The British government has often been able to work with pressure groups campaigning against certain types of weapons or damp down their expectations or criticisms. But the continuing emphasis on warfighting, the historical evidence of the nature of urban operations, and the traditional role of the military ensures that NGO interests will often run counter to military interests. Pressure will intensify to avoid the use of militarily useful weapons, such as landmines, cluster bombs, flame throwers and novel explosives, seen to create a disproportionate effect in either risk or damage. Given the emphasis on warfighting capabilities the use of flame throwers in particular provides a pertinent illustration of what this pressure means for urban operations, not least because it illustrates the inevitable mix of operational and ethical issues.21 It is often regarded as immoral and is spoken of as banned by the UN Weapons Convention of 1981 but the Convention does not in fact forbid the use of flame and incendiary weapons against military targets. It may be that the question of its use has not been seriously asked in recent years or it may be that its absence has more to do with operational than ethical issues. The flame thrower is often described in professional journals as a low-technology system that is highly effective, particularly in psychological terms, but which is regrettably no longer in the military inventory.22 It is true that many references to its use in World War II substantiate this view but, equally, the methods of delivery 60 years ago were bulky and heavy and, if used today, would expose the

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operator to what would be considered as unjustifiable risks. Projectiles continue to be developed but recent technology has not produced suitable man-portable flame throwers, and problems of weight, range, and logistics prevents their systematic use. But while it may be common sense to avoid the use of flame in combustible shantytowns its desirability as a psychologically effective weapon remains as great as ever. The use of flame is an emotive topic but the issue currently encapsulating the moral challenge at the heart of urban operations is, however, that of novel explosives, of the thermobaric weapon which uses a massive wave of heat and blast pressure to destroy. The weapon, previously known as the fuel air-bomb, was developed during Vietnam as an alternative to napalm, was used against the mujahideen in Afghanistan and Iraq’s Republican Guard during the Gulf War, and more recently has achieved notoriety when used by the Russians in Chechnya.23 The light disposable weapon is admittedly extremely destructive of human bodies but it already exists, it renders conventional body armour useless, and is of proven utility against heavily fortified positions or the buildings typical of urban environments such as those in the Balkans. The development of thermobaric weapons by Britain was brought to public attention in the course of a radio interview in January 2001. The MOD responded to public criticism by emphasizing that British forces did not yet have such weapons but that it would be ‘irresponsible’ not to consider their possible use given their wide distribution. Britain is therefore developing a lightweight, precision hand-held device based on explosive particles rather than flammable vapour or gas. An army spokesman, somewhat missing the point of the original criticism, said that ‘We cannot legally produce something which is a flame weapon but we can produce something which is a blast weapon.’24 The UK Liberal Democrat spokesman Menzies Campbell argued that such a weapon would breach the spirit of the Geneva conventions while Joost Hilterman of Human Rights Watch expressed grave concern that it would be used near population centres. Similar arguments had, in fact, already been presented by Project SirUS, a campaign sponsored by the International Committee of the Red Cross which seeks to outlaw weapons that can be shown to cause

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‘superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering’ – a phrase taken from the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons (CCW).25 Project SirUS will be considered as a specific item during the 2001 review conference of the CCW. If, as seems likely, the development of a thermobaric grenade specifically for urban operations is judged undesirable, the resultant (political) decision to outlaw the weapon will be based on claims that the effects of such weapons are disproportionate and indiscriminate. This will be in direct contrast to the prevailing military judgement that banning thermobaric weapons poses a serious threat to British forces, to their operational capabilities and to the development of emerging technologies. Military attention will then be focused on the development of an alternative system capable of circumnavigating the ethical and political challenges of thermobaric weapons in a manner reminiscent of that associated with anti-personnel land-mines. Land-mines were a very effective means of providing force protection in an urban environment and abandoning them on signing the Ottawa Convention meant that a replacement system was needed.26 The search for alternatives is important because it suggests that although the role of specific weapons is important in the debate, the values assigned to them are variable and that other factors, such as cultural or political norms, are equally significant. Support for this may be found in Edwards’s recent RAND study that concluded that the technologies employed in urban operations in the 1990s did not differ significantly from those employed before the 1980s. Weapons remained essentially the same but it was politically inspired ROE that prohibited the stronger side from using advanced tanks and artillery.27 It is possible that the current debate will prove redundant as alternative systems (including sub-lethal weapons) are developed which can deliver an appropriate military effect in a manner tolerated by public opinion. Indeed the potential for information warfare and new forms of conflict suggest that the debate about thermobaric weapons or their equivalent may prove peripheral in the long term. If, however, conflict continues to be interventionist, discretionary, and expeditionary then military action is likely to be justified on moral and humanitarian grounds – and flame and thermobaric weapons to be regarded as immoral and excessive. In either case the moral challenges of urban operation will remain central even if they

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are reinforced by the trend, seen in Operation Allied Force over Kosovo, of combining humanitarian and legal norms with selfjustifying conceptions of national interest (itself something of an ethical challenge). The result is that governments need to take the moral high ground and may therefore rule against the use of militarily effective weapons. The restrictive nature of contemporary ROE is evidence of both the sincerity and expediency underpinning such concerns. Strict ROE do not represent a moral challenge as such though they undoubtedly reflect current concerns about the appropriateness of the restrictive legal and moral framework of interventionist operations. Indeed ROE may represent more of a practical political or operational challenge than a moral one because they are necessarily flexible. However the attacking force in almost every modern urban battle28 has begun operations with a strict set of ROE designed to limit collateral damage. Such ROE have invariably eased in the course of operations (especially if combat is involved) because the desire to minimize friendly casualties is always greater than the desire to avoid civilian casualties and collateral damage. Retribution is often an important factor too. On 16 October 2000, for example, Israeli troops, who were supposed to be showing ‘restraint’ shot and wounded at least 69 people in clashes in Hebron, Bethlehem and Nablus.29 Such a form of resolution may be unacceptable to NATO forces when the stakes are not high, suitable technological solutions are available, psychological operations are important, or if the nature of conflict changes to accommodate new configurations of economic or political power. But balancing restrictive and permissive ROE has usually proved difficult in the face of the ubiquitous media presence so ROE tend to conform to political rather than military logic. A greater or lesser degree of tension is the inevitable result. This is unlikely to lessen over the next two decades; global trends suggest that operations to control or punish within an urban environment are more likely than force-on-force but that such operations will remain characteristically peace support operations (PSO) in nature. The development of less than lethal weapons is unlikely to challenge this, being more likely to rephrase the debate than solve it; electronic means of control (currently seen as a promising technology by many security forces) are more likely to provoke controversy than resolve the moral debate.30

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It is probable that the reconciliation of social values and warfighting capabilities by an alliance such as NATO will remain difficult. For the employment of effective weaponry employing flame and thermobaric munitions is only one facet of a wider tension between contemporary values and warfighting; other aspects are to be found in current recruitment and retention problems. At the same time, however, the existence of thermobaric weapons and historical evidence of the realities of urban combat suggest the potential scale of urban operations. Contemporary discussion of the moral challenges of urban operations occurs in a vacuum. In many respects the most insightful discussion of morality in the urban environment is to be found in a recent article on the sustained discussion of morality of war displayed by the film Saving Private Ryan.31 The author, William Prior, identifies four moral or ethical frameworks within the film: those of the soldier as an individual, as a member of a small combat unit, as a member of a specific state, and from the universal perspective as one moral agent among many. He contrasts the morality of war with the morality of decency and concludes that the two moralities are ‘deeply and irreconcilably incompatible’.

Conclusion It is difficult to identify the fundamental issues underpinning the range of activities we label urban operations. Humanitarian relief, policing and combat may take place simultaneously and within three blocks of each other but each tends to use different techniques, procedures and equipment. One of the few themes underpinning military success in all such operations is, however, the need for mental and moral confidence, backed up by the ability to conduct forceful or aggressive close operations – of warfighting capabilities in fact. This is realistic in terms of the historical realities of urban operations and the existence of thermobaric weapons but ironic given the contemporary aversion to casualties and collateral damage. Differing national styles and priorities amongst NATO’s members mean that the desirability of warfighting capabilities remains controversial but most would agree with The Future Strategic Context for Defence assertion that although ‘maintaining fighting ethos may be difficult in the light of social and legal changes’,

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The character of conflict will continue to present a physical and moral challenge to service personnel: extreme danger, rapidly changing circumstances in conditions of chaos and uncertainty, and severe physical and mental demands.32 The Future Strategic Context for Defence’s conclusion that ‘The requirement to engender and foster fighting spirit is enduring’ may be more controversial but escalation dominance remains as necessary as ever, as events in Mogadishu and Srebrenica made clear. Attempts to reconcile what we know of the nature of urban operations with the increasingly restrictive legal and moral framework of contemporary Western operations have advanced little over the last ten years. Many of the analytical challenges of urban operations are now receiving attention but the more intractable moral challenges are not. This is unfortunate for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the accompanying analytical ambiguity and operational implications of restrictive ROE. Meanwhile the current emphasis on targeting for (allied) casualty avoidance and the continued importance of discretionary intervention (to ‘correct’ abuses of human rights within states), combined with an insistence on the military being a force for good, merely emphasize the complexity of the moral challenge. Two significant points emerge. The first is that future urban operations will force liberal democracies to confront their own values; operations will continue to represent a battlespace and civilians will invariably be used as obstacles and sanctuaries to shape that battlespace, if not by us then by our enemies. And our enemies will be well aware that public and political perceptions demand that success must be achieved in a short period of time and involve few casualties. The second point is related to the political need to reconcile the reality of dismounted close action, especially combat, with the desire for zero casualties.33 This will be notable in the low-level conflicts in which civilian casualties are high relative to combatants. As current conflicts between Israel and Palestine, and India and Pakistan make clear, ‘technology will count for less, and large, youthful and motivated populations for more’ in such scenarios.34 This in turn links the challenges of such moral strength into the analytical challenge of understanding the human systems underpinning politico-military success in cities.

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For a professional military force, politico-military success in the notoriously costly and violent environment of urban operations is ultimately dependent on its ability (and reputation) to conduct simultaneous operations, ranging from public safety to combat, aggressively and persistently. At the same time, however, sociopolitical trends emphasize the value of humanitarian intervention and reconstruction. The result is, inevitably, tension. There is thus a need to reconcile the increasingly restrictive legal and moral framework of contemporary NATO operations with what we know of the nature of urban operations. The two appear irreconcilable at present.

Notes An earlier version of this chapter was given at a panel on civil-military relations and warfighting, (American) International Studies Association annual convention, Chicago 2001. The support of the British Academy is gratefully acknowledged. 1. Ministry of Defence, The Future Strategic Context for Defence (London: HMSO, 2001), para. 102. www.mod.uk/index.php3?page2449. Downloaded 8 Feb 2001. ‘Warfighting’ is still used to characterize forceon-force operations against well-equipped, technologically-developed opponents and implies engagement with an identifiable enemy across a range of military capabilities. The defeat of such an enemy requires the ability to apply the full range of military capabilities. 2. Sir Charles Guthrie, then Chief of the Defence Staff (CDS) said in an interview in August 2000 that ‘too many humanitarian missions could turn the professional British Army into a ‘‘touchy-feely’’ organization, more concerned with widows and orphans than fighting’. The quote may misrepresent the general thrust of the interview but the cautionary nature of the comments are undoubtedly widely shared; according to The Times, ‘other senior officers’ echoed his comments, arguing that too great an emphasis on peace support operations will result in British forces becoming a peacekeeping gendarmerie with a diminished reputation for fighting. ‘Kindly soldiers ‘‘losing their killer instinct’’’, The Times, 11 August 2000. 3. The World Bank’s definition of cities is used here. The terms cities and urban areas are interchangeable: The formal definition of urban areas describes them as concentrations of nonagricultural workers and nonagricultural production sectors. Most countries call settlements with 2,500–25,000 people urban areas. The definition varies from country to country and has changed over time. If the criteria China used in its 1980 census had

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been applied to its 1990 census, the country’s urbanization rate for the 1980s would have been more than 50 per cent – far more than the 26 per cent produced by the more rigorous approach used in 1990. A city has a certain legal status (granted by the national or provincial government) that is generally associated with specific administrative or local government structures. In most countries large urban areas are referred to as metropolitan areas because they encompass a geographic area of human settlement (that may include legally defined cities) within which residents share employment opportunities and sets of economic relations.

4. 5.

6.

7. 8.

9. 10. 11.

12. 13.

World Bank, World Development Report 1999/2000 (New York: World Bank, 1999), p. 127. Ministry of Defence, The Future Strategic Context for Defence, para 20. For example, how should the slowed tempo of urban operations be conceptualized in relation to manoeuvrist warfare? How should the manoeuvrist approach be understood when rubble, generating military and civilian casualties, dramatically slows tempo? Addressed respectively by S. Edwards, Mars Unmasked: the Changing Face of Military Operations (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2000); R. Glenn, Heavy Matter: Urban Operations’ Density of Challenges (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2000); M. Waxman, International Law and the Politics of Urban Air Operations (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2000); http://www.rand.org/ publications/. See G. Demarest, ‘Geopolitics and Urban Armed Conflict in Latin America’, Small Wars and Insurgencies, vol. 6, no. 1 (1995), pp. 44–67. For example, the military will focus on physical variables whereas urban studies tend to marginalize them as a variable. The presence of toxic chemicals in water supplies during operations may seem a civilian problem but the potential for litigation inherent in discretionary operations suggests otherwise. The lawsuits brought against the MOD by British paratroopers contracting malaria in Sierra Leone emphasize the continuing importance of ‘duty of care’ considerations. BBC, Today, Radio 4, 5 February 2001. Director of Infantry, Future Infantry … The route to 2020 (January 2000), p. 7. S.A. Bollens, On Narrow Ground: Urban Policy and Ethnic Conflict in Jerusalem and Belfast (New York: State University of New York Press, 2000). Operational trends suggest a future scenario of simultaneous or transitional operations, ranging from policing and terrorism, humanitarian relief and peace enforcement, to force-on-force, within a confined city area. The idea is encapsulated by the US Marine Corps’s work on threeblock operations. T. Thomas, ‘The Battle of Grozny: Deadly Classroom for Urban Combat’, Parameters (Summer 1999), p. 93. Economic losses caused by the earthquake are estimated at more than US$92 billion. Financial Times, 30 December 1996. Hurricane Andrew had

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14. 15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20. 21. 22. 23.

24.

the same effect on Greater Miami. See also S. Sassen, The Global City: New York, London, Tokyo (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991). World Bank, op. cit., p. 127. This might also emphasize the need for the British military to develop a specific security perspective, reaching beyond ‘defence diplomacy’, on the Labour government’s development agenda. Information about the spatial parameters of cities (their populations, physical organization and activities), for example, is a fundamental theme in urban and security research but there are no coherent programmes addressing the topic across government departments in either the UK or the USA. The Gulf War Al Firdos bunker incident of February 1991 starkly emphasized the problems associated with separating military and civilian targets. US F-117 strikes destroyed the bunker as a command and control facility. On the night it was destroyed it actually housed families of government officials in its upper levels. Previous Israeli claims of precision weapons worked against them. The United Nations commission investigating the incident concluded that the shelling of the UN compound was most unlikely to have been the result of technical or procedural errors. F. van Kaplan, Report of the Secretary General’s Military Adviser Concerning the Shelling of the UN Compound at Qana on 18 April 1996 with Addendum (New York: United Nations Secretariat, 1996). As Adam Roberts has argued, such damage is ‘a salutary reminder’ that there are moral (and environmental) problems with the whole idea of the low-risk waging of war. A. Roberts, ‘NATO’s “Humanitarian War” over Kosovo’, Survival, vol. 41, no. 3 (1999), pp. 102–23. The most disturbing lesson of the air campaign for Roberts is that its most effective aspect involved hurting Serbia proper, including its population, rather than directly attacking Serb forces in Kosovo. This has implications for proxy actions in an urban environment. BBC News, http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/english/world/europe/newsid_ 594000/594779.stm (8 January 2000). The acceptability of flame in a shantytown of timber or corrugated tin buildings is one such example. Jary and Carbuncle, ‘In the Jungle of the Cities. Operations in Built up Areas’, British Army Review, vol. 121 (April 1999), pp. 61–8. Some American analysts judge that the most important equipment development in the third battle of Grozny was the fuel air-explosive. See T. Thomas and L. Grau, ‘Russian Lessons Learned from the Battles for Grozny’, Marine Corps Gazette (April 2000), pp. 45–8. Collateral damage was not a problem in Chechnya; the Russians believe that urban combat requires deliberate reduction. It is worth noting that light anti-tank weapons were used by both British and German forces as antipersonnel flame throwers to clear buildings in 1945. ‘Britain Works on Grenade that Goes through Walls’, Daily Telegraph, 5 January 2001.

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25. 1981 United Nations Convention on Prohibitions or Restrictions on the use of Certain Conventional Weapons that may be deemed excessively Injurious, including Amended Protocol II (May 1996). Calmatives, irritants and inflammatory agents, and comparable sub-lethal weapons are strictly controlled by the convention on certain conventional weapons. They are authorized for domestic riot control and law enforcement but are prohibited in warfare. Their usefulness in urban operations is problematic and indiscriminate. 26. This may take the form of wide area sensors linked to an unattended system or to an autonomous direct fire system. 27. Commercial off the shelf, non-lethals and precision-guided munitions were either not used or were not considered decisive. 28. W. Rosenau, ‘‘‘Every Room is a New Battle’’: the Lessons of Modern Urban Warfare’, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, vol. 20 , no. 4 (October–December 1997), p. 389. 29. ‘Death Comes Silently in Ramallah Riots’, Daily Telegraph, 17 October 2000. 30. See, for example, ‘Amnesty Condemns Rising Torture Trade’, Guardian, 27 February 2001. 31. W. Prior, ‘‘‘We Aren’t Here to do the Decent Thing’’: Saving Private Ryan and the Morality of War’, Parameters (Autumn 2000), pp. 138–45. 32. MOD, op. cit., para. 94. 33. It may be that it is not casualties as such that cause the problem so much as the resultant media images. Whatever the case, victory may be assured for any adversary still standing after killing a critical number of NATO forces. 34. Central Intelligence Agency, Global Trends 2015: a Dialogue About the Future with Nongovernment Experts (December 2000), p. 40; http://www.odci.gov/cia/publications/globaltrends2015/index.html.

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5 Western Strategy in the New Era: the Apotheosis of Air Power? Philip Sabin

Introduction As we enter a new century, air power is no longer a novelty. We now have 100 years of theory and practical experience on which to base our employment of this form of military force. Although this period is still dwarfed by the centuries and even millennia of tradition and experience underpinning our use of land and maritime power, the ‘air power century’ offers a very rich background of examples and ideas on which twenty-first century air strategy may be based. The face of air warfare today is clearly very different from that exemplified by the frail wood and canvas biplanes of World War I. In large part this is due to the incredible pace of technological improvements in the weapons and systems involved. From this perspective, air power history may be viewed as a kind of triumphal progress, from primitive and unsteady beginnings to the ‘coming of age’ and even ‘apotheosis’ of air power in recent conflicts like the Gulf War and Kosovo. A common view is that the inflated expectations of early air theorists such as Douhet and Mitchell were merely ‘premature’, and that technological advance has vindicated their convictions. After the Gulf War, US air theorist John Warden proclaimed this view with characteristic hyperbole: The world has just witnessed a new kind of warfare – hyperwar. It has seen air power become dominant. It has seen unequivocally how defenseless a state becomes when it loses control of the air 91

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over its territories and forces. It has seen the awesome power of the air offensive – and the near impossibility of defending against it. It has seen a demonstration of the validity of strategic attack theory. It has seen a war waged primarily against things but one that produced remarkably few casualties, especially considering the outcome. For the next two decades – and perhaps for much longer – an American commander, whether the president in Washington or a general in the field, will turn first to air power, just as did President George Bush and Gen Norman Schwarzkopf. We have moved from the age of the horse and the sail through the age of the battleship and the tank to the age of the airplane. Like its illustrious ancestors, the airplane will have its day in the sun, and then it too shall be replaced. Sic transit gloria mundi.1 However, just as important an influence as technological progress in air power itself have been changes in the broader political and social context of the conflicts concerned. This has become particularly evident over the last decade, since the end of the Cold War. In the new era, it is by no means clear that lessons drawn directly from ideas and experience earlier in the twentieth century provide the best guide when formulating contemporary air strategy. Not only is there the danger of neglecting technological changes, as in Saddam Hussein’s disastrous belief in 1990 that air power had proved to be inherently indecisive.2 There is also a risk of neglecting political and social changes, which may make certain strategic precepts derived from earlier experience ineffective or perhaps even counter-productive. Air strategies, which worked in the twentieth century, may not necessarily succeed today, even with our vastly improved air technology. This makes the derivation of lessons from past experience a more complex and subtle business than one might at first imagine. In this chapter, I will first outline what I see as the most important changes in the strategic environment, as it affects the employment of air power by Western states. I will then highlight certain key consequences of these changes for Western air planners at the start of the twenty-first century.

Trends in the strategic environment The world in which air power now operates differs very considerably from that during its formative years in the early and mid-twentieth

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century. Some changes are linked to the end of the Cold War a decade ago, while others stem from longer-term shifts. Not everything has changed, and even those trends which I will highlight are often shifts of emphasis as much as complete transformations, but the changes are important nonetheless. The trends fall into three broad areas, as follows. From symmetrical to asymmetrical contests The twentieth century was dominated by great power conflict, which on three occasions crystallized into classic bipolar confrontations – between the Allies and the Central Powers in World War I, between the Allies and the Axis in World War II, and between the capitalist and communist blocs in the Cold War. Even regional conflicts like those in Korea, Vietnam and Afghanistan were ‘balanced’ through great power intervention on both sides, as illustrated by the fact that in none of these wars did the great power most directly involved prevail. With the demise of bipolarity and the easing of great power tensions over the past decade, confrontations have now become much more asymmetric than in the past. This reflects the enormous diversity of size and power of the states, alliances and sub-state groups which now interact across the world – a diversity so great that many talk not of a multipolar but of a unipolar world dominated by the USA. Regional wars like those in the Gulf and the Balkans are no longer proxy reflections of superpower rivalry as in previous Middle Eastern and Asian conflicts, so there may be huge imbalances in the power involved. This shift towards asymmetry is partly also a consequence of technological trends, especially in air power. A variety of factors are involved, but the most important is the ‘double-edged’ contribution of modern military electronics – giving huge ‘force multiplier’ effects in terms of enhanced intelligence and weapon accuracy, but exposing less advanced users to crippling disruption of their entire military panoply through electronic counter-measures. As a consequence, modern high-tech air wars tend to be decided in a much quicker and more one-sided fashion, rather than through the gradual attritional slogging matches of the past – a trend which is well illustrated by the quick and sweeping triumph of the electronically and tactically superior air power in Lebanon in 1982, the Gulf in 1991 and Kosovo in 1999.3

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Related to this increased strategic and technological asymmetry has been an erosion of alliance discipline, since it is now less important for nations to stick together lest they be overpowered by an opposing bloc. The result has not been a return to a world of independent states each pursuing their own narrow national agendas, since multinational organizations like the UN, NATO and the EU have imposed an important framework on modern international relations. Nevertheless, we now live in a world in which real disagreements, even among allies, over crises like Kosovo and the recent bombings of Iraq, have replaced the theoretical internal unity on which NATO and Warsaw Pact war planning hitherto relied. From interests to justice as a motive for the use of force The demise of communism and the triumph of democracy have not produced the ‘End of History’ which Fukuyama notoriously proclaimed, but rather a revival of the self-determination questions and ethnic hatreds which pre-dated the fascist and communist threats of the twentieth century.4 In part this reflects global cultural fissures as embodied in Huntington’s model of a ‘Clash of Civilizations’, but it is usually more a local tribal matter, as seen in the long-standing conflicts within Western Europe in Northern Ireland and the Basque country.5 A key feature of these ethnic conflicts is the relative lack of global linkages compared to the ‘domino theory’ which was so persuasive during the Cold War. The reaction of outsiders today is more one of pity, incomprehension and a concern about ‘fallout’ like criminality and refugees, rather than a perceived imperative to back one side or the other in the dispute itself. In the previous Hobbesian world of naked power politics, or the ideologically divided world of the inter-war and Cold War periods, intervention tended to be motivated by commonality of interests or ideology and not by an objective judgement of good and bad. Today, with ideology moribund and balance of power politics ameliorated by the gross asymmetries of power and by the relative internal harmony of the dominant West, states can afford the luxury of a more altruistic approach. This focus was prefigured in President Carter’s emphasis on human rights, and has been encouraged ever since by media dramatization of human rights abuses. Interventions today tend to be motivated less by ideological linkages or narrow calculations of national interest than by perceived wrongs, espe-

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cially to innocents, and by breaches of international law like the invasion of Kuwait. It is obviously hard to be so black and white when judging tangled ethnic conflicts like those in the former Yugoslavia. Indeed, many (especially in Russia) saw Kosovar Albanian violence and NATO bombing as the real illegitimate acts during the Kosovo crisis in 1999, with Serbian actions themselves being much less blameworthy. However, the key point is that behaviour, as opposed to identity or ideology, has become a key determinant of outside intervention in modern conflicts – a point clearly illustrated by the fact that NATO ground forces in Kosovo now find themselves more at odds with Albanian separatists than with the Serbian forces they entered the province to guard against. Partly as a consequence of this trend, there has been a shift from military to constabulary ethics in the Western use of force. The clear focus of military organizations prior to 1945 was on war fighting, including surprising opponents and inflicting military defeat, with little attention paid to sparing even civilian populations on the opposing side. During the Cold War, this focus on war fighting began to be modified due to the overwhelming destructive power of nuclear weapons, with an emphasis being placed instead on deterrence and on graduated escalation to restrain aggressors rather than to defeat them outright. The same period saw the development of UN peacekeeping operations, with a mission of neutral interposition rather than engagement on either side of a conflict. Since the Cold War ended, there has been a move to a much more muscular use of force in peace support operations (PSOs), but still with a constabulary ethos of predictability, consent, and safeguarding the innocent, in line with the focus on justice rather than instrumentality in the motivation of interventions. It would, of course, be wrong to exaggerate the extent to which altruism has displaced ideology and self-interest in Western security calculations. The Jewish lobby in the USA remains a potent influence on US policy in the Middle East, while simple considerations of power explain why Western responses to Russian brutality in Chechyna were so restrained. The new Bush presidency may, indeed, presage a return to a more power-politics based security policy, involving proposed US withdrawals from peacekeeping deployments and a more confrontational stance vis-à-vis Russia, China, and

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regional proliferators. Nevertheless, we remain a long way from the mindset of the mid-twentieth century, when it was seen as legitimate for Western air power to threaten or to carry out the incineration of entire urban populations in the interests of achieving military victory.6 The stakes today are far lower, and media-dominated Western societies are much less tolerant of injustice, especially if their own armed forces are seen to be responsible for it. From statistical to anecdotal portrayals of effectiveness Traditionally, military success has been measured in overall statistical terms, like the number of dead and prisoners, or the amount of territory captured. This carried over even into the Cold War, despite a move away from traditional territorial conflict. There was a preoccupation with ‘body counts’ in Vietnam, and with the raw numerical size of opposing arsenals in the conventional and nuclear balance between East and West – a focus which was paradoxically encouraged by the arms control process with its emphasis on quantitative comparisons. However, the increasing dominance of televisual imagery has now shifted attention away from the statistical and towards the anecdotal. This was seen clearly in the Gulf War, with a focus on precision guided munitions (PGM) videos and Scud missile attacks even though these weapons were only a tiny minority of those employed overall. The media will often focus their spotlight on things going wrong, thereby turning tactical mishaps into strategic events, as with the bombing of the Amariyah bunker in Baghdad and of the refugee convoy and Chinese embassy in the Kosovo conflict. This increasing focus on the anecdotal is not unique to the military. In Britain recently, the media frenzy over a tragic but isolated train crash at Hatfield led to the paralysis of the entire rail system for safety work, thereby statistically giving rise to a far greater death toll on the roads. The current paranoia over child abductions due to the dramatization of individual incidents illustrates a similar mechanism. National lotteries work on the same basis, with the catch phrase ‘It could be you!’ perfectly capturing the dominance of anecdotal publicity over rational statistical judgement. This tends to foster zero tolerance of error, and encourages attempts to exploit the media through spectacle. The huge effort which the coalition diverted to tackling the Iraqi Scud threat in the Gulf War shows that such

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media spectacles can have real strategic impact, however marginal they may be in traditional military terms.

Consequences for air strategy The three trends which I have highlighted are by no means the only ones affecting the use of air power by NATO nations today, but they are among the most important. I will now discuss some of the consequences for Western air strategy, under four broad headings. A blurring of political and military responsibilities In the classic ideal model of military professionalism, political leaders decide the ends, and leave military leaders to manage the means. In fact, this clear division of responsibility has rarely ever been fully observed, and it is particularly problematic in the tangled conflict environments of today. One well-documented reason for this is ‘reach-back’. The same communications technology which, through media magnification, can make tactical setbacks into strategic events, allows politicians to micro-manage even distant military operations. The classic example of this is President Johnson’s decision-making in the Vietnam War.7 The problems which Johnson’s ‘interference’ in tactical decisions created did act as a salutary warning to later leaders, but it has been very hard for them to avoid the practice altogether, because the risk of media amplification of anecdotal mishaps makes politicians as well as senior commanders paranoid about losing control of the actions of their subordinates. Reach-back to national capitals in coalition operations like those in Kosovo is natural due to such sensitivities, especially since differences in perspective on how to conduct military operations are an inherent and unavoidable feature of limited wars. Theatre commanders can limit reach-back by monopolizing information, as General Ryan and Admiral Smith did during Deliberate Force in Bosnia in 1995, but this is a bold approach since it removes ‘top cover’ in the event of the slightest mishap. Just as important a cause of the blurring of political and military responsibilities is the politicization of even theatre military command. In the tangled complexity of peace support operations (PSO), land commanders like Generals Rose and Smith become as

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much diplomats as warriors, negotiating with faction leaders, liaising with non-governmental organizations, and conducting the local inter-allied diplomacy which is key to the effectiveness of often adhoc coalitions. A particularly difficult relationship in PSOs is with local ‘allies of convenience’ like the Kurds, Croats or Kosovar Albanians, who (as recent experience has shown) may become just as much a problem as the current adversaries if strategically mishandled. The dispute between Generals Jackson and Clark over how to respond to the Russian occupation of Pristina airport in June 1999 shows how pregnant with political consequences theatre military decisions may be.8 It might be thought that airmen can remain more detached from this engagement on the ground, and so more focused on the military execution of political directives. However, aerial coercion, by its very nature, depends on political rather than physical mechanisms for its effectiveness – a fact all too often neglected by airmen, who tend to focus on the mechanics of destroying certain targets rather than on how that destruction will persuade those bombed to change their behaviour. It is no good leaving this aspect to the politicians, since they have far less time and expertise to think about the issue than do the airmen themselves, and tend to proclaim ‘something must be done’ while leaving it to the military to work out what that ‘something’ might usefully be. Hence, airmen must be proactive in entering this realm of political calculation, so as to minimize future misunderstandings like those between Ambassador Holbrooke and NATO commanders over outstanding targets in Bosnia, and so as to give politicians realistic ideas on what air power can and cannot do in terms of overall strategic effect on the campaign.9 The inevitability of constraint A central tenet of modern air power theory is its emphasis on rapid and unrestrained use of force, rather than the kind of slow, graduated attacks interspersed with bargaining which were advocated in the classic theory by Schelling four decades ago. Schelling argued that what mattered for successful coercion was not destroying enemy assets per se, but signalling by those attacks a willingness to destroy other assets deliberately left untouched at first, if compliance did not occur. This mechanism was akin to a kidnapper mailing back a severed finger to the distraught relatives to show his determi-

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nation, rather than killing his hostage outright and so losing any potential leverage gained. However, for air theorists, this logic has become anathema. They tend to see the psychological shock of a rapid, unrestrained air attack as having much more coercive potential, by giving the adversary no time to adapt, and so inducing helpless panic.10 Theodore Roosevelt earlier encapsulated this point of view in his aphorism, ‘Don’t hit at all if it is honourably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit soft!’ At first sight, air power history over the past four decades supports this preference very clearly. Restrained and graduated bombardments like Rolling Thunder in Vietnam, the sporadic strikes on Iraq since the Gulf War, the ‘tank plinking’ during Deny Flight, and the first phase of the Kosovo air operation, did indeed have very disappointing results, whereas Linebacker II, Instant Thunder, Deliberate Force and the later Kosovo bombing seemed to produce a much more decisive outcome. Small wonder that airmen tend to advocate in future taking the gloves off from the outset, and striking hard against a target system like electrical power to bring the adversary rapidly to his knees. However, several factors suggest that this image of rapid aerial triumph will probably remain a dream, and not necessarily even a beautiful dream. For one thing, intra-war deterrence is likely to remain a key consideration, as the ability grows for adversaries to strike back with anything ranging from information warfare to biological or nuclear weapons, if they feel they have nothing left to lose. Even more significantly, the proactive use of force by liberal democracies is a highly contentious affair and is always, in circumstances other than life or death struggles like World War II, the product of intense arguments between ‘hawks’ and ‘doves’, with the mean position adopted by the polity as a whole shifting only slowly over time. Democracies simply do not transition overnight from peace to all-out attack, as Germany did against the USSR and as Japan did against the USA and others in 1941. They tend to enter war slowly and reluctantly, with many warnings and limitations, and only when their initial efforts are frustrated and reverses suffered do they become committed to uncompromising crusades like that against the Axis powers in World War II. Ignoring this inherent democratic preference for initial constraint and gradualism could be particularly damaging and counterproductive given the trends discussed earlier. With the emphasis

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on justice and on constabulary use of force by an asymmetrically dominant Western alliance with only limited stakes in the outcome, any use of force which is perceived by Western nations themselves to be excessive could fracture consensus, and weaken rather than strengthen resolve and credibility for the future. Examples are the US cruise missile strikes against Afghanistan and Sudan in August 1998 in response to Osama bin Laden’s terrorism, and the attack on the Belgrade television station in April 1999, in which the killing of civilian technicians became a significant cause of Western soul searching.11 Especially if the motive for the intervention is to save lives, military action which destroys them can quickly be seen as utterly self-defeating, as in Somalia. Experience in Bosnia and Kosovo suggests that graduated initial action, which demonstrates the adversary’s recalcitrance and which ties in the credibility of the alliance to success (thereby making the conflict a matter of clear interest rather than altruism) is much more likely to bolster resolve for escalation and for the long haul. A recent article by Paul Strickland contains a very good discussion of these considerations in the context of Kosovo.12 He argues that Western air doctrine needs to focus less exclusively on the unrealistic ideal of an all-out initial strike, and more on devising ways of winning despite inevitable initial constraints. Airmen should beware of reinforcing media and political expectations of a quick victory, and should emphasize instead the importance of patience and of a clear resolve to continue air operations for weeks and months if need be. It is heartening to see a growing (though grudging) recognition of this reality among airmen and air theorists. Writing of the lessons of Kosovo General Jumper made a similar acknowledgement in late 1999 that: From the air campaign planning point of view, it is always the neatest and tidiest when you can get a political consensus of the objective of a certain phase, and then go about achieving that objective with the freedom to act as you see militarily best. But that is not the situation we find ourselves in. We can rail against that, but it does no good. It is the politics of the moment that is going to dictate what we are able to do … If the limit of that consensus means gradualism, then we are going to have to find a way to deal with a phased air campaign with gradual escalation

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… We hope to be able to convince politicians that is not the best way to do it, but in some cases we are going to have to live with that situation.13 The importance of consensus As is evident from the above quote, airmen remain reluctant to accept the logic of gradualism in air strategy, and see it as very much a second-best alternative compared to their preferred option of a decisive initial blow. Those impatient with the political constraints underlying gradualism tend to seek a way out through escaping the ‘lowest common denominator’ approach inherent in international negotiations, and pursuing a more robust strategy led by the less ‘faint-hearted’ nations. However, here too, there are real questions as to whether, in the changed strategic environment, the benefits in terms of doctrinal coherence outweigh the costs in overall mission effectiveness as well as in wider political damage. One obvious practical cost concerns basing rights. Unlike in the Cold War, when European air forces planned to operate from their peacetime bases, post-Cold War crises tend to require deployment to forward bases inside or outside the NATO area, in locations where base loading is a major constraint on the total air power which can be brought to bear. Naval aviation escapes these constraints, but is subject to serious limits and cost-effectiveness penalties of its own, so should ideally be seen as a complement rather than an alternative to local land bases. Long-range or intercontinental operations, similarly, although more feasible than hitherto in an age of space systems and air-to-air refuelling, involve serious penalties in responsiveness and sortie rate. Moreover, even if local land bases are seen as dispensable, the issue of overflight rights remains a serious constraint. The wellknown map showing US F111s based in Britain flying around Spain and through the Straits of Gibraltar to attack Libya in 1986 could hardly have sent a clearer signal of NATO disunity on the issue.14 This leads on to the second aspect of the question, namely that, even though allied support for air action sometimes appears almost more trouble than it is worth in terms of practical military contributions (because of problems of command, capability and interoperability), such support may powerfully boost the legitimacy of an operation, with real benefits in terms of its sustainability and coercive effect. Given the importance of perceptions of legitimacy in the

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new justice-oriented interventions of the post-Cold War world, the presence of a coalition, ideally with UN endorsement, can bolster the resolve of the interveners and undermine the assuredness of their adversaries, compared to what might otherwise be seen as a self-interested unilateral assault by one or two ill-disposed states in the face of opposition from others in the international community. It is very significant that the largely unilateral air operations of the US in Vietnam, the USSR in Afghanistan, and Israel against the Palestinians, despite the benefits of needing little or no alliance coordination, and of being much less restrained than recent NATO air operations, have been mostly unsuccessful in their coercive effect. In Iraq since 1991, aerial coercive efforts like Desert Fox in December 1998 have become a lonely Anglo-American crusade, with support from other states for the air operations and the sanctions regime now having virtually collapsed, and with Saddam still defiantly in power despite his pursuit of weapons of mass destruction. It has become politically impossible to attack ‘sensitive’ targets or to sustain air attacks for more than a few days at most, and even the one-off strikes in February 2001 to disrupt Iraqi air defence improvements threatening the patrolling US and British jets served mainly to increase international reservations about the continued legitimacy of the air patrols themselves.15 Conversely, Operation Allied Force in Kosovo in 1999 eventually succeeded in its coercive objective, despite severe constraints on air action and on a ground offensive due to disagreements within the Alliance. Critical to this success was the basic NATO consensus that restrained air attacks were justified as a means of coercing Serbia into compliance – a consensus that actually strengthened rather than eroded as the weeks went by. There has been much subsequent debate about exactly why Milosevic eventually decided to concede, but a key role seems to have been played by Moscow’s withdrawal of support from Serbia on 3 June, indicating the importance of not utterly alienating even those nations outside the Alliance itself.16 Milosevic’s recent election defeat, and subsequent arrest, at last breaks the oft-remarked pattern established by Kim Il Sung, Colonel Qaddafi and Saddam Hussein, whereby bombed dictators tend to become enduring martyrs, outlasting the democratic leaders who confronted them. This suggests strongly that the political legitimacy enjoyed by Operation Allied Force, as reflected in the relative inter-

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national consensus behind the campaign, was critical to its eventual success, especially given the very dubious formal legal basis for the intervention. Casualty sensitivity and the limits of joint warfare Past experience suggests that democracies can be anything but squeamish about taking casualties in a good cause like fighting Hitler, as long as the sacrifices they make are felt to be justified in terms of clear progress towards a worthwhile goal. However, the combination of asymmetric military advantage, a shift towards altruism rather than hard national interests as a basis for interventions, and the anecdotal magnification by the media of statistically insignificant mishaps, has made Western nations much more sensitive to friendly casualties during recent military operations. There has been an interesting scholarly debate as to whether this casualty sensitivity is strongest among the general public, politicians, the media, or even military leaders themselves, concerned to emphasize force protection above all else because the amorphous altruistic motives underlying intervention are not seen as vital enough to ask any of their subordinates to sacrifice their lives.17 Whatever its roots, the increased sensitivity has very significant implications for air strategy and for the combined operation of air and surface forces to achieve overall strategic objectives. Air theorists of the inter-war years had two principal ideals – to find a cheaper and quicker way of achieving military victory than through the bloody attritional confrontation of armed masses that had characterized World War I, and to secure the independence of the fledgling air forces from the more established land and naval arms. From these two aims emerged the doctrine of ‘strategic’ air bombardment of an enemy heartland as a short-cut to victory which did not depend on close coordination with surface forces.18 Unfortunately, experience in World War II, Korea and Vietnam proved that air warfare alone did not deliver quick victory, and could be proportionately even bloodier for those involved than the trench fighting of 1914–18.19 Moreover, at least as effective as independent air bombardment was the synergistic combination of air and surface forces in joint campaigns, involving for example ground force manoeuvres which forced enemy ground forces to react, thereby exposing themselves to air attack. Although some air theorists, such as John Warden, have continued to champion air power

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as an essentially independent route to victory, Western armed forces have increasingly embraced ‘jointery’, with the air and surface systems of all three services being integrated more and more into joint campaign planning. However, the technological and strategic developments which I discussed earlier have now given the leading Western air forces such asymmetric dominance over regional adversaries that they can conduct repeated sorties, like those over Iraq and former Yugoslavia over the past several years, with only a tiny risk of sustaining losses. General Clark summed up this state of affairs during the Kosovo campaign with the incredibly hubristic but undeniably evocative statement that, for Serbia, fighting NATO air power ‘must be like fighting God’!20 The combination of this unprecedented advantage with the increased sensitivity to friendly casualties has understandably led Western nations to shift their emphasis over the past decade towards air operations in which surface forces play a much more passive role than in the truly joint campaigns of the past. In the Gulf War, the Coalition undertook 38 days of preparatory air and artillery bombardment before the climactic four-day air-land campaign. During Deliberate Force in 1995, Western ground troops in Bosnia were withdrawn into protected defensive positions while air power and artillery coerced the Serbs into compliance. In Kosovo in 1999, air power alone bore the brunt of the 78-day offensive, and not even the much-touted US Apache helicopters were risked over the border until the Serbs had come to terms. In the various punitive air and cruise missile strikes which the US has launched in the Middle East since 1991, there has not even been a passive threat of a follow-up ground invasion. By minimizing friendly casualties to such an unprecedented degree compared to the bloody campaigns earlier in the twentieth century, this heavy Western reliance on air power has had a doubleedged effect. On the one hand, it has encouraged the US and other Western states to initiate and if necessary to sustain the use of force, despite having little directly at stake. (It is noteworthy that in the earlier US interventions in Vietnam, Lebanon and Somalia, the Soviet/Russian interventions in Afghanistan and initially in Chechnya, and the Israeli intervention in Lebanon, it was the accumulation of ground force casualties, combined with feelings of pointlessness about the ongoing campaigns, which eventually trig-

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gered withdrawal.) On the other hand, high-technology Western air power has become a victim of its own success in minimizing casualties, in that even a single aerial loss (like that of an F16 in Bosnia or an F117 in Kosovo) is now seen as a victory for the enemy and a grave setback, despite its statistical insignificance, because of the anecdotal impact of the media spotlight, and because public expectation of aerial invulnerability has become so exaggerated. A further cost of relying on air offensives alone has been to forfeit the synergistic benefits achievable through a more truly joint campaign. In the Gulf War, Iraqi attrition rates increased markedly once the land attack began, and it also became possible to capitalize on the tremendous demoralization which the bombardment had produced.21 In Bosnia and Kosovo, these synergistic benefits were obtained only at second-hand, through the coincidence of the air attacks with ground offensives launched by the Croats and the KLA. Despite this linkage, the damage done by NATO air power to Serb fielded forces in Kosovo was disappointing, and it was not possible to frustrate Serb ethnic cleansing directly through air attack.22 In view of these problems, there is an obvious temptation in future Western air operations to focus more on coercing adversaries by attacking ‘strategic’ targets, which are harder for the enemy to hide or protect. However, such a return to the roots of independent air power theory may be politically problematic if this ‘indirect approach’ to the problem at hand is seen as unduly escalatory. The result may be to shatter consensus and increase perceptions of illegitimacy, thereby gravely undermining the coercive effect of the attacks concerned. The difficulties which the USA and Britain have had in coercing Iraq through sporadic air action since the Gulf War illustrate very well the dilemmas involved. Many observers over the past decade have pointed out the danger that Western air power dominance offers ‘gratification without commitment’, and may prompt an irresponsible resort to ‘virtual war’.23 A key challenge for Western airmen in the twenty-first century is to walk the fine line between acquiescing in the ‘politically correct’ fallacy that ‘air power alone can never be decisive’, and championing the equally flawed vision of zealots like Warden that modern air power offers a strategically unanswerable coercive tool. So, how is Western casualty sensitivity likely to develop in the wake of the incredible performance in Kosovo, with no allied airmen

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at all killed or taken prisoner in 38 000 sorties? The ‘revolution of rising expectations’ (which has afflicted Western militaries ever since the UN Coalition in 1991 suffered ‘just’ 240 combat deaths) can hardly go any further, and there are actually some signs of a salutary reversal.24 During the Kosovo campaign, the insistence that NATO aircraft stay above 15 000 feet to avoid Serbian air defences was widely perceived as detrimental to the performance of the mission, and there were even some unfortunate and wounding accusations of cowardice due to the humanitarian goals of the operation, as if the NATO personnel were like firemen who left victims to be burned alive rather than risking their own lives to save them.25 The fairly stoic reaction to tragic terrorist incidents like the attacks on Khobar Towers and the USS Cole, which have killed many more personnel than in recent combat operations themselves, shows that Western publics are not paranoid about casualties per se, and that how potential or actual losses are portrayed is a very important variable. If Western political and military leaders foster the ‘zero defect’ culture by being hounded into witch hunts about every single combat loss and friendly fire incident, this will indeed be further amplified by the media and lead to a future where cruise missiles and UAVs are seen as the only safe alternative for air operations in the face of an increasingly capable SAM threat.26 Conversely, if Western leaders deliberately and boldly challenge the blame culture, and argue that some losses are inevitable in war, just as for brave rescue workers in peacetime, then this could build on the reaction against the 15 000-foot controversy in Kosovo and foster a more sensible and balanced approach. Truly joint offensive operations will remain problematic in terms of risk, and air strategies must continue to be developed which do not depend on the accompanying action of surface forces. However, as anecdotal dramatization reaches the point of statistical absurdity in the military field as it has on other issues such as BSE, rail safety and child protection, robust leadership is required lest society descend into a media-induced ‘funk’ which will paralyse our response to risk of any kind.

Conclusion The strategic environment in which Western air power must now operate is very different from that in the formative years of air power in the twentieth century. Conflicts are likely to be highly

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asymmetric, and rooted more in local tribal hatreds than in clashing global ideologies. Western interventions in such conflicts will be driven more by a constabulary pursuit of justice and peace than by a military pursuit of traditional national interests. The conflicts will be played out in an increasingly media-dominated world in which anecdotal imagery can outweigh solid statistical achievement. In this changed environment, air commanders must become comfortable with a blurring of political and military responsibilities. Constraint should be accepted as almost inevitable, despite doctrinal preferences for an all or nothing approach, and airmen must counsel patience rather than encouraging expectations of a ‘quick fix’. International consensus is key, not only because of the practicalities of deployed operations, but also because the legitimacy it provides is a critical contribution to achieving mission success. Sensitivity to casualties will continue to make dominant Western air power the main and often the only active instrument for responding to security challenges, but firm leadership is required to prevent this sensitivity reaching statistically absurd levels and to resist the temptation to apply air power in inappropriate circumstances, just because it is easy so to do. What is really needed in the new strategic environment is a refocusing of Western air strategy, away from exclusive concentration on the classic principles of surprising, outmanoeuvring and overwhelming an enemy during a traditional war fighting campaign, and towards an updated approach which takes much more into account the importance of blurred political-military responsibilities, constraints, consensus, casualty sensitivity, and the whole underlying context of asymmetric warfare, constabulary ethics, media anecdotalism and so on. It is sometimes suggested that strategy has no place in PSO interventions because there is no enemy against whom to practise it: the very opposite is the case. Strategic thinking is actually even more necessary in PSO, if interveners are to restrain one faction while avoiding simply boosting another and so prolonging the suffering. It is important to note that the many constraints that I have discussed do not mean that Western air forces start out at an irredeemable strategic disadvantage compared to more ruthless and unrestrained regional antagonists. Such antagonists must think for themselves how to meld their various asymmetric responses to the overwhelming challenge of Western air power into a coherent overall strategy, and this is a far from easy thing to do.

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To take just one example, it is very hard for ‘underdogs’ faced by superior air power to balance deterrence and provocation, and to exert real counter-coercive leverage while at the same time appealing for sympathy by portraying themselves as unjustly oppressed. The bizarre saga of hostage taking in the Gulf crisis, Bosnia and Kosovo, with hostages being taken and then released unharmed prior to an escalation of bombing by the relieved Western powers, illustrates this underdog dilemma perfectly. So does the Serbian expulsion of Kosovar Albanians, which made clear the limits of Western air power in protecting the population concerned, but also showed in the most graphic terms the ruthlessness of the opposing regime, hence strengthening overall NATO resolve. Even when NATO bombs hit a refugee convoy by mistake, this did not undermine support for the campaign, since at least the NATO attack was accidental, whereas Serbian oppression was deliberate. Media amplification is a double-edged sword, and indulging in frightful behaviour can erode rather than strengthen the constraints on intervention by powerful adversaries – a lesson the Chechens have just been taught to their enormous cost. Putting ourselves in the minds of local adversaries and allies of convenience is not only an indispensable requirement for the development of a refocused air strategy for the new era; it is also a valuable reassurance that these regional players too face very difficult strategic choices in the new environment. If we persist in seeing the new conflicts as frustrating arenas in which we must fight with both hands tied behind our back against unconstrained opponents, there will always be a pernicious tendency to throw off the shackles and return to the comforting simplicities of the old war fighting paradigm. If, on the other hand, we embrace the new environment and adapt our air strategies accordingly, recent experience in Bosnia and Kosovo suggests that we stand a very good chance of achieving our objectives, perhaps even with less of the trauma and uncertainty which these initial ‘trial and error’ campaigns inevitably involved.

Notes 1. J. Warden, ‘Employing Air Power in the Twenty-first Century’, in R. Shultz and R. Pfaltzgraff (eds), The Future of Air Power in the Aftermath of the Gulf War (Maxwell, Alabama: Air University Press, 1992), pp. 81–2. 2. See L. Freedman and E. Karsh, The Gulf Conflict, 1990–1991 (London: Faber and Faber, 1993), pp. 280–2.

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3. For a more detailed analysis, see my contributions in A. Lambert and A. Williamson (eds), The Dynamics of Air Power (Bracknell: RAF Staff College, 1996), chs 2 and 11. 4. F. Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (New York: Free Press, 1992). 5. S. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (London: Simon and Schuster, 1997). 6. See J. Buckley, Air Power in the Age of Total War (London: UCL Press, 1999). 7. See M. Codfelter, The Limits of Air Power: the American Bombing of North Vietnam (New York: Free Press, 1989), chs 2–4. 8. ‘Russians Force British Paras back in Pristina Stand-off’, Sunday Times, 13 June 1999. 9. See Bucknam, op. cit., pp. 227–36. 10. See S. Peach (ed.) Perspectives on Air Power: Air Power in its Wider Context (London: HMSO, 1998), chs 10–11. 11. See the House of Commons Defence Committee Report on the Lessons of Kosovo, HC 347-I (London: HMSO), October 2000, para. 122. 12. P. Strickland, ‘USAF Aerospace-Power Doctrine: Decisive or Coercive?’, Aerospace Power Journal, vol. 14, no. 3 (Fall 2000), pp. 13–25. 13. Quoted in Strickland, op. cit., p. 24. 14. See Peach, op. cit., p. 105. 15. See the various reports in The Times, 19 February 2001, pp. 4–6. 16. See D. Byman and M. Waxman, ‘Kosovo and the Great Air Power Debate’, and B. Posen, ‘The War for Kosovo: Serbia’s Political-Military Strategy’, both in International Security, vol. 24, no. 4 (Spring 2000), pp. 5–38 and 39–84; and the House of Commons Defence Committee report, op. cit., paras 272–81. 17. See Bucknam, op. cit., and C. Hyde, ‘Casualty Aversion: Implications for Policy Makers and Senior Military Officers’, Aerospace Power Journal, vol. 14, no. 2 (Summer 2000), pp. 17–27. 18. See P. Meilinger (ed.), The Paths of Heaven: the Evolution of Airpower Theory (Maxwell, Alabama: Air University Press, 1997). 19. On how British and US aircrew in World War II coped with the tremendous cumulative attrition rates which they faced, see M. Wells, Courage and Air Warfare (London: Frank Cass, 1995). 20. ‘NATO: we intend to surround Serbs’, The Times, 12 May 1999. 21. See A. Lambert, ‘Synergy in Operations’, in Lambert and Williamson, op. cit., pp. 40–66. 22. See the House of Commons Defence Committee report, op. cit., paras 112–18. 23. See E. Cohen, ‘The Mystique of US Air Power’, Foreign Affairs, vol. 73, no. 1, (January/February 1994), pp. 109–24; M. Ignatieff, Virtual War: Kosovo and Beyond (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2000); D. Donald, ‘The West Has Consistently Seen Air Power as a Kind of Geopolitical One-night Stand, Offering Gratification without Commitment’, The Times, 8 April 1999. 24. Freedman and Karsh, op. cit., pp. 407–9.

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25. ‘Clinton Backs Low-flying Air Campaign’, The Times, 6 May 1999. 26. On the increasing threat to Western aerial invulnerability from surfacebased defences, see Tony Mason, ‘Rethinking the Conceptual Framework’, in Peter Gray (ed.), Air Power 21: Challenges for the New Century (London: HMSO, 2000), pp. 209–36; and ‘Serbs Help to Boost Baghdad’s Firepower’, The Times, 17 February 2001.

6 Britain and the Revolution in Military Affairs Lawrence Freedman

The ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’1 (RMA) refers to the strategic consequences of the marriage of systems that collect, process and communicate information with those that apply military force. The modernity of the marriage is reflected in the quality of the information that can be collected, and its virtually instantaneous transmission, in combination with the speed and precision with which force can then be applied. The offspring of this marriage is the so-called ‘system of systems’. Advocates of this revolution2 believe that if this marriage can be consummated then it will reinforce established tendencies towards the creation of an American military capability far superior to that of any other country or even group of countries. While enemy commanders are still attempting to mobilize their resources and develop their plans, they will be rudely interrupted by decisive and lethal blows inflicted by American forces for whom time and space are no longer serious constraints. This opens up the possibility of fighting wars with scant risk to American troops, let alone the home population and territory. It is the culmination of a strategist’s dream.3 There are a number of reasons not to take the full-blown RMA concept too seriously because it involves organizational changes and shifts in doctrine that may be just too revolutionary for the moment.4 It would also require resources to be dedicated to the development of the requisite systems, which could mean that investment in more traditional units may be neglected and these forces might thus be ill-prepared for those conflicts occurring while this dream was still in the process of being realized. Additionally, 111

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there are undoubtedly going to be numerous problems with full systems integration because of the demands on software. Without buying in to the totality of the RMA nostrum, and accepting that the results may fall short of the claims made on its behalf, we can recognize that new technologies, particularly in information access and transmission, are having notable effects in almost every area of our lives, including the military sphere. There can be little question that advances in defence technologies will have a potentially profound impact on the conduct of future military operations. For example, there is no reason now to doubt that modern weapons have a high probability of hitting targets when sent in the right direction at the right time or that there have been significant developments in precision-guided munitions, stealth weapons, sensor technology and defence suppression techniques, although the marginal difference these developments make may not always be that great.5 To the extent, then, that a revolution is under way, it is rather particular. Only the United States has the economic resources and the military infrastructure to begin to follow this path. Allies and enemies alike risk being left on the fringes of this revolutionary process. This leads to a large, though obvious conclusion: that the United States is designing a game that only it can play in a ball-park all of its own. Unquestionably, the US is in a league by itself in leading the way in information technology and military innovation. At this level there may be no serious competition. In other ballparks, however, different games are being played. For a country such as Britain this poses a serious problem. Britain’s military establishment is high in quality but low in quantity. Its foreign policy requires participation in a range of demanding and generally long-term operations of the peace support variety, which are manpower-intensive. The Royal Air Force and the Royal Navy have also been heavily engaged in peacekeeping roles, though the requirements here have largely come under the heading of ‘presence’ rather than combat. A capacity for high-intensity operations has been maintained, and this requirement is reinforced by a foreign and defence policy that points towards continued close cooperation with the United States. Britain’s armed forces are closer to the United States through combined planning and operations, in force structure and doctrine, than any other military power – but

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only in miniature. In size and shape, the UK armed services are just about comparable to the US Marine Corps. The issue is, therefore, whether Britain can make a deliberate decision to follow the Revolution in Military Affairs or whether it must accept that in certain areas it will inevitably fall behind the United States, with a consequent loss of inter-operability and scope for combined operations.

The RMA and the RPA One of the interesting features of the current debate on the future of warfare is the sense that two quite separate arguments are being conducted in parallel to one another with only limited points of contact. The promotion of the RMA sits uneasily with what might be called the ‘Revolution in Political Affairs’ – the RPA. The RPA can be described as the consequence of the long-term effects of decolonization when combined with the short-term effects of the end of the Cold War. In terms of its impact on warfare it focuses our attention on weak states and prolonged low-intensity conflicts in and around societies with compound economic, social and political fractures.6 For the military planner and the policy-maker alike the coincidence of the RMA and RPA is troubling because the tension between them affords no reliable model of future war. The range of potential enemies covers everything from lone fanatics and terrorists to disaffected great powers, while the means they might employ crosses the spectrum from an improvised explosive device placed in a shopping mall to guerrilla-type ambushes, through to traditional concepts of battle and even nuclear exchanges. Terrorists, for instance, might gain access to weapons of mass destruction, while renegade states might infiltrate bombs into public places within the enemy heartland. Put simply, when all is in flux, how does one set budget priorities, design equipment, organize training and so on? One possible answer is that you build upon what you know you do well. This starts to explain the importance in this debate of the Gulf War of 1990–91. The Gulf War not only popularized the Revolution in Military Affairs but also provided verisimilitude to all accounts of the sort of war envisaged under the RMA banner.7 The RMA can be seen as the explicit codification of the set of steps necessary to exploit the full strategic possibilities revealed by this war.

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While the United Nations Coalition triumph in Desert Storm can be attributed to many factors, of evident importance was the ability to use information to attack targets with extraordinary precision. On the eve of the Gulf War, informed opinion was doubtful about the ability of the American armed forces to pull off such a stunning victory. The talk was of likely snarl-ups, as the desert sand would interfere with delicate equipment, and malfunctioning indicators would lead Coalition units to inflict as much damage on each other as on the enemy. Most importantly, it was almost taken for granted that casualties on any significant scale would be too much for the American political system to bear and would oblige President George Bush to accept an inconclusive settlement.8 All this negativity represented a remarkable underestimation of the earnestness with which the American military leadership had addressed both the deficiencies exhibited in the Vietnam War and the promise offered by new technologies. Until 1991 they had not had a serious chance to prove themselves. This is one reason why they took the opportunity offered by Iraq’s seizure of Kuwait. Neither the generals nor their political masters left anything to chance in preparing for the campaign. Other factors worked in their favour. The principal host nation, Saudi Arabia, was a logistician’s dream come true, with its ports and airfields and on-tap fuel supplies. The Iraqi protagonist, Saddam Hussein, moreover, had only a limited grasp of strategic reality and allowed himself to be tempted into a conventional war that played to his American opponent’s greatest strengths.9 The revolution of 1991 was, therefore, first and foremost a revolution of expectations. Up to that point, the Americans appeared to have lost their grip on the art of warfare. This image was comprehensively dispelled after Desert Storm. They now appear unbeatable when fighting on their own terms. In retrospect, Saddam Hussein’s gamble of taking on the United States in traditional battle seems reckless, but that was not how it appeared at the time. The result of Saddam’s failure is that any future gamblers with aggressive intent in mind will calculate the odds more realistically and avoid combat of this nature. They may still be prepared to take on their neighbours or some interfering regional power, but they will think long and hard before taking on the United States.

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Asymmetric war Saddam Hussein’s failure lay not just in his Plan A, of imposing unacceptable casualties on the Coalition forces, but also his Plan B, which was to threaten the political cohesion of the Coalition.10 The reason for this failure lay in execution as much as concept. The methods available to him were: 1. Make the Coalition’s leaders look unreasonable in their political demands, by appearing ready to compromise. 2. Impose pressure on local elites by turning the war into an Arab–Israeli conflict. 3. Raise the stakes by inflicting severe environmental damage. 4. Conduct a campaign of terror against the Coalition’s home population. 5. Threaten the use of weapons of mass destruction. Most of these methods were tried, but they failed because Iraq lacked the political and military capacity to make them work. Saddam had left himself with little freedom of manoeuvre in negotiating a political settlement and his Arab opponents knew better than to be distracted by their dispute with Israel. Furthermore, Saddam was fearful of either American or Israeli retaliation when considering his main weapons of mass destruction – chemical munitions – and the means of delivery were poor. His nuclear programme had yet to be completed. He lacked the organization for an effective terror campaign, though the mere thought that he might resort to such methods had a dire effect on air travel in the West.11 Most successful were Iraq’s attempts to inflict environmental damage, with the Gulf itself saved from terrible pollution only by an American operation to close oil pipes that had been left open and cap oil-wells deliberately set on fire. Saddam’s Plan B offers a natural menu for a Plan A for any other country that expects to confront American power. This brings us to what has been described as ‘asymmetric war’, that is, when two combatants are so different in their characters, and in their areas of comparative strategic advantage, that a confrontation between them comes to turn on one side’s ability to force the other to fight on their own terms. Vietnam was a classic example of asymmetric war.

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When North Vietnamese and Viet-Cong forces were tempted into open battle with American forces they often suffered badly, as some of the early encounters in the war during 1965 testified; so long as they stuck to guerrilla methods and prepared for the long haul, the Americans were vexed and frustrated. The strategies that the weak have consistently adopted against the strong often involve targeting the enemy’s domestic political base as much as his forward military capabilities. Essentially, such strategies involve inflicting pain over time without suffering unbearable retaliation in return. They often rely on the opponent’s intolerance of casualties. This intolerance is more likely if it can be assumed that the stronger force has a weaker stake in the resolution of the conflict. Thus, it did not take many casualties to encourage the United States to cut its losses in Somalia in 1994 following the abortive UN peacekeeping mission.12 These strategies can also play on the reluctance in many states in the West to inflict suffering on civilian non-combatants. Both the Iraqis in the Gulf War and the Bosnian Serbs during the protracted ethnic warfare in the former Yugoslavia located some of their most important military assets close to schools, architectural monuments or in the middle of densely-populated areas. In short, whereas stronger military powers have a natural preference for decisive battlefield victories, the weaker are more ready to draw the civilian sphere into the conflict while avoiding open battle. Asymmetric strategies of deterrence were also in evidence during the Cold War period where parallels can be drawn. For example, when NATO confronted what it perceived as an overwhelming Warsaw Pact superiority in conventional forces, it refused to rule out the first use of nuclear weapons in the belief that such implied threats enhanced deterrence.13 Furthermore, in the Eastern bloc, a growing sense of inferiority in most advanced conventional weapons capabilities had begun to cause anxiety in Moscow long before the collapse of European communism and has now stimulated a greater readiness in Russia to rely on nuclear threats to bolster its security. The foregoing assessment is not intended to argue that it is wasteful to pursue the Revolution in Military Affairs because potential enemies will prefer to fight a different sort of war. This is the same fallacy that often dogged discussions about nuclear strategy during

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the Cold War. Just because a capability is not used does not render it irrelevant. The deterrent function remains important. The development of the RMA may extend the range of wars that are now unlikely to take place, and for that we may well be grateful. The issue is whether the over-energetic pursuit of the RMA could weaken the capacity to cope with the sort of wars with which Western states may still have to contend. To develop this argument it is necessary to examine more closely the ideas associated with the RMA.

The nature of the RMA At the heart of most versions of the RMA is to be found the view that information technology, in conjunction with precision-guided munitions, is now the key to success in war. The objective is to achieve information dominance. This means knowing much more than the opponent and knowing it in a more timely and exploitable fashion.14 Achieving information dominance involves a series of capabilities. It is first necessary to be able to gather relevant information on all military, paramilitary and non-military units and equipment from a large geographical area. Then this must be processed so that the full military situation, including the terrain and climate, can be described almost immediately to relevant commanders. In the most optimistic versions of the RMA, this description will identify the enemy’s most critical military vulnerabilities. Alternatively, and taking a little longer, human judgement may also be necessary. Either way, the commanders will be able to employ further information systems to ensure that the most appropriate forces are used to target these vulnerabilities. These forces will react with great speed and accuracy, carrying their destructive power over extended ranges. The success of these actions will then be determined by sensory systems capable of almost immediate battle assessment. A major advantage of such a system is that high-quality information on the battlespace should make it easier for critical forces to remain based outside the space, given their ability to strike with precision over great distances. This carries with it an important implication: it may no longer be so necessary for ground forces to close with the enemy and seize territory. If ground forces still have a part to play in all of this it may be as another type of sensor, almost reverting to the traditional scouting role. Their capacity to engage could be

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limited to self-defence, allowing them to remain agile and manoeuvrable. Other than that, they need not move with their own organic firepower, but could call in what was needed from outside. The high tempo of operations would also allow commanders to move these units in and out of the battlespace to gain relief and replenish stocks, again contradicting conventional notions of seizing and holding ground. The hope is that this general reliance on non-organic firepower can reduce dependence upon large, cumbersome, self-contained divisions. It should also reduce casualties. While the implications for land forces are thus potentially severe, those for maritime and air forces are less dramatic as they have been tending towards a greater reliance on stand-off weapons for some time. The potential of long-range precision weapons has long been recognized. The problem has always been one of precision intelligence so that these weapons, which are often individually quite expensive, are not wasted on inappropriate targets or, worse, hit civilian centres. The Gulf War demonstrated that considerable progress had been made in these areas, but important problems remained as the overrated performance of the Patriot missiles and the attack on the Amiriya command bunker/air raid shelter which killed over 300 civilians clearly indicated.15 Some of these problems might be overcome with improved technology, but a number will inevitably remain part of the fog and friction of war. High-quality information does not always make possible highquality interpretation. There were notorious squabbles over bomb damage assessment in the Gulf War. These were aggravated in part by bureaucratic factors but also by important questions of judgement over such matters as to what constituted sufficient degradation of enemy forces.16 Fixed points of obvious military relevance could be readily identified, but mobile military units remained problematic (as demonstrated by the Great Scud Hunt).17 ‘Nodal points’ of apparent significance to the enemy’s economic, social and political system, which might be justified as ‘strategic’ targets, were not always accurately identified and, more importantly, were not always as vital to the enemy as had been assumed. What this illustrates is that, while more intrusive sensors will always be able to improve the data received, some features of potential targets will only ever be appreciated by use of the ‘Mark One Eyeball’ and, in many cases, by human intelligence. High-quality information, even when correctly interpreted, does not always lead to high-quality decisions. There are obvious prob-

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lems with the sheer quantity of material coming into a headquarters at any time during the course of a campaign. It is possible to depend on systems to process and filter the incoming material, but this again reduces the human input.18 Moreover, any commander or political leader must always balance a whole series of considerations when deciding upon a course of action. The high-speed analytical systems at their disposal may drive them towards certain kinds of decision, but they will always need to take account of aspects which may not be readily quantifiable, such as the morale of the armed forces, the demands of allies, the mood of the United Nations, the state of domestic opinion, the economic implications of resources expended at a particular rate, and so on. When two substantial sets of armed forces are confronting each other in a conventional battle in a vast, under-populated area such as a desert, then the range of capabilities envisaged under the RMA might be invaluable. But the more it becomes necessary to operate in confined spaces in and around populated areas and against the backdrop of often highly intricate political contexts, the less useful these capabilities will become. However, even in the ‘ideal type’ conventional battle, the image of a future land war may be exaggerated. In one important aspect it is reminiscent of some of the early ideas in the 1950s prompted by the development of tactical nuclear weapons.19 For a while, it was assumed that tactical nuclear forces would provide such concentrated firepower on the battlefield that the full needs of a unit could be accommodated with a few systems and conventional weapons would only be needed for self-defence. This would allow for relatively small and agile units, able to exist separately from a supply chain, manoeuvring around each other on the battlefield almost as if they were ships at sea. This was the basis of Pentomic divisions (five platoons per company, five companies per battle group and so on) upon which the US Army lavished much care and attention during that decade. Eventually, it was recognized that the nuclear age did not remove the need for large-scale troop formations and that tactical nuclear weapons could not be used as if they were just more powerful conventional systems. Ground forces would still be dependent upon their supply lines and this would mean that all elements of their logistical network, including cities, might be targeted. The strategic environment of the 1990s is very different from the Cold War pax atomica, but the basic issue remains the same. There is

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the same hope that by reducing the size of the active ground units it might prove possible to reduce dependence upon logistics. Dependence upon non-organic firepower will always appear as running unnecessary risks. The amelioration of such risks requires reliable communications systems, a responsive command structure and available weapons. Moreover, to the extent that contemporary conflicts are about the ownership of land, then ‘presence’ remains a high priority for armed forces. The insertion of large numbers of troops capable of holding their ground into critical positions remains a vital military task. This is never a prospect that appeals to politicians because they dislike putting troops into exposed settings which they may have to occupy for a long time. It is also a task upon which new technologies may have little impact. Sheer numbers and raw military power can be valuable precisely because they are conspicuous. Furthermore, the need to think about substantial forces based in a particular area over an extended period requires an acute appreciation of logistics. This is still the limiting factor for the more ambitious schemes. Technology has taken us a long way. We can collect, process and transmit vital information in nanoseconds, respond almost instantaneously and a missile will be on its way in seconds. We have yet, however, to crack the problem of instantaneous logistics. It is true that with ever-extending ranges and lift capabilities, air power is less reliant on overseas bases than ever before and that ships can stay longer at sea without visiting port. But getting troops and their equipment to the right place still takes time.

Information inflation The role of information technology naturally attracts great attention currently because that is where system development is at its most dynamic. At the moment discussion wanders between consideration of ‘information war’ as a feature of conventional battle and as a means of conducting unconventional warfare by targeting those aspects of the economic and social system which are dependent on information technology. In other words, at one level the idea of information warfare is regarded as a way to enhance and refine high-intensity war, while at another level it is seen as a means of avoiding high-intensity war. In the first instance, there is a continu-

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ing search for greater efficiency in the intelligence function and in communications. Here, the importance of ‘electronic warfare’ has been recognized for some time in terms of either ensuring – or preventing – weapons reaching their targets. With regard to the wider concept of ‘information warfare’ this seems to be more relevant to what was described earlier as the Revolution in Political Affairs. It provides another method by which the weak can challenge the strong. Given that the advanced Western states are more reliant upon information systems for the general functioning of their economies and their societies, they would also seem to be most vulnerable to direct attacks on these systems. However, the nature of information means that it is not vulnerable to attack in the same way that fuel, food and material supplies might be vulnerable. These are finite resources that tend to be stored in known locations and can only be moved to where they are most needed by specific forms of transportation. There is also normally a deficit in these commodities so that if some are lost then the systems that depend upon them will be impaired. In war, an otherwise well-equipped army will become desperate and immobile: denial makes a real difference. Information is quite different: it is not a finite resource. More is generated than can ever be used and it can be distributed and collected by a great variety of means. When lost, it can often be replaced. Because it is readily accessible, military-relevant information can be obtained through the civilian sphere and can be shared by friend and foe. Thus, when we move to the sort of conflicts generated by the Revolution in Political Affairs, it is by no means clear that ‘information dominance’ is a realistic possibility. There is no doubt that the availability of a great variety of sensors, navigational aids, methods of communication and powerful computers is opening new possibilities for the conduct of all types of conflict, but that is not the same as the anticipation of an age of ‘information war’. The ends and means of conflict will still be more physical and tangible. ‘Information superiority’ – if not quite dominance – has more meaning when it comes to conventional war. Even so, this comes into the category of ‘force multipliers’: that is a means of obtaining greater effect from available firepower than would otherwise be possible. However, no multiplication can take place without a basic force with which to start. The Revolution in Military Affairs may

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combine systems that collect, process and communicate information with those that apply military force, but the most important of these is the military force. We can speculate that this is not recognized so much in the United States simply because firepower, at least these days, is not in short supply. The novelty lies on the information side; but for most countries, for most of the time, it is firepower and manpower that are the vital resource. This leads to three observations: 1. The major comparative military advantage of the United States and the West in general remains high-quality firepower. War involves physical violence; it cannot be reduced to a contest between information systems. 2. To get the full benefit of this comparative advantage requires logistical support as much as information support. 3. In many conflicts troops on the ground will be as important, and sometimes far more important, than high-technology firepower or ‘information dominance’.

The implications for Britain It may make perfect sense for the United States to develop the logic of the RMA as far as it can be taken, but that does not mean that it will make equal sense for Britain, let alone other Europeans, to follow. Again, the considerations might be quite similar to those associated with nuclear weapons. The pursuit of the RMA might be essentially for deterrent purposes, to persuade others that there is little point in confronting the United States in an ‘ideal type’ conventional battle, just as the nuclear threat was once used to convince potential adversaries that it would be foolish to engage the United States in total war. As with the nuclear threat, the question then becomes whether allies are able to draw upon this deterrent effect when they find themselves facing an enemy with great conventional strength. With extended nuclear deterrence the problem was always the suicidal implications of such a policy. With extended conventional deterrence this problem need not be so severe, because the continental United States is not at risk in a conventional war. Nevertheless, it is widely assumed that the United States is reluctant to tolerate even modest amounts of battlefield casualties. This intol-

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erance may have been exaggerated, especially in connection with conflicts where the United States clearly has vital interests involved, but it may limit Washington’s readiness to accept major liabilities in this area. Furthermore, if the opponent adopts an asymmetric strategy, then Americans might feel themselves vulnerable to weapons of mass destruction or terrorism, or just a long-drawn out campaign, thereby reducing their incentives to get involved in the first place. Consequently, unilateral United States adoption of the logic of the RMA may provide a limited deterrent against continued threats to Western Europe and thus contribute little to ‘combined defence’ through extended deterrence. For Britain, and the rest of Europe, this raises the question of whether they will need extended conventional deterrence from the United States. For the moment, and for some time to come, they will be able to cope directly with ‘ideal type’ conventional military threats in Europe. It is unlikely that any other powers that the Europeans are likely to confront outside the NATO area will want to risk battle on ‘ideal type’ conventional terms, or at least will expect to confine themselves to a conventional battlefield. If they do, the Europeans will face problems of power projection which might well appear to be insuperable without American support. Even if a combined joint European task force could be set up without any direct American contributions to combat forces, a logistical input would probably be vital. This assumes that the Europeans are unlikely to get involved in, for example, the Asia-Pacific region without the United States under any circumstances. It also suggests that in all but the most limited forms of power projection, United States policy objectives will dictate when and where combined operations involving the Europeans will occur. There is a risk that in future combined operations the Europeans will be expected to provide the infantry while the United States provides logistics, intelligence and air power. There is a further danger that if the United States moves too far ahead of its allies, then interoperability may become a problem or, more seriously, that it will be difficult to act in concert in combined operations if the United States develops forces based on quite different operational expectations from those of its allies. Such a development would be unfortunate and clearly at odds with contemporary Western European expectations of increasing inter-operability to enhance future combined military operations.

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We can assume that British foreign policy will still be tied to the United States and, like the Americans, will follow a line of limited liability but without lapsing into isolationism. If the Americans intervene in a particular conflict, it will be difficult for Britain to remain a spectator (although it may still opt for minimal participation). If the Americans decline to get involved, this is more of an option for Britain. Britain also follows the United States in the retention of a nuclear option which could, in principle, deter opponents from moving to weapons of mass destruction in the course of an ‘asymmetric war’. As in the past, Britain’s force structure will be designed to find the minimum level sufficient to ensure access to high-level American decision-making. There is clear evidence that British policy-makers have been heavily influenced by the RMA concept, although they rarely take it as far as the American proponents. The reasoning tends to be that information technology will inexorably have an increasing influence on all aspects of armed conflict, and that Britain dare not fall too far behind the United States in this regard. Thus the 1998 Strategic Defence Review’s essay on ‘The Impact of Technology’ supported the view that ‘information technologies will lead to significant improvements in military capability’.20 It looked forward to a single battlespace in which distinctions between sea, air and land decline in importance, and sensors, weapons, platforms and logistics are all somehow integrated together. Since the review, and in the light of such operations as Kosovo and Sierra Leone, senior military officers have been anxious to stress that it would be inappropriate for British forces to be configured purely for low-intensity, peace support operations, and that Britain must be prepared for high-tech, high-intensity warfare.21 All this adds to the general pressure to stay in touch with American developments. One analyst has even suggested that ‘ensuring that there is no technology gap between U.S. and British forces has become a de facto goal of UK defense policy’.22 This even extends to working with the Americans on aspects such as cyber-terrorism and net warfare.23 The 1999 Kosovo war indicated just how far there was to go. While the Defence Committee in its substantial report, generally took the view that the conflict did not ‘have a great deal to teach us about the performance of weapons and their platforms in the most taxing circumstances or about joint and combined operations involving air,

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land and sea forces’,24 it drew attention to the distance that has to be travelled before the full military benefits of the information age are enjoyed by British forces. Problems were caused by reliance upon an obsolete communications system, as a result of failure of the Bowman integrated voice and data communication programme, insecure radios that could be intercepted by Yugoslav scanners, and the Americans pressing on with the employment of more secure radios that were unavailable to their allies. Britain has a programme for the ‘Joint Digitization of the Battlespace’, concerned with how best to handle vast amounts of battlefield information. The Committee was told that there were good prospects that the programme would succeed but those for its introduction were less clear: We have already got large parts of the Forces where digital information is exchanged on high-data rate links both amongst our own Forces and with other forces of other nations. The maritime area is one and the air is another, but the land side has always been much more difficult … It is a pretty demanding task.25 Even in areas where the problems lie with organization and concepts as much as technology, such as handling the media, there were clear deficiencies. Two other conclusions might be drawn. First, although there were a number of examples of attacks on Web sites and other Internet campaigns, and these achieved considerable publicity, they were generally marginal in their impact and at most were morale boosters.26 The second is that whatever the limits on British forces other European countries faced even more difficulties. In practice, and with the defence budget still modest, substantial resources cannot be devoted to the more imaginative versions of the RMA. Immediate operational requirements will keep the country focused on the infantry and Special Forces as well as seeing through established programmes, such as the Eurofighter, with future demands dominated by power projection, including airlift and the possibility of a new generation of carriers, and whether the forces have the right mix of firepower. Do armoured divisions still play a role? Will there be any point in purchasing a new generation of long-range strike aircraft? The pressing issues for British forces involve potential overstretch on manpower and shortages of firepower. Information systems should be less problematic. This is in

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part because Britain is quite strong in information technology and software development and also because the prices of many of the relevant systems are coming down and can be bought commercially off the shelf.

Conclusion The most difficult missions may still involve transferring ground forces to politically complex settings and then protecting and sustaining them. These missions involve considerations well beyond military doctrines and capabilities. The wrong sort of planning can leave policy-makers unprepared for the conflicts they might face. The concern, therefore, with the RMA need not be that the United States might pursue many of the programmes associated with the concept, but that the concept could encourage an image of future war that bears little relationship to the wars that may actually be fought. For countries with limited resources such as Britain, the challenge of the RMA is not to gear established forces and new technologies to an ideal type of war scenario, but to the sort of combined operations in which it is likely to get involved. For, in the final analysis, the RMA only deserves to be taken seriously if it keeps in touch with the RPA.

Notes 1. A number of ‘military revolutions’ have been proclaimed in military and strategic historiography. The phrase found its most prominent expression in the debate over the transformation of war from the late medieval to the early modern period in European history. The term, as it is often used today, is most commonly attributed to Marshal Nicolai Ogarkov of the Soviet Union who in 1984 argued that developments in military technology, particularly in US integrated battlefield systems, amounted to ‘revolution in warfare’. See B.E. Trainor, ‘War by Miscalculation’, in J. Nye and R. Smith (eds), After the Storm: Lessons from the Gulf War (Lanham, MD: Madison Books and the Aspen Strategy Group, 1992), p. 217. For a discussion on the background to Soviet military thinking on the issue see J. Erickson, ‘The Development of Soviet Military Doctrine’, in J. Gooch (ed.), ‘The Origins of Contemporary Doctrine’, The Occasional, Strategic and Combat Studies Institute, 30 September 1997, pp. 81–112, esp. pp. 101–6.

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2. For a discussion see W.A. Owens, ‘JROC: Harnessing the Revolution in Military Affairs’, Joint Force Quarterly, no. 5 (Summer 1994), pp. 55–7; E.N. Luttwak, ‘Toward Post Heroic Warfare’, Foreign Affairs (May/June 1995), pp. 109–22; and E.N. Luttwak, ‘A Post Heroic Military Policy’, Foreign Affairs (July/August 1996), pp. 33–44. 3. See for example J. Nye and W.A. Owens, ‘America’s Information Edge’, Foreign Affairs (March/April, 1996), pp. 20–36. 4. For a more sceptical and qualified survey of the RMA see Colin Gray, ‘The American Revolution in Military Affairs: an Interim Assessment’, The Occasional, no. 28 (Camberley: Strategic and Combat Studies Institute, 1997). See also E.A. Cohen, ‘A Revolution in Military Affairs’, Foreign Affairs (March/April 1996), pp. 37–54. 5. For an excellent and balanced survey of the claims made on behalf of RMA and of the technological developments behind them, see M. O’Hanlon, Technological Change and the Future of Warfare (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2000). 6. For an elaboration of the globalization and fragmentation debates see F. Fukuyama, ‘The End of History’, The National Interest, no.16 (1989), pp. 13–18; S.P. Huntingdon, ‘The Clash of Civilizations’, Foreign Affairs (Fall 1996), pp. 617–37; and M. Van Creveld, On Future War (London: Brasseys, 1991), esp. pp. 192–223. 7. See Nye and Owens, op. cit., pp. 23–5. 8. See L. Freedman and E. Karsh, The Gulf Conflict (London: Faber and Faber, 1994), p. 362. 9. For an account of the decision-making leading up to the outbreak of war see ibid., pp. 201–27. 10. See Freedman and Karsh, op. cit., pp. 331–61. 11. Ibid., pp. 343–5. 12. The actual role of casualties in Somalia is complex. See J. Burk, ‘Public Support for Peacekeeping in Lebanon and Somalia: Assessing the Casualties Hypothesis’, Political Science Quarterly, vol. 114, no. 1 (1999), pp. 53–78. 13. See Lawrence Freedman, The Evolution of Nuclear Strategy (London: Macmillan/IISS, 1981), pp. 121–38. 14. See Nye and Owens, op. cit., esp pp. 20–5. See also M. Libicki, ‘The Emerging Primacy of Information Warfare’, Orbis, vol. 40, no. 2 (Spring 1996), pp. 261–76. 15. See Freedman and Karsh, op. cit., pp. 310–11 and 324–9. 16. For more information on the air campaign in the Gulf War see ibid., pp. 312–19. 17. Ibid, pp. 307–9. 18. See Gray, op. cit., pp. 30–1. 19. See Freedman, op. cit., pp. 91–119. 20. The Strategic Defence Review, Cmnd 3999 (London: HMSO, July 1998), Supporting Essay Three. On the review see C. McInnes, ‘Labour and Defence – the Reality’, International Affairs, vol. 74, no. 4 (October 1998).

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21. See the robust interview with C. Guthrie, Chief of Defence Staff, Daily Telegraph, 10 August 2000. 22. A. Richter, ‘The American Revolution? The Response of Advanced Western States to the Revolution in Military Affairs’, National Security Studies Quarterly (Autumn 1999), p. 9. He cites MOD’s director for operational requirements in a Jane’s interview stressing the importance of harnessing ‘new technology more quickly and efficiently if we are to continue to maintain our significant role’ alongside the US. ‘Sea Change’, Jane’s Defence Weekly, vol. 30, no. 19 (11 November 1998). 23. An Anglo-American exercise in June 1998 reportedly began with an attack by computer hackers on Britain’s power grid, causing a huge blackout, to be followed by a ‘complex scenario’ involving a ‘a combination of state and non-state adversaries’, including money launderers and terrorists. ‘Britain Fights US in Cyber War Game’, Sunday Times, 7 June 1998 24. Fourteenth Report of the House of Commons Defence Committee, Lessons of Kosovo, 24 October 2000, para 4. The government’s analysis of Kosovo is found in Ministry of Defence, Kosovo: Lessons from the Crisis, Cmnd 4724 (London: HMSO, June 2000). 25. Ibid., para 160 26. The same conclusion might be drawn from the 2000 Palestinian intafada.

7 Equipping Britain’s Armed Forces: Continuity and Change in Defence Procurement and Industrial Policy Matthew Uttley

Introduction The 1998 Strategic Defence Review (SDR)1 contains the most recent and comprehensive statement of Britain’s defence equipment priorities and plans for the period to 2015. Marking the culmination of Britain’s shift from its Cold War posture, the SDR and associated policy documents explain how UK forces are to be equipped with a flexible expeditionary warfare capability and outline supporting defence-industrial policies. This chapter evaluates the new equipment programme and the defence-industrial issues it generates. The first section analyses the major defence platforms that make up the SDR vision and the military capabilities they are intended to provide. Though the SDR and supporting initiatives are presented as policy ‘solutions’ to long-term future British defence acquisition, the Blair administration continues to confront challenges that previous governments have had to address which arise from the inherent complexity of managing major equipment programmes and the difficult choices in formulating appropriate defence-industrial policies. The second section outlines these challenges and the third section reviews the ‘solutions’ that the current administration has chosen to adopt. The concluding section considers the difficult decisions that subsequent administrations will have to make if the SDR vision is to be achieved in full.

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SDR and the UK equipment programme During the Cold War Britain’s armed forces were structured primarily to deal with the perceived Soviet threat. In many respects, the apogee of Cold War thinking was the equipment programme that emerged from the 1981 Nott defence review. By the mid-1990s, however, British policy-makers had concluded that the demise of bipolar confrontation and the diminished military threat posed by the former Soviet Union served to eliminate the short-warning threat of a large-scale offensive in Central Europe.2 At the same time, planners recognized that the Cold War certainties provided by bipolar stability had been replaced by a more diffuse set of risks on a global scale.3 This reappraisal of threats and risks has had fundamental implications for British force planning. The response, consolidated in the SDR, has been to look for ways to configure forces in terms of expeditionary capabilities capable of projecting power to meet the spectrum of new global risks. This shift in thinking has had a major impact on equipment requirements as Britain seeks to project power from the sea in littoral areas and deploy expeditionary forces that are supported by air elements, as a means to meet contingencies on a global scale.4 Against this backdrop, the SDR implies four objectives that underpin the current equipment programme: acquisition of explicitly expeditionary platforms designed to augment the capability of the Joint Rapid Reaction Forces (JRRF); obtaining equipment to support balanced forces across a spectrum of national, alliance and multinational coalition contingencies, rather than any overt shift towards role specialization; purchase of flexible weapons platforms that can operate across the spectrum of conflict types; and acquisition of platforms that will maximize synergy in joint and combined operations. Given current budget estimates, the SDR procurement plans to meet these objectives are intended to provide an appropriate balance of capabilities to maximize the UK’s ability to operate independently and meet foreseeable alliance and multinational coalition needs, drawing on both weapons projects initiated during the Cold War and various new purchases. If SDR plans are fully implemented, the Royal Navy (RN) will have the capacity for power projection from two relatively large carriers with associated ASW assets, a brigadelevel amphibious assault capability and nuclear-powered attack submarines equipped with cruise missiles for deterrence and coercion.

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Land forces will be augmented and assets to be acquired by the Royal Air Force (RAF) will enhance deployability and strategic lift. Current UK naval doctrine, as outlined in BR1806,5 is premised on three ‘Core Capabilities’: aircraft carriers, amphibious forces, and the nuclear powered attack submarine (SSN) force. The SDR outlines important capability enhancements under each of these headings.6 The RN’s Invincible-class aircraft carriers will be retained, though these vessels should be replaced after 2010 by more capable platforms carrying a larger air group. Four options have so far been put forward with current preference being given to a short take-off and vertical landing (STOVL)-equipped carrier capable of carrying 50 aircraft.7 This next generation of aircraft carriers is likely to be equipped with the UK–US collaborative Joint Strike Fighter (JSF), which is now under development. In terms of amphibious capabilities, the RN is scheduled to receive more capable ships over the next decade. HMS Ocean, the new helicopter carrier, and HMS Bulwark and HMS Albion – the new amphibious landing ships (LPDs) under construction – have and will enhance power projection and rapid reaction capabilities. The only major concern is the current ‘window of vulnerability’ which will remain until the LPDs enter service in 2003.8 The third ‘Core Capability’ currently comprises ten SSNs that are being equipped with Tomahawk Land Attack Missiles (TLAMs). The TLAM acquisition provides a deep strike capability, making Britain one of the few states with a sea-based conventional deterrence and coercion capability. In the land environment, operational experience in the Gulf War and Bosnia has led to the full order of Challenger 2 tanks being retained. Acquisition of Apache attack helicopters equipped with the Hellfire missile will enhance significantly the capability of what will become an ‘Air Manoeuvre Brigade’. These acquisitions, coupled with plans to purchase extended range munitions for the AS90 selfpropelled gun, are likely to enhance the operational potential of UK land forces. In equipment terms, the RAF was the armed service least affected by SDR. The purchase of 232 Eurofighters initiated during the Cold War is continuing.9 Though the issue of a possible European strategic lift aircraft remains to be resolved, the purchase of additional support helicopters, C130Js and C-17 types and potentially the Airbus A400M will enhance tactical and strategic mobility. In the longer term, if the ‘Joint Force 2000’ concept is fully implemented – potentially through the acquisition of the JSF to replace the RN and

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RAF Harrier forces – the UK will acquire a truly joint force able to operate either from land bases or aircraft carriers. While the RAF have accepted a cut of 36 aircraft from front-line strength, the new projects and purchases outlined in the SDR are likely to improve overall effectiveness of UK forces in a range of national, alliance and coalition contingencies because of the enhanced offensive and lift capabilities the UK will acquire. Finally, ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’ (RMA)-related technologies also feature prominently in the SDR. Plans to procure the airborne stand-off radar (ASTOR) surveillance system, long-range airborne systems including the Brimstone, Storm Shadow and Hellfire missiles, and the Joint Digitization initiative, will significantly increase UK military capabilities. Evidence suggests that the UK is currently evaluating the optimum acquisition as between European and US sourcing for RMA-related systems and assessing the compatibility of the UK programme with US and NATO developments. If the programme outlined in SDR is implemented in full, the UK should acquire equipment to support a flexible joint national capability. The planned programme will support a spectrum of independent, alliance and multinational operational contingencies in which Britain should not be ‘dependent on the resources of another nation as a condition of British participation in an operation’.10 However, given the long lead times associated with key programmes, notably the aircraft carrier replacement and the LPDs, a ‘capability gap’ exists before these items enter service that may undermine UK operational effectiveness in the short to medium term.

Policy challenges and dilemmas British policy-makers confront various challenges in achieving the SDR equipment vision and balancing associated defence-industrial considerations. These challenges are not new. Instead, they reflect fundamental dilemmas that successive British administrations have had to confront and are likely to confront for the foreseeable future, which stem from the inherent complexity of managing the acquisition of costly and technologically risky state-of-the-art defence projects. The first challenge is to ensure that SDR equipment requirements are met within existing budget predictions. Cost escalation over initial estimates has traditionally been a problem in British defence

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acquisition: the 1997 National Audit Office review of the UK’s 25 largest projects, for example, found that all but one was running over budget.11 Moreover, ‘efficiency savings’ are essential to fund the equipment programme as the SDR costings are predicated on £2 billion savings from the equipment programme as part of overall 3 per cent efficiencies from the defence budget. Cost overruns or failure to meet efficiency targets could put key projects in jeopardy. Control of programme costs is made more critical because the projects making up the UK’s overall expeditionary capability form an integrated package: failure to acquire the full spectrum of SDR platforms ‘has the potential to undermine completely [the UK’s] whole vision of expeditionary warfare and raises fundamental viability of Britain’s armed forces’12 in future operations. Consequently, the first challenge for policy-makers is to manage the equipment programme so as to ensure that key platforms enter service within current cost, lead time and capability estimates. Though the equipment programme outlined in the SDR will have the most visible impact on UK military capabilities, policy-makers also confront a complex web of defence-industrial challenges and dilemmas. In defence-industrial terms, the UK has been described as a ‘leader of the second division’13 of weapon producers, though following an order of magnitude behind the United States. The UK defence industrial base (DIB) contains companies with competence over a spectrum of weapon platforms, components and enabling technologies.14 In international comparative terms, UK defence firms are global players: the list of the largest 100 global arms producing companies (by sales value) includes 12 British firms that account for approximately 20 per cent of arms sales.15 Moreover, in key high-technology fields, the UK DIB contains major contractors: in the aerospace sector, BAe Systems is the world’s third largest company (or fourth if the newly-formed European Aerospace & Defence System (EADS) is included); prior to its merger with BAe, GEC was the world’s third largest electronics company; Rolls-Royce and GKN are the world’s third largest firms in the engines and ordnance sectors respectively. Though reliable comparative statistics do not exist, available data show that Britain accounts for approximately 9.5 per cent of total global defence R&D expenditure.16 The scope of the UK’s DIB, the strength of its main contractors, aggregate investment in military R&D and arms exports, all indicate that

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British firms are well placed to exploit new technologies in future defence platforms. Despite the prima facie health of the UK DIB, policy-makers confront challenges that arise from long-term trends in military equipment costs and defence budgetary constraints. Since 1945, the trend has been for the unit production cost of major weapons systems to increase rapidly in real terms.17 The real costs of tactical combat aircraft have been growing at 10 per cent per annum, with similar rates of growth for submarines, frigates, attack helicopters and self-propelled artillery.18 A significant factor accounting for these cost trends has been the military imperative for major equipment performance enhancements when the armed services have acquired successive generations of weapon systems. Though UK defence budgets have grown at the same time as equipment costs have been rising, budgetary increases have been smaller, and ‘only partially compensated for the concurrent escalation in the unit cost of defence equipment’.19 Developments since the Cold War have exacerbated these trends because changing threat perceptions have been reflected in reduced UK procurement budgets. Because post-Cold War budget cuts have occurred as equipment costs have been rising in real terms, inflation levels for military equipment have been further compounded by reduced R&D outlays and shorter production runs. These trends – which have plagued a succession of British governments – generate a second challenge, namely the development of acquisition strategies that balance the armed services’ requirements for state-of-the-art equipment with wider domestic industrial and technological considerations in weapon sectors where independent national development has ceased to be viable. Historically, Britain has pursued three discrete weapon acquisition strategies in sectors where national self-sufficiency has become too costly, each involving differing degrees of indigenous industrial activity on the one hand and reliance on technology transfer on the other. For some purchases it has avoided costly domestic R&D and manufacture altogether by importing foreign weapon systems off-the-shelf. In other cases, licensed production and coproduction strategies have enabled the UK to bypass expensive R&D and focus instead on domestic manufacture of non-national designs. Finally, Britain has participated in international collaborative ventures involving joint R&D and production of defence items with partner states.

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Since the early 1960s, the mix of off-the-shelf, licensed/ coproduction and international collaboration in UK defence procurement has reflected pragmatic responses to equipment needs on a case-by-case basis. The UK has imported major weapon platforms from the United States, notably Polaris and Trident missile technology.20 The scale of UK off-the-shelf purchases, however, has traditionally been limited by wider economic, industrial and political concerns. Balance of payments considerations, government anxieties about UK job losses and fears that domestic technological and manufacturing capabilities would be eroded if major contracts were placed overseas have all militated against large-scale importation of major weapon platforms. As a consequence, off-the-shelf procurement has largely been restricted to purchases where American industry had a clear technological edge over other procurement alternatives. For other requirements British governments have concluded that coproduction and licensed production provided economic and industrial benefits over both domestic sourcing and off-theshelf acquisition. Unlike independent national development, coproduction and licensed production have been seen as a mechanism to circumvent the costly and lengthy R&D stages of weapon development and an opportunity for domestic industry to focus instead on the manufacture of proven equipment. Correspondingly, unlike direct imports, licensed production has provided technology transfer and a role for British industry, albeit at the manufacturing stage. Since 1960, licensed production has been relied on extensively in the helicopter sector where successive generations of British production technology have been of US design origin.21 Since the 1960s, however, Britain has viewed international collaboration as the ‘least-worst’ acquisition alternative in sectors where independent development has ceased to be viable.22 In part, this has reflected government assessments of the benefits collaboration provides over comparable domestic alternatives. In economic terms, collaboration enables fixed R&D costs to be shared and economies of scale in production through combined production orders with partner states. In operational terms, during the Cold War the UK and its NATO partners saw collaborative projects as a route to increase Alliance equipment rationalization, standardization and

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inter-operability (RSI) through the joint development and operation of common items of equipment.23 Unlike direct imports and licensed/coproduction, collaboration has been attractive because of UK industry involvement in the R&D and production phases of weapons programmes. Consequently, international collaboration has been equated with preserving an indigenous design and production capability in weapon sectors where national self-sufficiency was no longer affordable. In parallel, UK policy-makers have also confronted difficult choices about the balance between defence-industrial cooperation with their European partners and the US. This issue stems from NATO concerns during the 1970s over transatlantic weapon trade imbalances,24 and subsequent attempts to encourage closer intraEuropean procurement cooperation as the mechanism to rationalize European defence-industrial activity and balance transatlantic arms flows.25 For the UK, the basic dilemma remains one of balancing the benefits and costs of transatlantic and intra-European procurement cooperation. On the one hand, British policy-makers have recognized that transatlantic partnerships offer two sets of benefits when compared with European collaborative arrangements. First, American defence industries enjoy greater economies of scale in production than their European counterparts because they cater for the much larger unit requirements of the US armed services26 and can therefore produce cheaper equipment than European single national or collaborative ventures. Moreover, the scale of US investment in a range of equipment sectors has provided American firms with a clear technological lead over their European counterparts measured in equipment delivery times and performance. Since the Cold War the incentives for the UK to enhance its transatlantic defence-industrial linkages have intensified. This imperative has stemmed, in part, from the RMA. As Freedman points out, the extent to which the RMA is underway since the Cold War is ‘rather particular. Only the United States has the economic resources and the military infrastructure to begin to follow this path.’27 In terms of the enabling technologies of the RMA – precision-guided munitions, stealth weapons, sensors and defence suppression techniques – US defence industries have been acquiring a clear development and manufacturing edge over their counterparts in Western Europe. In the face of US technological leadership in key

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weapon sectors, there are continuing incentives for the UK to access this American know-how through technology transfer. On the other hand, for the UK and its European NATO partners, closer transatlantic procurement cooperation has the potential cost that reliance on US-designed weapon systems could lead to the erosion of European defence-industrial capabilities. Since the 1960s, this concern has generated policies in Britain and elsewhere designed to foster intra-European procurement cooperation as a way to offset potential US dominance.28 Since the Cold War, declining procurement budgets have intensified pressures for the UK and its Western European partners to rationalize and integrate procurement policies on a pan-European basis both as a means to reduce equipment costs and to offset the scale of output enjoyed by American defence firms. Given the imperative for international weapon partnerships the second major challenge for British policy-makers remains one of establishing an appropriate balance between national sourcing of equipment on the one hand and forms of technology transfer on the other in meeting defence equipment needs. Subsumed under this is the imperative to balance the benefits and costs of transatlantic with intra-European forms of defence-industrial cooperation. The third policy challenge concerns UK arms exports policy. The UK defence industrial base has emerged as a major supplier of conventional weapons in the global armaments market to the extent that between 1993 and 1997, Britain emerged as the world’s third largest arms exporter after the USA and Russia.29 Though debates continue about the net financial benefits to the UK of arms transfers,30 official figures indicate that military sales generate some £5bn per annum.31 Britain’s defence exports policy continues to be driven by two factors.32 The first is financial since governments view exports as a way of offsetting inflationary trends in domestic military R&D and production. The assumption here is that because exports increased domestic manufacturing runs beyond what they otherwise would have been, then UK procurement costs are reduced as the fixed R&D costs of weapon development are spread over a larger production output. In addition, longer domestic manufacturing runs to meet export orders have been seen as a source of economies of scale in production and ‘learning economies’. A further expectation is that

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defence sales ‘help to smooth production rates, keep production lines open and companies in business in times of low domestic demand’.33 Finally, exports are assumed to ensure the economic viability of UK contractors which, in turn, preserves domestic competition and maintains the scope of the defence industrial base. Secondly, in politico-military terms, decision-makers assume that arms transfers enhance Britain’s influence and leverage over the domestic and foreign policies of importing states.34 For example, major arms sales are viewed as mechanisms to promote democracy in recipient countries, as an indirect means to deter aggression against UK allies and a means to enhance regional stability. In essence, therefore, weapons exports are equated with maintaining linkages with strategically important allies as well as promoting wider British interests. Reflecting these considerations, the 1980s and 1990s witnessed aggressive government-led export promotion strategies. The Defence Export Services Organization (DESO) was tasked to provide extensive support to industry in the marketing of defence products. Governments also subsidized arms transfers in the form of ‘export credits’ that were designed to shift the financial risk from exporting companies to the British government through the extension of credit lines to overseas customers. Finally, governments fostered the offset of export sales against trade commitments backed or undertaken by national governments. Despite the prima facie benefits of weapons transfer, arms exports policy has not been without problems. Concern has emerged about the financial implications of UK arms transfers. Some critics have argued that British government export subsidies including, inter alia, export promotion policies and offsets, have outweighed sales revenues.35 Others claim that reliance on arms exports to offset the costs of domestic procurement has been costly and inefficient when compared with other procurement alternatives. In terms of the purported politico-military benefits of weapon sales, critics have argued that arms transfers to regions of tension have increased, rather than decreased, political instability36 and point out that some major importers have become Britain’s adversaries. For example, the UK government supplied arms to the Shah of Iran, only for the Ayatollah to turn against the West after the Iranian revolution. Similarly, as the Scott Report highlighted, after UK companies aided

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the development of Iraq’s military capabilities British forces faced domestically-produced equipment during Operation Desert Storm.37 Rather than supporting the emergence of democratic regimes, Britain has also been accused of exporting military equipment to states with questionable human rights records.38 Finally, the claim that arms exports have increased British influence and leverage has been questioned on the grounds that importers have been ‘able to choose from a number of arms suppliers, freeing them away from dependence on a single arms supplier’.39 Consequently, the ongoing challenge for governments is one of identifying appropriate arms exports strategies that maximize UK economic, operational and political gains while at the same time minimizing the negative effects of weapon transfers.

SDR and ‘solutions’ to the acquisition challenges The SDR and associated statements outline how current government policy intends to address these long-standing procurement and defence-industrial challenges. The ‘solutions’ that have emerged include management initiatives designed to lead to ‘faster, cheaper, better’ acquisition and measures intended to reconcile the dilemmas of international procurement cooperation and arms exports policy. The first development has been the ‘Smart Acquisition’ initiative, which marks an attempt to overhaul management procedures and government relations with major domestic equipment suppliers. A salient starting point for evaluating this new initiative is the procurement process that the Blair government inherited from previous Conservative administrations. After 1979, the Conservative government’s aim was ‘to flatten or even reverse the established curve which shows the trend towards increasing equipment costs’.40 The government’s analysis was that by privatizing defence contractors then under public ownership, introducing greater competition for defence contracts and making ‘value for money’ the guiding principle in the procurement process, military goals could still be achieved but within a tighter defence budget.41 The Conservative analysis was that privatization, the introduction of market forces and a shift in the risk of weapon development away from government to industry would generate major economies from the equipment budget.42

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Reinforced by the government’s ‘overall faith in private enterprise’,43 state-owned enterprises including British Aerospace, the Royal dockyards, the naval shipyards of British Shipbuilders, the Royal Ordnance Factories and Rolls-Royce were privatized on the assumption that this would bring more efficient management.44 By the mid-1980s Defence Secretary Michael Heseltine sought to introduce a systematic competition policy that was developed by the Chief of Defence Procurement, Sir Peter Levene.45 Under the socalled ‘Levene reforms’ it became axiomatic that a greater proportion of MOD contracts would be awarded competitively. Measures were introduced to generate rivalry between UK suppliers and encourage overseas bids for MOD contracts. Competitive bidding was also extended to all stages of major projects from concept, feasibility and project definition to full development. Finally, increased pressure was exerted on major suppliers to demonstrate the use of competition in their dealings with subcontractors. Other elements of the ‘Levene reforms’ included measures to transfer the risk of project failure from the MOD to its suppliers and in return, reward efficiency in industry through higher profits. Measures here included a shift away from cost-plus forms of contracting towards the use of firm or fixed price contracts and the adoption of the ‘prime contractor’ approach, whereby a single firm acted as a prime contractor with responsibility for managing an entire project and organizing its subcontractors. Finally, the MOD was required to adopt ‘Cardinal Points Specifications’, whereby equipment requirements were expressed in terms of key performance criteria and industry was left to decide how best to meet them. Taken collectively, the ethos of the ‘Levene reforms’ was that ‘defence procurement was to become more like other kinds of purchasing of goods and services’.46 Taken collectively, procurement policies under the Conservative administrations of the 1980s and 1990s were intended to ameliorate budgetary pressures and inflationary trends in major weapon platforms. However, the practical implications of Conservative policies were controversial. A major area of contention was the impact of the ‘Levene reforms’. Official reports presented competition policy as ‘a very effective way of improving value for money’.47 In 1988, for example, the MOD informed the House of Commons Defence Committee that six equipment projects valued at £2000

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million that were exposed to competition yielded savings of £250 million.48 Subsequent reports claimed the reforms had reduced the overall costs of defence procurement by over £1 billion per annum throughout the early 1990s.49 Moreover, scrutinies maintained that competition had increased the efficiency of UK defence contractors which had, in turn, enhanced industry’s export competitiveness. Illustrative is former Minister of State for Defence Procurement Jonathan Aitken’s assertion that UK defence firms ‘themselves would admit that their competitiveness in … international markets owe[d] a great deal to the competitive procurement policies … [adopted during] the mid-1980s’.50 Conversely, the ‘Levene reforms’ were criticized in a number of respects. First, commentators argued that the purported cost savings reflected MOD tactics of reducing equipment unit orders, delays in ordering, or stretching programmes in the face of declining postCold War procurement budgets.51 Second, evidence suggested that MOD changes to equipment requirements and specifications undermined the discipline of competition and fixed price contracting on various programmes.52 Third, concerns were raised about the high costs of competition for industry, and whether contractors shifted these costs to the MOD in the form of overheads.53 Fourth, some analysts have called into question the Conservative administration’s commitment to international competition for major UK defence contracts. Schofield, for example, claimed that ‘in some areas there [was] an unstated policy of preferred suppliers’:54 where national monopolies existed, some MOD contracts were let without reference to non-national suppliers, and where international tendering was adopted British firms maintained an unblemished record of winning major orders. Finally, critics pointed out that the reforms had only a marginal impact on rates of inflation on major defence systems. Kirkpatrick, for example, argued that the savings from Conservative procurement reform were limited and ‘offset only a small fraction of the observed unit-cost growth between successive defence equipment’.55 This observation was re-enforced by the 1997 National Audit Office report on major defence programmes that found evidence of cost overruns on 24 of the top 25 projects (by value), and delays in 20 of the 25 projects.56 In response to these perceived limitations, the Blair government undertook a major review of acquisition policy in 1998. The ‘Smart

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Acquisition’ initiative that emerged stemmed in part from a perception that Conservative competition policies failed to achieve the savings they promised, but also a desire to build on the fact that ‘during the last years of Conservative rule, [government had recognized] the value of moving to a closer relationship with industry in general and defence industry in particular’.57 A central tenet of ‘Smart Acquisition’ is a rejection of the confrontational approach in relations between government and industry towards long-term cooperative relationships and overt acceptance that domestic defence contractors are legitimate ‘stakeholders’ in the acquisition process. The ‘Smart Acquisition’ initiative contains a range of measures designed to facilitate ‘faster, cheaper, and better’ acquisition.58 A notable innovation is the creation of ‘Integrated Project Teams’ (IPTs) that bring together the major stakeholders involved in the manufacture, delivery and operation of a weapon system. Based on the principle of ‘partnering’, IPTs include representatives from industry, the Defence Procurement Agency and the Defence Logistics Organization. A second strand of reform has been the adoption of the ‘WholeLife Approach’ to acquisition whereby contending projects are evaluated in terms of through-life costs from concept to disposal. A third tenet of ‘Smart Acquisition’ is the adoption of ‘Incremental Acquisition’ which provides for equipment capability to be upgraded in a planned way, from the initial delivery of a baseline capability to eventual achievement of a higher full capability. This has the advantages of reducing the risk inherent in introducing large improvements in capability through a single major technological step; allowing systems to be developed and put into service which progressively evolve as technology becomes available; and avoiding early commitment to a specific approach which may result in the delivery of obsolete equipment. A further innovation is a greater use of ‘Public/Private Partnerships’ (PPP) whereby the MOD contracts with private industry to provide services where substantial capital investment is needed in an asset essential to deliver that service. The MOD pays industry for the delivery of these services through a servicebased payment mechanism. The benefit of this approach is that the MOD avoids major capital costs, and PPP contracts are being finalized with industry for the maintenance of major defence

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equipment items. Finally, attempts to enhance efficiency have led to the creation of an ‘Acquisition Stream’ in the MOD for both military and civilian staff that will create a long-term career path in weapon acquisition. The current assumption is that the traditional problem of spiralling programme costs has been solved. Through partnering and other initiatives subsumed under the banner of procurement reform, the SDR envisaged £2 billion savings from the UK equipment programme over the subsequent 10-year period. Current UK estimates are that ‘Smart Acquisition’ will contribute to an overall efficiency saving of 3 per cent on the UK defence budget. If successful, the initiative should enable the MOD to procure its existing and future platform requirements within initial budget and lead-time estimates. In parallel, the Blair government’s response to growing pressures for the internationalization of defence procurement has been characterized by a remarkable degree of continuity with earlier administrations. This is reflected in the post-SDR blend of acquisition strategies. British firms will continue to participate in governmentmandated collaborative activities, ranging from ad hoc joint singleproject ventures (Eurofighter), through joint ventures covering a range of projects in a specific area (Matra-BAe Dynamics) through to strategic alliances, often involving minority share holding (BAe’s 35 per cent share holding in SAAB). On the other hand, the UK government and defence firms have established collaborative projects (Joint Strike Fighter), licensed production agreements (Westland and Sikorsky/MacDonald Douglas) and off-the-shelf plus offsets purchases (Boeing E3A AWACS; TLAM) with the US government and defence manufacturers. Since the 1960s, the UK’s approach to international armaments cooperation in weapons sectors where independent development and production has ceased to be viable can be characterized as a pragmatic ‘twin-track’ strategy. On the one hand, through international collaborative ventures Britain has worked with partner states to foster the gradual process of increased European defence industrial cooperation.59 Correspondingly, governments have developed cooperative links with the US to meet equipment requirements that were either too costly or beyond the technological capability of European industries. The SDR indicates a continuation of this pragmatic ‘twin-track’ approach rather than any overt shift towards intra-Europe or a transatlantic defence-industrial alignment.

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The SDR acknowledges that the reductions in national procurement budgets and internationalization of defence industries since the end of the Cold War have brought about ‘an increased level of mutual [international] interdependence in the procurement and support of equipment’.60 In response, the SDR signals the UK’s continued commitment to the ‘twin-track’ approach of procurement cooperation with Europe and the US. The government has stated that collaborative procurement will account for approximately 40 per cent of future UK equipment expenditure.61 To foster European defence-industrial rationalization, Britain has become a member of the Organisme Conjointe de Co-operation en Matière d’Armament (OCCAR) – a quadrilateral armaments structure with France, Germany and Italy – which intends to ‘improve collaborative practices’ and deliver European defence systems ‘able to compete effectively in world markets’.62 At the same time, the Blair government has pursued closer transatlantic procurement links, illustrated by the Joint Strike Fighter project.63 Finally, the Blair government has attempted to balance the economic imperative to export arms with measures to limit the negative aspects of conventional weapon proliferation as part of its ‘ethical dimension’ to foreign policy.64 On the one hand, it has recognized that declining defence procurement budgets and the growing costs of domestic R&D and production continue to provide an imperative for aggressive arms exports policies. On the other hand, the administration has recognized the need for national restraint in arms transfers, prompted in part by Britain’s military operations against states deploying weapons originally exported by the UK. Notable British initiatives to encourage multilateral arms transfer restraints include proposals forming the basis for the 1998 European Union Code of Conduct on Arms Exports, which outlined broad moral and political considerations to which national arms licensing authorities should have regard.

Conclusions Current UK procurement plans, as outlined in the SDR, aim to provide the UK with balanced forces that will maximize operational flexibility in the foreseeable spectrum of potential post-Cold War conflict scenarios. New initiatives and procedures have been

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adopted which, if successful, should enable the introduction of new equipment into service within existing cost, lead-time and performance estimates. Moreover, the administration has addressed important supporting defence-industrial issues. However, various concerns still remain. First, given the long lead times associated with major projects, the detailed impact of ‘Smart Acquisition’ on defence procurement costs – particularly incremental acquisition and new partnering measures – is unlikely to emerge for some time. As Codner points out, ‘the Defence Programme in the past has usually erred on the side of optimism. Indeed, it is the cost aspect of the [Strategic Defence] Review that has been the only real source of criticism by analysts and commentators.’65 For policymakers and analysts of contemporary procurement policy, the question remains whether ‘Smart Acquisition’ provides the management tools to achieve the economies necessary for the UK to realize the equipment programme outlined in SDR. Second, despite pragmatic responses to international armament cooperation options, future UK governments are likely to continue to face difficult policy choices as the unit costs of sophisticated defence platforms keep rising with each new generation of major platforms. Inflationary pressures may force UK policy-makers to decide more explicitly between systematic European defence industrial integration on the one hand, and forms of transatlantic equipment cooperation on the other. In the context of RMA-related technologies, for example, the SDR itself acknowledges some of the difficult choices that UK policy-makers will have to address, including the appropriate balance between ‘enabling’ and established platforms, and how the UK and her European Allies can retain inter-operability with US forces in the longer term.66 At issue here is whether a consolidated European defence industry has the technological capacity to ‘keep up’ with US RMA innovations. For policymakers and procurement analysts, these scenarios raise important issues. There is likely to be growing pressure for analysis of the potential economic and political benefits and costs of different models of European defence integration.67 Correspondingly, in the context of RMA debates, there are major questions about the extent to which US administrations will allow genuine technology transfer to Britain and other NATO states.68 Finally, for analysts of arms transfer policy, Britain’s attempts to reconcile the drivers for arms exports with an ethical foreign policy

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dimension raises ongoing issues. First, there is scope for a comprehensive assessment of the real contribution of arms exports to the domestic defence manufacturing sector and the UK economy as a whole. Second, there are questions about the approach that Britain should adopt in future conventional arms control negotiations, and the implications of such negotiations for UK industry. Finally, important questions remain about what an ‘ethical dimension’ to foreign policy will really mean in practical terms. At issue here, will be the efficacy of government policy in reconciling the economic imperative to export arms with a stated desire to control the flow of defence technology, inter alia, to undemocratic regimes. Overall, therefore, Britain has adapted to post-Cold War security challenges through new procurement and defence-industrial initiatives intended to support the shift towards expeditionary warfare capabilities. However, history suggests that defence equipment costs will continue to increase at a higher rate than acquisition budgets. Given this structural constraint, a central challenge for future British governments is likely to reflect those of their predecessors: how to manage defence acquisition and industrial policies in the face of spiralling costs. A central issue for policy analysts will be to identify areas of continuity and change as governments address this complex and perennial challenge.

Notes 1. Ministry of Defence, The Strategic Defence Review, Cm 3999 (London: HMSO, 1998). 2. For a more detailed analysis of this point, see A. Dorman, M.L. Smith and M.R.H. Uttley, ‘Jointery and Combined Operations in an Expeditionary Era: Defining the Issues’, Defense Analysis, vol. 14, no. 1 (1998), pp. 1–8; and S.E. Airey, ‘Does Russian Seapower Have a Future?’, RUSI Journal (December 1995), pp. 15–22. 3. See, for example, V. Gray, ‘Beyond Bosnia: Ethno-National Diasporas and Security in Europe’, Contemporary Security Policy, vol. 17, no. 1 (April 1996), pp. 146–73. 4. Dorman et al., op. cit., p. 3. 5. The Fundamentals of British Maritime Doctrine, BR1806 (London: HMSO, 1995). 6. For a more detailed discussion see Chapter 9. 7. See, for example, M. Edmonds, ‘Navy Procurement, Industrial Strategy and the Future Carrier’, in M. Edmonds (ed.), British Naval Aviation in the 21st Century, Bailrigg Memorandum No. 25 (Lancaster: CDISS, 1997), p. 29.

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8. R. Scott, ‘UK Lays Foundation for Tactical Tomahawk’, Jane’s Defence Weekly, 18 April 2001, pp. 35–7. 9. See, for example, Air Vice-Marshal S.M. Nicholl, ‘Why Does the RAF Want Eurofighter?’, RUSI Journal (August 1998), pp. 49–53. 10. Michael Codner, ‘The Strategic Defence Review: How Much? How Far? How Joint is Enough’, RUSI Journal (August 1998), p. 6. 11. Ministry of Defence Major Projects Report, Report by the Comptroller and Auditor General (London: HMSO), HC 238, 15 August 1997, pp. 2–4. 12. Andrew Dorman, ‘SDR – Something Old, Something New or Simply Something Naval? Britain and the Use of Force in the 21st Century’, Paper presented at the International Studies Association Conference, Monterey, November 1998, p. 22. 13. P. Gummett, ‘Problems for UK Military R&D’, in I. Bellany and T. Huxley (eds), New Conventional Weapons and Western Defence (London: Frank Cass, 1987), p. 49. 14. See Keith Hartley, ‘Defence Procurement in the UK’, Defence and Peace Economics, vol. 9 (1998), pp. 39–61. 15. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, SIPRI Yearbook 1998, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 200. 16. SIPRI Yearbook 1998, p. 268. Note that the estimate for global military R&D expenditure includes data from states spending $1 million or more per annum. 17. See, for example, D.L.I. Kirkpatrick and P.G. Pugh, Towards Starship Enterprise – Are Current Trends in Defence Unit Costs Inexorable? (London: Aerospace, 1983). 18. D. Kirkpatrick, ‘Rising Costs, Falling Budgets and their Implications for Defence Policy’, Economic Affairs, vol. 17, no. 4 (1997), p. 11. 19. Ibid., p. 10. 20. For a general discussion, see G.M. Dillon, Dependence and Deterrence: Success and Civility in the Anglo-American Special Nuclear Relationship, 1962–82 (Aldershot: Gower, 1983). 21. For a discussion on UK postwar licensed production in the helicopter sector, see M.R.H. Uttley, ‘British Helicopter Developments, 1945–1960: a Case Study of Technology Transfer and Market Dominance’, Science and Public Policy, vol. 18, no. 4 (August 1991), pp. 235–43. 22. For a wider discussion of the UK’s assumptions in entering collaborative procurement, see A.G. Draper, European Defence Equipment Collaboration: Britain’s Involvement, 1957–87 (London: RUSI, 1990); and R. Matthews, European Armaments Collaboration: Policy, Problems and Prospects (Reading: Harwood, 1992). 23. Matthews, op. cit. 24. Cited in C. Cannizzo, ‘Procurement Via the Two-way Street: Can it Achieve its Objectives?’, in M. Edmonds (ed.), International Arms Procurement: New Directions (Oxford: Pergamon, 1981), p. 59. 25. See, for example, S. Shaffer, ‘Linking Arms: Weapons Cooperation in NATO’, in M. Edmonds (ed.), International Arms Procurement, op. cit., pp. 24–52.

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26. See, for example, K. Hartley, ‘Development Time Scales for British and American Military Aircraft’, Scottish Journal of Political Economy, vol. XIX, no. 2 (June 1972), pp. 115–34. 27. L. Freedman, The Revolution in Strategic Affairs, Adelphi Paper 318 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 56. 28. See K. Hartley, NATO Arms Co-operation: a Study in Economics and Politics (London: Allen and Unwin, 1983). 29. SIPRI Yearbook 1998, p. 294. 30. See, for example, S. Martin, ‘The Subsidy Savings from Reducing UK Arms Exports’, Journal of Economic Studies, vol. 26, no. 1 (1999), pp. 15–37. 31. Strategic Defence Review, p. 43. 32. For an extended discussion and a summary of the literature, see C. Catrina, Arms Transfers and Dependence (London: Taylor and Francis, 1988), pp. 70–3. 33. Ibid., p. 71. 34. See House of Commons Committee of Public Accounts, Support for Defence Exports: Minutes of Evidence, 26 April 1989 (London: HMSO, 1989). 35. See S. Martin, op. cit. 36. See, for example, P. Eavis and O. Sprague, ‘Does Britain Need to Sell Weapons?’, in J. Gittings and I. Davis (eds), Britain in the 21st Century: Rethinking Defence and Foreign Policy (Nottingham: Spokesman, 1996), p. 128. 37. See: D. Miller, ‘The Scott Report and the Future of British Defense Sales’, Defense Analysis, vol. 12, no. 3 (1996), pp. 359–69; and, D. Miller, Export or Die: Britain’s Defence Trade with Iraq (London: Cassell, 1986). 38. Eavis and Sprague, op. cit. 39. Ibid., p. 129. 40. T. Taylor and K. Hayward, The Defence Industrial Base: Development and Future Policy Options (London: Brassey’s, 1989), p. 73. 41. W. Walker and P. Gummett, ‘Britain and the European Armaments Market’, International Affairs, vol. 65 (1989), p. 421. 42. For a general discussion of these assumptions, see Taylor and Hayward, op. cit., pp. 70–89. 43. Ibid., p. 74. 44. See: M.J. Rawlinson, ‘Government Defence Factories and Dockyards: the Defence Implications of Privatization’, Defence Force (January/February 1989), pp. 27–35; and House of Commons Defence Committee, First Report from the Defence Committee Session 1985–1986, Further Observations on the Future of the Royal Dockyards (London: HMSO, 1985). 45. See P. Levene, ‘Competition and Collaboration: UK Defence Procurement Policy’, RUSI Journal (June 1987), pp. 3-6. 46. P. Gummett, ‘Civil and Military Aircraft in the UK’, in J. Krige (ed.), Choosing Big Technologies (Reading: Harwood, 1993), p. 214. 47. J. Bourn, ‘Securing Value for Money in Defence Procurement’, Whitehall Paper no. 25 (London: RUSI, 1994), p. 22. 48. House of Commons Defence Committee, The Procurement of Major Defence Equipment, 5th Report, Session 1987-88, HCP 431 (London: HMSO, 1988).

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49. National Audit Office, Ministry of Defence: Defence Procurement in the 1990s, HCP 390 (London: HMSO, 1994). 50. J. Aitken, ‘Defence Procurement: Past, Present and Future’, RUSI Journal (February 1994), p. 41. 51. S. Schofield, ‘The Levene Reforms: an Evaluation’, Defense Analysis, vol. 11, no. 2 (1995), p. 163. 52. For a discussion, see K. Hartley (1998), op. cit., pp. 54–5. 53. Ibid., p. 51. 54. Schofield, op. cit., p. 160. 55. Kirkpatrick, 1997, op. cit., p. 11. 56. Ministry of Defence Major Projects Report 1996, Report by the Comptroller and Auditor General, HC 238, 15 August 1997 (London: HMSO, 1997), pp. 2–4. 57. T. Taylor, ‘Smart Procurement and Partnership with Industry’, RUSI Journal (April 1998), p. 41. 58. Summarized from Ministry of Defence, The Acquisition Handbook: a Guide to Smart Procurement (London: Ministry of Defence, 1999). 59. See M.R.H. Uttley, ‘The Integration of West European Defense Procurement: Issues and Prospects’, Defense Analysis, vol. 11, no. 3 (1995), pp. 279–91; P. De Vestel, ‘Defence Markets and Industries in Europe: Time for Political Decisions’, Chaillot Paper 21 (Paris: WEU, 1995); and RUSI Working Group, ‘1992: Protectionism or Collaboration in Defence Procurement’, Whitehall Paper No. 6, (London: RUSI, 1990). 60. Strategic Defence Review: Supporting Essays, section 10–18. 61. Taylor, op. cit., p. 45. 62. Strategic Defence Review, Section 10–19. 63. See J. Elliott, ‘JSF for Everybody? The JSF Programme and its International Implications’, Military Technology, vol. 22, no. 3 (March 1988), pp. 20–9. 64. See N.J. Wheeler, ‘Good International Citizenship: a Third Way for British Foreign Policy’, International Affairs, vol. 74, no. 4 (October 1998), pp. 847–70. 65. M. Codner, ‘Policy Topped but Treasury Tailed? The Strategic Defence Review’, The Officer (July/August 1998), p. 33. 66. Strategic Defence Review, p. 10. 67. See Uttley, 1995, op. cit. 68. See M.R.H. Uttley, ‘Technology Transfer and the RMA: the Scope and Limitation of Licensed Production for the United Kingdom’, in R. Matthews and J. Treddenick (eds), Managing the Revolution in Military Affairs (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001).

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8 Defence Management and the Impact of ‘Jointery’ Martin Edmonds

Introduction: some terminological considerations Definitions of ‘management’ prove singularly unhelpful when considering the issue of defence management and ‘jointery’. The Oxford English Dictionary, for example, offers such synonyms for the verb (both transitive and intransitive) ‘to manage’ as ‘to handle; wield; control the affairs of; take charge of; gain one’s ends with, to administer (finances etc); to carry on successfully or otherwise; to succeed in accomplishing’. ‘Management’, it continues, ‘is the action or manner of managing’, but also sees management to mean ‘the use of contrivance for effecting some purpose’.1 Though these terms offer some flavour of how ‘management’ may be perceived, none is precisely what is intended when the Ministry of Defence (MOD) talks in terms of ‘efficient management’ in respect of ‘the delivery of public services’.2 The MOD Joint Warfare Publication (JWP) 0-01 British Defence Doctrine was the first document of its kind and, ‘which sets out how we go about discharging our defence responsibilities’. Furthermore, it claimed to be: based on the enduring lessons of history, placed in the context of modern experience. It describes the linkages between national policy and military operations and is intended to guide those at a senior level, to educate staff officers and officials and to inform the wider public.3

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‘Defence management’ as such, does not figure prominently though under the chapter entitled ‘United Kingdom Security and Defence’, there is a subheading, ‘Higher Defence Management’. This offers a structural description of the constitutional authority, political control, principal advisers, Chiefs of Staff, and MOD Headquarters and a procedural description of Departmental Planning, expressed in terms of detailed objectives, and budgets delegated through a hierarchy of Top, Higher and Basic Level budget-holders down the chain of command.4 ‘Jointery’ does not raise quite the same problem. It is a neologism, which, in a military context, refers to the uniting, or merging of elements of the three armed services within a single entity. Nothing is implied, however, of the manner in which these elements are brought together, or the structure, properties or characteristics of the outcome. A ‘joint’ administrative structure may do no more than disguise what could well be three separate activities going on under one roof and under a common title. Nor should it be assumed that ‘jointery’ is confined to the merging of service functions. The Ministry of Defence is made up of both service personnel and civil servants who traditionally have performed distinctly separate functions. Many of these functions have overlapped, particularly in such areas as financial management, policy advice and planning, operational analysis, science and technology, and procurement. Where there has been a marked degree of overlap, the necessity of the office-holder being either from the services or an MOD civil servant ceases to be important; often separate ministry departments have been merged. This also would come within the framework of ‘jointery’.

Defence management There is general agreement especially among the senior military that the world of defence is sufficiently different from the civilian that some isomorphic read-across is likely to be misleading. War fighting, which is the ultimate focus of all defence spending, planning and preparation, leaves no room for ideal ‘management’ models. Nevertheless, some management models and techniques can be of value and these have been tested in recent years to improve the quality of defence preparation.

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The Leavitt model The Leavitt model of management has proved a useful framework in the analysis of defence. It is a synthesis of three successive waves of American thinking about management: structural, behavioural, and scientific. None is a sufficient solution to effective and efficient total defence ‘management’.5 The main elements of the defence management model – problem, people, structure and management science – are interdependent and interactive ‘in a myriad of ways’.6 Most important is the level of analysis at which change happens and where, in the structure of the defence establishment, it impacts or, even, affects defence policy as a whole. Alternatively, the problem of defence can apply to the roles or missions that the armed services are called upon to fulfil. Defence management therefore impacts on some aspect of defence structure as well as upon elements of strategy, operations or tactics, and equipment acquisition. More recently, change has occurred within the domestic economy and society as a whole; this has had a direct impact, inter alia, on the human behavioural element of the model. As defence budgets have been substantially reduced in recent years, so the ‘science’ of defence management has come to the fore. Consequently, changes over the past two decades have pushed the issue of the management of defence down the chain of command even to a point where, sometimes, it falls outside the defence domain altogether. The objective of defence The defence of the state with the protection of its citizens is, arguably, the primary responsibility of government. The scope of defence is considerable. It ranges from the defence of national sovereignty, the protection of national interests from external threats and from within the state, support of foreign policy objectives, the organization and training of armed forces, and the acquisition of the equipment. All this has to be accomplished continuously over time in an ever-changing security environment, at a cost that does not adversely impact on the national economy or the well-being of the population, and with popular support and endorsement.7 If the term ‘management’ of defence means anything, it has something to do with the reconciliation of these separate demands, several of which are contradictory.

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Organizational and structural considerations After the end of World War II, the focus of defence management initially was on the structure and organization of defence. The Ministry of Defence was established in 1946. Organization remained the main focus of management attention and was the subject of a White Paper in 1958, the purpose of which was to strengthen control over the armed services and to bring the Ministry of Supply into the defence ambit. The White Paper had little impact until the Jacob/Ismay Report of 1963, the year when the three service ministries and the Ministry of Supply were finally absorbed within a Ministry of Defence.8 Reflecting this change, the Defence Minister became a Secretary of State.9 The ‘human behavioural’ factor The awareness of the importance of people and personalities in positions of influence and power within the Ministry of Defence received emphasis during the 1950s along with organizational considerations. This was perhaps a feature of the individuals concerned, such as Field Marshal Lord Montgomery and Admiral of the Fleet Earl Mountbatten, and specific Defence Ministers such as Duncan Sandys, Peter Thorneycroft and Denis Healey. Their personal, and sometime idiosyncratic, views of defence and how things should be done, not to mention the influence of such Prime Ministers as Harold Macmillan and, later, Harold Wilson, had considerable impact during the period. Coupled with the human dimension was an appreciation of decision-making theory. Decision processes were seen as crucially important and the individuals involved brought to deliberations not merely personal perspectives but, more especially, those of the branches of government, their professional culture, and different sources of information. This applied not only to Ministry of Defence personnel and those who served with the armed services, but also to the media, commentators, analysts and consultants. Sound defence management was a matter of getting the right people in the right order so as to end up with the right decision. Another dimension of the ‘people’ element in defence management is that of ideology, defined as ‘modes of perception and especially of identifying and responding to problems and challenges on

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the basis of definite, though not fixed, practices, traditions, continuing historical development and circumstances’.10 Those who serve in the armed services and within the defence establishment have perceptions both of the world and the role of defence within it and of the values and priorities of their own institution. In the past, such perceived attributes as discipline, obedience, and organization, and values such as duty, honour, patriotism, respect for authority, courage and so on played a significant part in defence management.11 The significance of this is the simple fact that many of these ‘ideological’ attributes of the individual and the ‘collective subjectivities of the institutions that contribute to (defence) strategic decisionmaking have changed radically over recent years. Military service is becoming less of a profession and “just another job”; traditional military values are being fast eroded.’12 Moreover, Britain is witnessing a ‘commercialization of defence’ that, while being compatible with new ideological values of ‘military efficiency’, ‘value for money’ and ‘competition’, puts distance between those with the responsibility to ‘engage with the enemy’ and those for whom defence is another commercial, income-generating activity.13 Management science The third element, management science, has had the most lasting impact on UK defence management. The United Kingdom was the first, in 1964, to plan defence policy and posture on a functional basis prompted by the fact that there was no clear antagonist against whom to make detailed plans. This opened up the opportunity for new approaches to defence planning and budgetary management in 1964. Without these management innovations, subsequent initiatives that characterized the 1980s and 1990s would have been much more problematic to introduce and implement. Management science in defence did not end with the introduction of programme planning budgeting systems (PPBS) in 1964. However, it took until 1979 for new techniques and approaches to be introduced into defence planning and management, after which the floodgates were opened for a succession of management innovations over the ensuing 18 years. These were driven more by new philosophies about the nature and role of government within

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society and the paramountcy of a stable economy than by an awareness, or appreciation, that there was urgent need of defence management reform. It took a major crisis to prompt and necessitate change and, in Britain’s case, it was a major financial crisis, the collapse of ‘corporatism’, and the impact of the ‘Winter of Discontent’ of 1978.

Early introduction of ‘jointery’ Just as it took a major economic and social crisis to bring about radical reform in government, so it took the experience of World War I to prompt new ideas about the effective deployment and conduct of the armed services in time of conflict. Rather than coming from their political masters, the relevance and benefit of joint planning came from among the services themselves. At the level of strategy and operations,14 it was the services that took the initiative to combine and coordinate their planning activities in the form of the Chiefs of Staff Committee (CSC). The CSC, acting as the principal advisory body to the government on defence policy and matters of military strategy and operations, remains in existence. It is the prime example of ‘jointery’ inasmuch as the Committee assumes collective responsibility for the advice given. Emerging from the CSC was a subcommittee, the Joint Planning Committee, in 1927. Its relevance and utility increased after 1936 when Sir Thomas Inskip was appointed the first Minister for Defence Coordination. This remained a centrally important body throughout World War II, answering directly to the Prime Minister and, after the US joined the conflict, the Combined Chiefs of Staff.15 As the war in Europe became inevitable, the Service Directors of Intelligence formed a Joint Intelligence Committee with a representative of the Foreign Office. This Committee, with the Joint Planning Committee (referred to as the Joint Planning Staff in 1942), formed the two principal subcommittees of the CSC throughout the war with considerably expanded staffs.16 The only other ‘joint’ development during the War was the Directorate of Combined Operations. Set up by the Prime Minister after Dunkirk, it was responsible for ‘devising all the special equipment required for amphibious forces in general and opposed landings in particular’.17

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The ‘conventions of government’ and the ‘Thatcher revolution’ The purpose of this chapter is to address defence management and to assess where ‘jointery’ fits into the overall defence scheme of things in the light of post-Cold War changes in UK defence policy and the successive defence reviews and structural changes since Margaret Thatcher came to power in 1979. These policy changes and structural adjustments did not register any contemporary interest in and concern for ‘jointery’ until a relatively late stage. ‘Jointery’ only generated serious interest when the Ministry of Defence acted in response to unrelenting pressure from the Treasury to reduce further the defence budget over and above the steady cuts in defence expenditure after 1989. It found that further economies were to be achieved by bringing the three armed services together in joint commands, combat support and support functions and substantially reducing overhead costs. The progress of significant administrative and organizational reform within the Ministry of Defence was premised on a particular view of the role of government within the affairs of the state. These guidelines covered all government departments, and were not tailored to the specific responsibilities of either a particular minister or department. Thus, the Ministry of Defence was obliged to conform to a particular approach to managing its affairs, irrespective of whether or not that approach was appropriate to its constitutional function. The Thatcher approach verged on becoming an ideology in that it accepted no exceptions, exemptions or concessions. In fact, the previous Callaghan administration also recognized that there was need of radical change in government and in the management of the British economy, but time had run out and it could not have anticipated the breadth or scope of the changes that Thatcher forced through during 13 years in office. Her approach was based on a Cabinet paper prepared by Sir Derek Rayner entitled ‘The Conventions of Government’. It rapidly became a blueprint for the government’s approach to Whitehall. Still classified, its impact has been evident over the period of Conservative administration from 1979 until the New Labour victory of 1997. The objective was to facilitate and ensure the better

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management of the state; ‘its cumulative impact was considerable and, in so far as these things are knowable, permanent’.18 In essence, Rayner recommended a break from corporatism and the removal of the government from activities where it had neither a justifiable place nor suitability. Thatcher, in populist vein, referred to ‘getting the government off people’s back’ and resolved to put an end to the ‘Nanny State’. She saw the role of government as being to determine policy and give direction; it was not its responsibility to execute policy in areas where the private sector was better suited, more experienced, and operated with greater efficiency. Over a period of ten years, the government sold off those spheres of activity for which it had been responsible since 1945 such as the public utilities, local authority provision and services, and state-owned industries such as telecommunications, shipbuilding, gas, electricity, water, automobiles, airlines, coal, ordnance, steel, oil, banking, brewing and even housing. It was only a matter of time before this approach would impinge on sectors more closely identified with the state: defence, social services and education. There were two principal drivers behind these privatization and denationalization initiatives: first was an unshaken belief that state industries and services were inherently inefficient, protected and subsidized. It was the government’s conviction that competition and the profit incentive were prerequisites before public financial support was appropriated. Until these were in place in both national and local government, public expenditure would remain high, industry noncompetitive and the affairs of state badly managed and inefficient. The second was the realization that Keynesian economics had run its course. No longer did it provide the answers to the question of economic growth, full employment and economic stability. Informed opinion concluded that the Keynesian approach in fact contributed to Britain’s poor economic performance, lack of international competitiveness and high unemployment, all of which were reflected in economic stagnation coupled with high inflation. Monetarism offered a solution but it meant changing industrial and trade union practices, strict control over the money supply and drastic cuts in public spending. No government department was exempt. Special pleading, for example on grounds of national security or international treaty

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obligation, had little impact. However, Thatcher, at the time, honoured election commitments to increase services’ pay that had been neglected during the 1970s, to renew the UK’s future deterrent, to fulfil a NATO agreement to increase defence spending in real terms by 3 per cent per annum for five years, and, after the Falklands War, gave sympathetic hearing to MOD and service priorities.

Changing defence management 1979–83: problem and structure The first approach to changing defence management should predictably have focused on the ‘problem’ and ‘defence structures’. The perennial problem of the defence budget and the need to control public expenditure prompted a defence review in 1980, but the emphasis was as much to contain defence expenditure and keep up commitments and capabilities, as to introduce cuts or alter policy. The timing, however, was not propitious since a ‘second’ Cold War was about to start, détente having collapsed and President Carter’s PD-59 committing the US to substantial increases in defence spending. The Defence Review was conducted by the Secretary of State for Defence, John Nott, and was announced in 1981. It met with strong opposition, especially from the Royal Navy who saw its surface fleet reduced significantly as part of a policy shift away from the North Atlantic to the European Central Front.19 Little structural change was introduced other than, in May 1981, a reorganization at the centre that abolished the posts of Service Under-Secretary. This abolition of service political representation was not a recommendation of the Review but a consequence of Thatcher’s reaction to the Navy Under-Secretary, Keith Speed, publicly protesting at the Defence Review’s treatment of the navy. The Services’ Under-Secretaries were replaced by two new posts, a Minister for Procurement and a Minister for the Armed Forces. This one alteration gave the MOD a more functional complexion at the political level and emphasized defence rather than the services’ focus of defence policy-making.20 The change, it could also be argued, constituted a degree of ‘jointery’ at the political level. The Falklands War effectively caused the 1981 Nott Defence Review to be shelved. The war was not the only factor, however, in the development of management and ‘jointery’. The post-Falklands

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period also saw a close relationship between Thatcher and the US President, Ronald Reagan in which both agreed on the nature of the Russian threat and the appropriate strategy to deal with it. This led to an increase in defence expenditure over five years and a commitment to station intermediate range cruise missiles in Britain to counter a new Soviet SS-20 missile and Backfire bomber threat. To accommodate these increases in defence expenditure and new commitments, and meet the government’s public spending targets, new approaches to efficiency had to be found. For this task, a Secretary of State with novel management ideas was needed. For this, Michael Heseltine fitted the bill.

FMI, MINIS and MOD reorganization, 1984 The issue of defence policy objectives was not one that offered much scope for change. Nor was there further scope at that time for structural changes. Efficiency in defence could only be found in people and in the application of ‘management science’. The ‘people factor’ had earlier been addressed when Heseltine had been at the Department of the Environment after 1979. Equally significant was the appointment of Sir Clive Whitmore as MOD Permanent Under Secretary (PUS) who came not from within the ranks of the MOD but from another department and therefore had no particular interests to protect. MOD civil servants did not resist change or the introduction of new management practices; in fact, the then PUS, Sir Frank Cooper, aware of the government’s drive for efficiency in Whitehall, had already prepared the MOD’s response to the government’s Financial Management Initiative.21 So, by the time Heseltine became Secretary of State, a system of Responsibility Budgets had already been introduced and the MOD staff were well acquainted with a Management Information System for Ministers and Top Management (MINIS), cost-centre accounting, and a Budget System for Administrative Expenditure (MAXIS). Within two years all three had been incorporated into the MOD. Their longer-term effect on later management changes would be profound. They laid the foundation for further approaches that would characterize future defence management, namely, the definition of individual responsibility, enhanced delegation of

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authority for specific defence functions, greater accountability, and a commitment to ‘contractorisation’.22 In Heseltine’s own words, the new management practices introduced a ‘new orthodoxy’ into the MOD, one which emphasized controlling the defence budget through managerial change and personnel cuts.23 The introduction of new management practices also went handin-hand with central defence reorganization. A number of key changes were introduced. First, the two areas of advice given to the Secretary of State would in future be the PUS on policy, administrative and planning advice, and the Chief of the Defence Staff (CDS) for military operational issues and on matters of policy feasibility. This effectively left the Service Chiefs with only the responsibility and oversight of their respective services, a significant curtailment in their influence.24 Second, a unified (effectively ‘joint’) and central Defence Staff would report to the PUS and the CDS. The aim again was ‘to provide a “defence” solution to major problems of a resource or operational kind’.25 Third, was the creation of a Second Permanent Under Secretary (2nd PUS) responsible for the civilian programme and budget staffs and for an Office of Management and Budget. This was a position that Heseltine likened to a ‘Financial Director’ in a commercial business. He would also have the Chief Scientific Adviser and the Chief of Defence Procurement reporting to him. The House of Commons Defence Committee noted that the major changes were to the unified central staffs but in the pursuit of efficiency could see no economies coming from the structural reorganization and concluded that better financial control and improved cost-effectiveness in defence programmes might bring about savings. They recommended that the application of better ‘management science’ approaches to defence procurement practices would make significant savings.

‘Next steps’, ‘New Management Strategy’ and the MOD, 1987–93 The structural, personnel and management reforms introduced into the MOD in the early 1980s had a significant impact. Some elements, however, did not change, perhaps deliberately so. Though there was a unified defence staff, it was still not strictly ‘joint’ and

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the government was careful to retain the distinctive identity of the separate services. Significant progress was made on all fronts but none more so than in the approach to defence procurement, where a ‘cardinal points system’ was introduced and competition initiated not merely to reduce costs, but more especially to force the defence manufacturers to alter their business practices. Possibly things might have been left to evolve but, as in 1979, exogenous factors prompted further internal defence management reform. In 1987, just prior to the general election, Sir Robin Ibbs filed his ‘Next Steps’ Report, in which he recommended a restructuring of the Civil Service into a small core of policy-makers. The remainder would be engaged only in providing or procuring goods and services through free-standing agencies operating as small businesses but regulated by independent authorities. Before much could be done in this respect, the defence and international security environment radically altered after 1989. The Cold War ended in 1990 and then, in 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed. These momentous developments impacted directly on NATO and UK defence policies, and led directly to another defence policy review, Options for Change. In defence management terms, the problem also changed: defence funding would diminish; levels of forces’ readiness would decline; there would be different policy priorities; manpower levels would drop by 20 per cent; and equipment priorities would change. After an interlude caused by the Gulf War, the implications and import of the Options for Change defence review began to take effect in 1992.26 The Ministry of Defence, however, introduced the ‘Next Steps’ initiative under its ‘New Management Strategy’ (NMS) programme in 1991. Commenting after its introduction, Sir Moray Stewart claimed that ‘the importance of NMS to future resource management cannot be overstated. Its aim, simply put, is “the better management of defence”. We want it to allow us a higher level of defence programme to be afforded than would otherwise be the case.’27 Encompassed within this initiative was a review of the Ministry of Defence’s organization, entitled Prospects. This was conducted in parallel with the Options for Change review and was based on implementing the key principles of the NMS – setting clear objectives, delegating authority for meeting those objectives to managers, and making managers accountable for their performance. Prospects led to

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a 20 per cent reduction in numbers in the Ministry of Defence’s core headquarters as more responsibilities were taken on by military commands.28 The emphasis here was clearly one of structural change coupled with new management techniques. Structurally, the NMS delegated responsibility for performing defence functions and tasks to specific budget-holders. Though a strong centre would remain within the MOD and be responsible for policy, planning and the overall budgetary regime, accountability, authority and cash would be put ‘in the hands of those who run the business’.29 This was done with three main principles in mind: objectives and responsibilities had to be clear; management had to be accountable; and authority had to be delegated as far as possible. The structure of managing defence, however, would be less ‘compact’ than before, with loosened central direction and ‘an opaque face to the outside world’.30 The outcome (so it has been claimed) was better value for money as a result of budget-holders finding efficiencies and having the authority to act upon them. The National Audit Office (NAO) raised a concern that levels of delegation might fall short of what budget-holders would like and that consequently such a gap might risk those holders’ commitment to the overall strategy. They also raised doubts over the financial skills of budget-holders, bearing in mind that they were, first and foremost, servicemen, not accountants.31 The MOD was required to place emphasis on output and service to the customer. This again was prompted from outside the MOD itself, in this case the ‘Citizen’s Charter’ initiative introduced by Prime Minister John Major in 1993. The output of defence and the implicit commitment to deliver on that objective was expressed in terms of the ‘Departmental Plan’, something to which the taxpayer was expected to be able to relate.32 Only in respect of that Plan would the Ministry be able to be accountable not merely for defence per se, but also for the efficiency with which it was provided.33 The other dimension to NMS was the ‘Next Steps’ initiative. This conformed with yet another government policy, that of reducing the size and cost of the public sector as a whole. This meant exploring areas where the provision of goods and services to the armed services and MOD could be provided more efficiently – and give better value for money. This could be achieved either from the

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private sector or from (quasi) government agencies operating along commercial lines and undertaking functions that would otherwise be done in-house. This initiative also conformed to another government directive, Competing for Quality, which set out proposals for widening competition in the provision of services throughout the public sector.34 This initiative had structural implications and promised dramatically to reduce the size and composition of the defence establishment with wide-ranging personnel implications. People working in agencies would have to change working practices and attitudes, and outside contractors would have to work according to rules seldom found in the civilian world. The armed services would have to become accustomed to combat and logistic support from sources outside the defence establishment working to different terms of reference. There was relatively little by way of management science in the initiative, though it could be argued that the principle of outsourcing took advantage of market competition, astute purchasing practices and private sector expertise. By 1992, 14 Defence Agencies had been created, of which the largest was the Defence Research Agency (DRA). By March 1995, the MOD was able to assert: ‘A large proportion of the MOD’s work is now carried out by Agencies. These bodies operate within a policy and resource framework that encourages a business-like approach to the delivery of services to the MOD and, where appropriate, to the public.’35 Many of these agencies heralded another dimension of ‘jointery’ inasmuch as their output was defence as a whole, rather than oriented towards a single service, as had been the case with many of the former Defence Research Establishments.

Management, the Front Line First: Defence Costs Study An unforeseen consequence for the MOD of the Ibbs ‘Next Steps’ recommendations and the government’s Competing for Quality policy was an unexpected requirement to achieve cumulative efficiency savings averaging 2.5 per cent per annum each year for the following three years starting in April 1993. The MOD and the services had effectively to find further savings of £750 million each year for the next three years. This imposed on an already severely reduced defence budget and over-stretched armed forces a heavy cut

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in expenditure that threatened their capability to meet defence policy objectives. The solutions were few: change defence policy, reduce the level of training, exercises and operations; cancel major equipment programmes; or find further efficiencies. In addressing this, the search was for further ‘management science’ solutions. Earlier ‘management science’ had set the tone for the MOD and the armed services from which radical solutions could be explored. Here, the ‘people factor’ in management theory seemingly produced dividends: the formalism, conservatism and hierarchy that had characterized the MOD and armed services’ attitudes in the past had been replaced by a more ‘entrepreneurial’, cost-awareness and value for money ethos. At short notice and in the short time at their disposal, the MOD initiated its Front Line First: Defence Costs Study exercise in 1993. The terms of reference were to produce the desired savings without any detrimental impact on the military capability of Britain’s front-line forces. Furthermore, the exercise should, first, engage all branches of the defence establishment from the highest to the lowest, and second, allow no stone to remain unturned.36 The more than 3000 proposals for savings that were received demonstrated a ‘general desire for constructive change’.37 The general direction of these proposals, which were considered by study teams appointed to explore areas for improved efficiency, were along the established lines of earlier management changes. The difference was that it was no defence review in the traditional sense; the issue of defence policy (that is, the management ‘problem’) was therefore not at issue. Rather, it was an exercise to reinforce the Departmental Plan and defence policy goals. The approach was to consider structural change where it meant economies, and to apply ‘management science’ to the way the MOD and armed services might conduct their primary business cost effectively. In all, there were 20 major studies and 13 minor studies commissioned, covering all aspects of the MOD’s business other than the front line. Those involved were asked to be radical. Not all recommendations were adopted, and some merely reflected changes that were already in progress. The outcome of the study far exceeded the savings that the Treasury had demanded of the MOD. First, despite previous cuts in personnel and central practices within the MOD, the study found that there was room for change at the top, which was seen as ‘too large, too top heavy and too bureaucratic’. Second,

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the process of delegating responsibility under the NMS was ‘seen as the key to maximizing efficiency and that there was scope for delegation down the chains of command further than had already been achieved’. Third, there was need for a greater cost-consciousness that required improvements in financial management procedures and linked expenditure more closely with output. Fourth, as future operations were likely to be carried out on a joint service basis, there was a strong case for rationalizing command, training and support structures on a joint service basis that would enhance operational effectiveness as well as offer savings. Lastly, savings in the longer term depended on ‘changes in the culture of the department, simplifying working practices and placing more weight on personal responsibility and accountability’.38 Surprisingly, the Defence Costs Study did not address defence procurement, a sphere of MOD activity that over the previous two decades had experienced significant change. The management of the procurement budget and the significant improvement in value for money in weapons and equipment acquisition (the Downey system) had been significant and justifiably commended by the National Audit Office. With the reductions in the numbers, the armed services had been promised compensation with the best modern equipment available and the best value for money. With the unit costs of weapons increasing inexorably, the importance of efficient procurement practices, market competition and manufacturer restructuring and reform to the UK defence effort, could not be ignored for too long.39

Post-‘Front Line First’ defence management and ‘jointery’ The first outcome of the Defence Costs Study that brought into effect a ‘joint’ approach involved not the three armed services, but rather the services and their civilian colleagues within the MOD main building. It recognized that the MOD was unique in that it contained two core functions, civil and military. The recommendation was that these could be performed by integrated staffs; provided these functions were distinctive, the MOD’s structure could make adequate provision. This would be ensured by ‘preserving clear lines’ of functional responsibility to Ministers. From an efficiency perspective, savings were expected to be made by removing duplica-

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tion and encouraging ‘cooperative problem-solving at the working level’. To give substance to this development, a Central Staff was established in the place of the former Office of Management and Budget and Defence Staff. One of the more innovative changes at the centre was the creation of a new body, the Financial Management and Planning Group (FMPG) with responsibility for policy, management and finance. The novelty was in the incorporation of the Service Chiefs, who under the 1984 reforms had largely been excluded from policymaking to the extent that they had responsibility for delivering policy objectives without the attendant financial authority. The FMPG resolved that weakness, and linked policy, programme and resource issues under one body. The Service Chiefs would in future be accountable for the operating plans and budgets of their services. Another area for ‘jointery’ was in respect of operations. The past practice of setting up an ad hoc joint headquarters when a crisis arose did not take into account the changed international security environment. The solution lay in the creation of a Permanent Joint Headquarters (PJHQ) with responsibility for conducting operations in accordance with political and strategic direction from the MOD. The assumption was that the PJHQ ‘will not prejudice or reduce existing responsibilities of the Services’ operational Commanders-inChief’. The assumption was also that it would make a clear distinction between the responsibilities of the MOD for policy and the PJHQ for execution. In the process, significant staff reductions were possible as it allowed rationalization of the three single-service headquarters.40 Mention of the FMPG at this juncture allows for reference to the Independent Review of the Armed Forces’ Manpower, Career and Remuneration Structure, otherwise known as the ‘Bett Report’. This was an inquiry into the personnel policies of the MOD that would recommend changes that would serve the MOD and the services well into the twenty-first century. It made over 150 recommendations to ensure that the services could ‘recruit, and retain the right number of people of the right quality’.41 This was a report on personnel management, and its conclusions were that the services and the MOD had to adopt new practices in the management of service personnel within a new social, economic and political environment. One recommendation, adopted by the MOD, was to establish a

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Services’ Personnel Board at the most senior level responsible for the strategic direction of personnel. There is now an FMPG (Service Personnel) supported by the Services Personnel Policy Board – arguably yet another illustration of ‘jointery’ at the top level.42 ‘Jointery’ lent itself to other areas in the quest for substantial cost saving, though in certain respects the concept also made some operational, training or structural sense in a changing defence environment. One of the latter examples was the decision to merge the Service Staff Colleges to form a single Joint Services’ Command and Staff College (JSCSC). Certainly, the options in the Defence Costs Study in this respect have not materialized.43 Above the JSCSC, the existing Higher Command and Staff Course and the Royal College of Defence Studies, both joint in their composition and orientation, have remained. Training offered considerable scope for ‘jointery’ and also was found to conform with the government’s policies on reducing the size and cost of the public sector. If outside agencies could prove more cost-effective in training, or if the three services could combine their training requirements, then savings in reduced overheads, less duplication, and fewer personnel could be achieved. For example, a defence helicopter flying school for all three services was planned. More controversial, perhaps, was the merging of the services’ medical provision with the closure of two of the three service hospitals. A ‘joint’ hospital was retained at Haslar, near Portsmouth, and three peacetime military district hospital units would be set up adjoining National Health Service hospitals. The focus of the Defence Costs Study was to find savings in logistic support. The emphasis in the study was less on jointery, as this was thought to be incompatible with the individual services’ need for specialist maintenance and repair on specific equipment. Nevertheless, repair, maintenance, warehousing and storage, and postal and courier services were open to market testing and out-sourcing. Since then, however, the pressure for greater ‘jointery’ determined that a mammoth joint Defence Logistics Organization, serving all three services, has been established under a three star officer. The (FLF) Front Line First: Defence Costs Study was estimated to realize savings of over £750 million in the first year and further savings in excess of that figure were expected in following years. To that extent, the exercise achieved its primary aim. Savings however,

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had to be achieved without loss in front-line effectiveness. Little evidence has emerged that the process has either released resources for expansion or improvements in operational capability or that the services are, as a result, more effective. It will take some time for the effects of the FLF study to work their way through the defence system; only then will the full implications of what has been done be understood. Such an exercise, however, cannot be repeated. Short of privatizing the armed services as a whole, there is little scope left for further savings.

The Strategic Defence Review and ‘Smart Procurement Initiative’ Or so it was thought in 1995/6. The FLF Defence Costs Study marked a massive change in the way the MOD and the armed services went about their business and its cumulative impact would take a long time to absorb. It also introduced a major cultural change, the effects of which on such issues as the commitment and morale of military personnel have given cause for concern. Nevertheless, FLF confirmed in the minds of many that defence policy was largely ‘resource driven’, with the Treasury, rather than the MOD the principal motivating force. The situation altered quite radically following the Conservative defeat at the polls in 1997 and the initiation of the Labour Party’s Strategic Defence Review on taking office. The review was innovative inasmuch as it took over a year to complete, engaged a wide range of outside bodies to contribute to the debate and extended an open invitation to the general public to offer comment. While it was going on, no yearly defence White Paper was published and the government pledged to keep defence spending at the same level as the previous administration for three years. The outcome marked a radical change inasmuch as it clearly marked defence as being secondary to and in support of UK foreign policy. The review shifted emphasis away from high-intensity conventional war in Europe towards interventionary operations out-of-area and introduced an ‘ethical’ dimension into defence and foreign policy. In so doing, it formulated approaches to ‘preventive’ and ‘defence’ diplomacy,44 and promoted an increased ‘joint’ approach to defence planning, operations and support45 while retaining commitments to NATO

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and to both deterrence and disarmament.46 Finally, the review committed the MOD to adopting a ‘Smart Procurement Initiative’ the product of the consultants McKinsey, who had been brought in to address the weaknesses inherent in the weapons acquisition process.47 In a nutshell, the new administration significantly focused defence away from past priorities and in a new direction, one much more in keeping with the changed international security environment.48 This step-level change opened opportunities for revisiting both the ‘people’ element in management and also the selective application of management science. In respect of the former, the UK armed services have experienced significant changes to personnel policies, further emphasis on joint forces, joint training and joint logistic support. The composition of the reserves was radically altered and the terms and conditions of military service generally changed to bring the armed services more in line with civilian norms, values and employment practices. The effect of these developments on the fighting efficiency of the armed services has still to be judged, but what is clear is that numbers have decreased and changed practices have helped to reduce further the cost of defence. Compared with the new management practices introduced in the 1980s and 1990s, the SDR made relatively minor changes. One, however, is of note within the MOD: the introduction of Resource Accounting and Budgeting (RAB), a management process that was designed to give a more accurate picture of the out-turn of defence assets, particularly as it also required attention to be given to capital and facilities that in the past had been taken for granted.49 Arguably, the most significant management science development as a consequence of the SDR was the introduction of the ‘Smart Procurement Initiative’ (SPI). Recognizing the government’s poor record in defence procurement, the target was to improve the acquisition process and get equipment ‘faster, better, cheaper’. By encouraging partnership between the central customers (the MOD and the services) and the defence manufacturers through the creation of Integrated Project Teams (IPTs), focusing more effort at the early stages of a weapons programme, emphasizing whole-life and not the unit cost of equipment, and undertaking risk analysis of different equipment options, the SDR sought to change the whole culture of defence procurement and generate estimated savings of £2 billion

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over ten years. In parallel with these developments, attention was given to encouraging private/public partnerships in weapons programmes as well as a move away from specifying service-related equipment and towards the acquisition of ‘capabilities’. These ‘equipment capabilities’ often transcended traditional service boundaries and focused on defence missions and where joint (and combined) forces were thought likely to encounter any adversary. In the four years since Labour came to power, therefore, both ‘jointery’ and ‘management’ have moved forward, virtually hand-inhand. The defence ‘problem’ has been redefined; the people factor has been addressed and changes made to both structures and terms of service; and there have been further developments in the application of management science in both procurement and financial control. The outstanding question is whether or not the combined effect of these three management-related developments, coming in the wake of radical changes in the late 1980s and 1990s, will really have achieved the objective of ‘Modern Forces for the Modern World’. Certainly there are a number of difficulties in all three areas still to be resolved, but that is always the case when organizations are going through a period of transition.

Conclusion: the implications of defence management and jointery Before making any judgement about the implications of ‘jointery’ and the variety of management changes that have characterized the MOD and the armed services since the ill-fated Nott Defence Review it is important to be reminded what defence is for and what it demands of those who serve. ‘Defence organisation requires that men should fight; that men can be ordered to risk, and indeed to lose, their lives without option of lawful refusal.’50 The merit of any organizational restructuring or any injection of management practices is that ‘those who lead should have the necessary legal and moral authority to give such orders, and should maintain the confidence and trust of those to whom the orders are given’.51 The question has to be asked whether, in pursuit of ‘value for money’, cost savings, delegated responsibility, efficiency, market testing and ‘jointery’, these criteria have been wholly met.

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As far back as the Mountbatten/Thorneycroft reforms of the early 1960s, the concern was that the single-service identity would be lost or seriously eroded. The introduction in the 1960s of PPBS into defence decision-making and of civilian analyses raised the same concern. In the mid-1960s, Secretary of State Denis Healey went to great lengths to reassure his Chiefs of Staff that their respective service identities were secure.52 The Thatcher years brought a new philosophy and a new approach to the role of government and of the cost of the public sector. This both reflected and changed the view of society and of the relationship of the individual to it. Furthermore, it has altered people’s perceptions and expectations. The ‘people element’ of management theory has changed. The defence civil servant and the military officer of today have different views of tradition, loyalty, leadership, command and a commitment to the policy objectives of defence and military operations. In addition, they have been affected by what Malcolm Rifkind defines as a ‘cultural change’ – change that has meant ‘less management by committee, more individual responsibility, greater awareness of the needs of the customer for services, and greater readiness to embrace ideas from outside’. Subsumed under this has been the process of involving and empowering junior staff and the introduction of more flexible ways of working, rather than unquestioning adherence to traditional procedures.53 Certainly, the defence problem is very different as Britain embarks on the twenty-first century from that prior to 1989. Defence policy objectives, though expressed in familiar language, are different in both degree and kind, and the threat and the use of force in pursuit of political objectives are perceived very differently. This alone would dictate the need for change in structures and management. The sense of major risk and imminent danger is no longer there. The consequential danger is that those responsible for defence administration, organization and management work on an almost permanent peacetime basis. The proof of structural and managerial change is not what can be achieved by way of economies in peacetime but, rather, the performance of one’s armed forces in time of crisis or war. Economy, ‘just-in-time’ savings and value for money in the short term eliminate redundancy, and it is redundancy that enables armed forces to be deployed, sustained and reinforced in war. There has, without question, been significant structural change within Britain’s defence establishment since 1984. Much of this has

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been driven by management principles of output planning and the linkage of finance, resources, operations and policy. In that process, those responsible for the different elements have been brought together at the centre. It has meant that the single-service ideal has disappeared, though the creation of the FMPG with single-service representation and financial responsibility is an important recognition of the distinctive and specialist contribution each service makes to Britain’s defence. This will help to defuse the tensions that have characterized relations between the services and the MOD, among the services themselves, and between policy-makers and those who implement it in the field. Reduced defence budgets and government market-oriented philosophies have combined with structural, personnel and policy changes, giving way to the introduction of a number of management theories and practices. The MOD has not been immune from these and, to its credit, has embraced change, whether it liked it or not, with some sense of purpose and energy. Many management techniques have been introduced that have clearly had substantial effect. What remains as a nagging doubt is whether or not the introduction of these new management systems has been seen more as an end in itself, rather than as the efficient means by which to achieve defence objectives as laid down by the government. The two are not necessarily compatible. Logically, the ‘triplication’ of management resources can be abolished if ‘jointery’ were taken to its extreme and all three services were replaced with a single ‘defence’ force. The Canadian experiment should warn against such a development and even though the Canadians have restored, more or less, their three services again, its central national defence headquarters remains in some disarray. In the words of a former senior MOD administrator: ‘Any further change should be analysed on the principle of its advantage for the ultimate product in the field rather than appearances in Whitehall.’54 Perhaps enough ‘management’ change is enough and the time has come to consolidate what has been achieved already over almost 20 turbulent years.

Notes 1. The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), p. 1269.

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2. MOD, Department Report, The Government’s Expenditure Plans 1995/6 to 1997/8, Cmnd 2801 (London: HMSO, 1995), p. 28. 3. M. Portillo, ‘Foreword’, in British Defence Doctrine, Joint Warfare Publication (JWP) 0-01 (London: MOD, 1996). 4. Ibid., pp. 5.11–5.17. 5. J.E. Dawson, ‘An American View of Defence Management’, in L. Martin (ed.), The Management of Defence (London: Macmillan, 1976), pp. 47–8. 6. Ibid., p. 49. 7. M. Edmonds, The Defence Equation (London: Brassey’s, 1986), Chapter 1. 8. E. Broadbent, The Military and Government (London: RUSI, 1988), pp. 20–4. 9. For details of organizational change during this period, see M. Edmonds, ‘The Higher Organisation of Defence in the UK’, in M. Edmonds (ed.), Central Organisations of Defence (Boulder: Westview, 1985); R. Rosecrance, Defence of the Realm (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968); W. Snyder, The Politics of British Defence Policy 1945–1962 (London: Benn, 1964); F. Johnson, Defence by Ministry, 1944–1974 (London: Duckworth, 1980). 10. D. Smith, Defence of the Realm in the 1980s (London: Croom Helm, 1980), p. 38. 11. Ibid., p. 36. 12. There have been numerous articles and discussions of the decline in military professionalism stimulated initially by the work of C. Moskos, ‘From Institution to Occupation: Trends in Military Organisation’, Armed Forces and Society, vol. 4, no. 1 (Fall 1977), pp. 41–50. For a comprehensive discussion, see C. Downes, ‘To Be or Not to Be a Profession: the Military Case’, Defense Analysis, vol.1, no. 3, pp. 147–72. See also G. Harries-Jenkins, ‘The Concept of Military Professionalism’, Defense Analysis, vol. 6 no. 2, pp. 117–30; and M. Shaw, The Post-military Society (London: Polity Press, 1991). 13. M. Edmonds, ‘Defence Management: a View from the United Kingdom’, in D. Bland (ed.), Issues in Defence Management (Kingston: Queen’s University Press, 1999), pp. 33–56. Also, M. Edmonds, ‘The Commercialisation of Defence’, Cambridge Review of International Relations (Autumn/Winter, 1999). 14. On the ‘concept of operations’, see J. Downey, Management in the Armed Forces: an Anatomy of the Military Profession (Maidenhead: McGraw-Hill, 1977), p. 29. 15. Lord Ismay, Memoirs of Lord Ismay (Kingswood: Windmill, 1960), pp. 74–6, 161–4, 287–8. 16. Ibid., p. 161. 17. Ibid. 18. P. Hennessy, ‘Mrs Thatcher’s Impact on Whitehall’, in B. Jones et al., Politics UK (London: Philip Alan, 1991), p. 470. 19. MOD, The United Kingdom Defence Programme: the Way Forward, Cmnd 8299 (London: HMSO, 1981). 20. MOD, Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1982, Cmnd 8529/1 (London: HMSO, 1982).

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21. F. Cooper, ‘Ministry of Defence’, in J. Harrison and M. Gretton (eds), Reshaping Central Government (London: Macmillan, 1987), pp. 112–15. 22. A. Smith, Management of the MOD 1983–86, Bailrigg Memorandum 15 (Lancaster, CDISS, 1996), p. 7. 23. Secretary of State for Defence, MINIS and the Development of the Organisation of Defence (London: HMSO, March 1984). 24. MOD, Central Organisation of Defence, Cmnd 9315 (London: HMSO, July 1995). 25. Broadbent, op. cit., p. 73. 26. R. Mottram, ‘Options for Change: Process and Prospects’, RUSI Journal (Spring 1991), p. 26. 27. M. Stewart, ‘Future Resource Management in Defence’, RUSI Journal (April 1993), p. 73. 28. MOD, Front Line First: Defence Costs Study (London: MOD, 1994), p. 9. 29. Ibid., p. 74. 30. C. France, ‘Managing Defence: New Approaches to Old Problems’, RUSI Journal (April 1994), p. 15. 31. NAO, The New Management Strategy in the Ministry of Defence, HC 638 (London: HMSO, 24 August 1994), p. 3. 32. One important innovation in this period was the publication of an annual departmental report on the Government’s Expenditure Plans for the ensuing two years. This document provides a more useful guide to MOD plans and performance than the annual Statement on the Defence Estimates which focuses more on past performance and activities than planning, budgetary and management priorities. See, for example, MOD, Departmental Report by the MOD: the Government’s Expenditure Plans 1995/96 to 1997/98, Cmnd 2801 (London: HMSO, 1995). 33. Ibid p. 13. 34. HMG, Competing for Quality, Cmnd 1730 (London: HMSO, November 1991). 35. MOD, Departmental Report on the Government’s Expenditure Plans 1995/96 to 1997/98, Cm 2801 (London: HMSO, March 1995), Annex C, p. XI. 36. MOD, Directorate of Defence Policy, Front Line First: Defence Costs Study (London: HMSO, 1994), p. 5. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid., p. 7. 39. See, for example, NAO, Ministry of Defence: Initiatives in Defence Procurement, HC 189 (London: HMSO, 6 February 1991). 40. MOD, Front Line First, op. cit., pp. 15–17. 41. M. Bett, Independent Review of the Armed Forces’ Manpower, Career and Remuneration Structures (London: HMSO, 1995), p. vii. 42. MOD, The Armed Forces and the Future: a Personnel Strategy (London: MOD, February 1997), p. 3. 43. The options identified were between Greenwich and Camberley. Bracknell ‘could not accommodate the new course and the site will be sold’. By 1997, Greenwich had been vacated, Camberley’s future was uncertain and Bracknell had been made the (temporary) home of the

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44.

45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

first Joint Services Command and Staff Course, MOD, Front Line First, op. cit., p. 23. For example, see MOD Defence Diplomacy (London: DISN Pubs, MOD, March 1999). Also, M. Edmonds, Defence Diplomacy and Preventive Diplomacy: the Role of Maritime Forces, Bailrigg Memorandum no. 34 (Lancaster, CDISS, 1998). See MOD, Joint Forces, Modern Battlewinning Armed Forces (London, DISN Pubs3, MOD, March 1999). MOD, Strategic Defence Review, Cm 3999 (London: HMSO, July 1998). Ibid., pp 41–4. MOD, Strategic Defence Review, op cit., p. 5 and pp. 7–12. G. Robertson, ‘Smart Ways to Run a … Business’, RUSI Journal (June 1999), pp. 66–8. J.H.F. Eberle, ‘Defence Organisation – the Future’, in Martin, op. cit., p. 105. Ibid., p. 105. D. Healey, The Time of My Life (London: Penguin, 1990), p. 261. M. Rifkind, ‘Front Line First’, RUSI Journal (December 1994), p. 6. Broadbent, op. cit., p. 201. Also Bland, op. cit.

9 British Defence Policy in the Post-Cold War Era: History Comes Full Circle? Andrew Dorman

Introduction Since 1989 Europe has witnessed significant change, the Soviet Union has collapsed and the Warsaw Pact no longer exists, while NATO has found itself involved for the first time in the actual application of force in Yugoslavia. Further afield the end of the Cold War has brought little respite with forces from various European states involved in activities ranging from war in the Gulf against Iraq through to peace support operations in a range of activities ranging from humanitarian operations to full-scale limited war. While all this has been going on there has been a significant battle over the changing security agenda. At one level the various security organizations within Europe, the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), the Western European Union (WEU), NATO and the EU, have all sought to take charge of the security agenda. Initially the OSCE (then Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe – CSCE) was viewed as the favourite with many, particularly in Central and Eastern Europe, viewing NATO as a defunct organization similar to the Warsaw Pact. However, with the WEU folding into the EU we have been left with two dominant European security organizations – NATO and the EU.

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At the same time various leaders within Europe have also sought to define the new security agenda.1 For example, while President of the European Commission Jacques Delors concluded: We cannot limit our horizons to the new Europe. All around us, naked ambition, lust for power, national uprisings and underdevelopment are combining to create potentially dangerous situations, containing the seeds of destabilization and conflict, aggravated by the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. The Community must face this challenge. If it is to be worthy of the European ideal it must square up to the challenges of history and shoulder its share of the political and military responsibilities of our old nations, which have always left their mark on history.2 More recently Britain’s current Labour government has sought to set out an internationalist agenda. At a key speech made in Chicago, during the celebrations of NATO’s fiftieth anniversary, Prime Minister Tony Blair reinforced this point: Twenty years ago we would not have been fighting in Kosovo. The fact that we are engaged is the result of a wide range of changes – the end of the Cold War, changing technology, the spread of democracy. But it is bigger than that. I believe the world has changed in a more fundamental way. Globalization has transformed economies and our working practices. But globalization is not just economic, it is also a political and security phenomenon.3 Such sentiments have been uttered elsewhere. The increasingly reticent attitude of the British government to the deployment of their military forces outside the NATO region in the latter half of the Cold War has given way to the commitment of significant military forces in a variety of operations both within and outside Europe. These have included the Gulf War and the subsequent operation to relieve the Kurds in Northern Iraq, peace support operations in Cambodia, humanitarian operations in Mozambique, operations throughout the Balkans and most recently the deployment of troops to Sierra Leone and Afghanistan.

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While all this has been going on there has been significant change to Britain’s armed forces. Since 1989 they have all been reduced in size and have begun to reorientate themselves away from their Cold War threat-based tasking with an increased reference being made to an expeditionary warfare capability in different forms. However, progress has generally been slow and in Kosovo the Europeans found themselves totally dependent upon an American decision to use force and for the conduct of the majority of the air campaign.4 When the Americans subsequently put a limit on their own ground deployment the Europeans struggled to put sufficient land forces together in time to implement the peace agreement.5 This led to a Franco-British call for a European corps level intervention capability.6 The Joint Declaration of the British and French Governments gave a renewed impetus to the Saint Malo Declaration and put concrete proposals forward, which were subsequently endorsed at the EU’s Helsinki Summit.7 This chapter therefore seeks to examine the reality behind Britain’s moves towards the changing nature of conflict and in particular its commitment to a European rapid reaction force. It has been divided into three parts. Firstly, it sets out six reasons, some new and some old, why Britain will use military force in an expeditionary fashion. Secondly, it will examine the changes made to British defence policy. Thirdly, it will draw some conclusions about the implications this has for future British defence policy.

Six reasons for sending in the cavalry There are six principal reasons why a British government, either individually or as part of a coalition, will continue to resort to deploying expeditionary forces. First, Britain is one among a number of former colonial powers, each with a long history of using military intervention. A history of colonization has left Britain and France in particular with vestiges of empires which continue to require their support while others also retain an interest in their former colonies. A recent example of this was the deployment of forces to Sierra Leone, initially as part of a services-led evacuation but later in support of the fledgling democratic government.8 Second, the dependence of Europe upon other states for the supply of essential raw materials including oil has received renewed

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interest. Some academics have argued that the significant participation of a number of West European states in the Gulf War was directly attributable to this interest.9 This led the then Western European Union Secretary-General, Willem van Eekelen, to argue that the movement of defence policy within Europe towards the protection of its wider interests will result in a greater linking of foreign and defence policy. More recently, Britain’s Strategic Defence Review was explicitly foreign policy led.10 Britain’s dependence upon trade will mean it will need to protect not only access to raw materials for itself but also for its main trading partners. Third, there will continue to be external political pressure for the use of military intervention. The United States has historically called upon Britain for joint action when its own interests have been involved.11 Britain has also been a firm supporter of United Nations (UN) operations, and its continued presence as one of the five permanent members of the Security Council has been linked to this support. A 1993 report by the United Kingdom’s House of Commons Select Committee on Defence concluded that: The United Kingdom’s position in the world owes much to its defence expertise, and the level of national commitment to defence. The maintenance of that position is at risk if the United Kingdom does not respond to the international peacekeeping requirement on a scale commensurate with membership of the Security Council, let alone the legitimate demands of UK public opinion.12 Fourth, the threat posed by the spread of ballistic missiles and weapons of mass destruction encourages the use of preventive military action. Concern has long been expressed in this area, notably in Britain’s 1993 defence estimates.13 Less emphasis has been placed upon the issue of national missile defence than on the option of pre-emptive action. Fifth, there is a growing fear from the ramifications of ethnic unrest in the states bordering Europe. Since the end of the Cold War turmoil in the Balkans has led the various states of Europe to deploy a significant number of troops to Bosnia and Kosovo. Europe’s experience of World War I has left its leaders with a particular fear of conflict escalation within the region and the area remains a source of deep-seated rivalry.

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Sixth and last, internal politics have had an increasingly important influence as foreign and domestic policy have become more entwined. In particular, domestic public opinion coloured by the media, has an important role to play vis-à-vis the humanitarian element within military intervention.14 The response has been varied. In the United Kingdom the current government has linked this into the new internationalist agenda.

Adapting to change: British defence policy since the end of the Cold War Legacy of the Cold War Although no formal security policy was articulated during the period from 1945 to 1989 Europe, rather than the Empire, had become the focus of British defence policy.15 Within this transformation four interlinked assumptions, revolving around maintaining the balance of power in Europe remained consistent. These were the hostility of the Soviet Union, the maintenance of the ‘special relationship’ with the United States, the preservation of NATO and the creation and maintenance of an independent strategic nuclear deterrent.16 In the background a diminishing ability to influence decisions on the world stage remained. The underpinning of policy by these assumptions was perhaps inevitable, given the position with which Britain was confronted in 1945. Then, with the exception of the Soviet Union, Britain was the only large European power to survive the war relatively intact. Germany was physically divided, while France and Italy remained economically crippled and politically divided. It was Britain, therefore, which had to confront the situation of a Central and Eastern Europe dominated by a Soviet military and political presence.17 From the time of its inception the enigma of the Soviet Union had been a consistent problem for successive British governments. Fear of the Soviet Union began to rise even before the end of the Second World War as the Allies sought to agree the peace.18 Events after the war only reinforced these concerns and led the former Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, to refer to an ‘Iron Curtain’ dividing Europe in two as early as 1946.19 This perception of the Soviet threat increased throughout the late 1940s. In defence terms

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Russia was a Euro-Asiatic land power, which relied on its immense reserves of manpower to provide for its defence. Its historical experience of invasion, and the resulting devastation of its own lands, contributed to its commitment to the maintenance of significant land and air forces in Central and Eastern Europe. In contrast, Britain’s defence had traditionally relied on naval domination of the seas around its shores. If the Soviet Union was the most likely enemy, the Royal Navy was of limited use against a power which could only be confronted on land. This situation was exacerbated by the changes that had occurred in warfare in the twentieth century. During the First World War, German airship and bomber raids showed that Britain was no longer immune from direct attack while the U-boats had threatened to starve Britain out of the war.20 This experience was repeated during the Second World War in the German aerial offensive on Britain, particularly between 1940 and 1941, and the continuous U-boat campaign.21 Moreover, the development of the atomic bomb finally demonstrated the potential for a single bomber to destroy a city and fulfil the claims of the early air power theorists.22 As a result, Britain’s defence planners found themselves confronted with the unenviable situation in which they were aware of Britain’s vulnerabilities and lacked the capacity to deter the Soviet Union. However, Britain’s management of the problem has always been undermined by financial insecurity. The support of the United States was paramount, as America remained the single power capable of matching the Soviet Union. As a result, the British government sought to foster its relations with the United States by advancing the idea of an Anglo-American Alliance. To achieve this the government adopted a twin-track policy. The first track was to organize the rest of Western Europe into a number of alliances to counter the Soviet threat. This took some careful manoeuvring since the principal concern of many of the newly-liberated nations in the mid-1940s, especially France, was the fear of a resurgent Germany, with the actions of the Soviet Union only of secondary importance.23 The first step was the 1947 Dunkirk Treaty between Britain and France. The following year the Benelux countries joined the Dunkirk Treaty arrangement under the Brussels Treaty. In the short term these measures were of little military significance However they did provide an important political signal to the United States.

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They indicated Western Europe’s willingness to contribute to its own defence and reinforced the second track of British strategy. This encouraged the US to commit itself formally to the defence of Europe and the ongoing US involvement in Europe remained a capstone of British Cold War security policy. The twin-track approach reached fruition with the creation of NATO in 1949 and Britain’s continued support of the North Atlantic Alliance. The cost for Britain of this was twofold. First, it was forced formally to commit troops to the defence of Germany from 1950 onwards in order to show solidarity with the United States. This ultimately forced it to accept that the world role would have less priority in British defence policy. Second, its involvement in NATO provided a forum for underpinning Britain’s relationship with the United States and isolating it from its European allies. The fourth assumption in British Cold War defence policy lay in the creation and maintenance of an independent strategic nuclear deterrent. The reasoning behind this was threefold. First, Britain had been forced to abandon its French ally and withdraw its forces from the Battle of France in 1940. This caused much ill feeling between the two allies and both drew the same conclusion from the experience, namely that one state could not be expected to sacrifice itself for another.24 Thus Britain could not ultimately rely on the US nuclear guarantee and should develop and retain its independent nuclear deterrent. Second, the ownership of nuclear weapons was an important part of maintaining Britain’s place in the world and, in particular, its seat on the UN Security Council. Finally, and less significant now, was Britain’s central role at the start of the development of the first atomic bomb. Its exclusion from the US bomb programme at the end of the war clearly rankled with those involved. As a result, one of the first significant post-war defence decisions was made by a subcommittee of the British Cabinet, GEN 75, which approved the construction of fissile production facilities to produce a British atomic weapon in 1946. The Chiefs of Staff argued that ‘the best method of defence against the atomic bomb is likely to be the deterrent effect that the possession of the means of retaliation would have on a potential aggressor’.25 At the same time the first British strategic jet bomber specification was produced and issued as an operational requirement.26 These programmes fitted neatly into early

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post-war defence planning which emphasized strategic bombing as the only real counterweight to the Soviet Union’s superiority on land. This view was reinforced after the debacle at Suez when British and American interests clashed. According to Lawrence Freedman the main lesson drawn by Britain from the Suez Crisis was the need to provide a nuclear force, even at the expense of conventional capability.27 Consequently, the 1957 Defence White Paper placed even more emphasis on Britain’s nuclear forces.28 The improvements in the special relationship that followed Suez proved fortuitous, as the development of the Blue Streak missile ran into difficulties.29 The government reached the conclusion that it could no longer afford to produce its own independent nuclear deterrent and initially negotiated with the Americans to purchase the Skybolt system and later Polaris. The nuclear emphasis continued through the 1970s and 1980s, firstly through the costly Chevaline update to Polaris, and subsequently through the decision to purchase the Trident system from America in 1980.30 This latter decision precipitated what has become known as the Nott review, which led to significant cutbacks in Britain’s maritime capabilities.31 The other dimension to defence policy was Britain’s wider world role. In 1945 Britain was one of the three leading world powers and considered itself as such. This is clear from the 1948 defence estimates: ‘The United Kingdom, as a member of the British Commonwealth and a Great Power, must be prepared at all times to fulfil her responsibility not only to the United Nations but also to herself.’32 While not a superpower in its own right, Britain’s military and civilian presence throughout the world, particularly within the Empire, led many to assume that the world role would continue, particularly given the relative inexperience of the United States in many regions.33 The government hoped that with the European balance of power restored, Britain could once again look beyond Europe to preserve its wider interests. This shift in emphasis was attempted in the 1957 defence review, which made significant reductions in Britain’s conventional forces deployed in support of Europe in favour of the deployment of forces East of Suez.34 However, changing patterns in trade, de-colonization, fear of the Soviet Union and continuing financial pressure on the defence budget resulted in Europe, once again, becoming the focus of British foreign and defence policies with the large-scale withdrawal from

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the Empire.35 Even under the leadership of Margaret Thatcher this policy remained substantially unaltered. British defence policy, epitomized by the Nott review of 1981, remained almost entirely focused on Europe with only token gestures to the world role.36 Throughout the Cold War Britain’s defence policy sought to preserve the special relationship with the United States and preserve NATO as the main defensive alliance for Europe. This two-pronged approach was underpinned by the strategic nuclear deterrent, which allowed Britain to have a unique relationship with the United States and gave it a predominant position amongst the European members of NATO. Europe, therefore, remained at the core of defence policy although the desire to focus beyond Europe remained.37 Since the commitment of British forces to Germany, Britain’s close relationship with America and its nuclear status gave it a high standing within NATO’s command structure the end of the Cold War inevitably meant that this position would be challenged, as these elements became less important and NATO’s security agenda broadened. Post-Cold War – the Conservative legacy Although the end of the Cold War transformed the situation in Europe, British defence policy took far longer to adapt to the changed environment as British foreign policy floundered. The end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union left Britain with what William Wallace described as a ‘Government which has no clear sense of its place in the world or its foreign policy priorities’.38 This position was in part due to internal conflicts within the government, but it also reflected an ongoing concern with the European balance of power. At a time when many argued that defence policy would return to its position as the servant of foreign and economic policy, in Britain foreign and economic policy became diametrically opposed.39 The then British Foreign Secretary, Douglas Hurd, tended to adopt the van Eekelen line: Some problems – state-sponsored terrorism, for example, or the proliferation of ballistic missiles – may prick our skin more than our consciences. But, if we really want a world that is more secure, more prosperous and more stable, then humanitarian problems can be just as threatening and must be seen not just as a moral issue, but as a potential security threat as well.40

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However, his speech was rapidly countered by the then Secretary of State for Defence, Malcolm Rifkind, who referred to the national interest along more traditional lines.41 Rifkind found himself in a very difficult position. Britain’s economic weakness and the large public sector borrowing requirement encouraged the Treasury to demand constant sweeping cuts in Britain’s defence budget. That the Service Chiefs are known to have used their right of access to the Prime Minister to ensure their views were heard confirmed this.42 The then Chief of the Air Staff, Sir Michael Graydon, even went so far as publicly airing this view before making a hasty retraction.43 Consequently, Malcolm Rifkind was forced to make significant defence reductions beyond those announced in the Options for Change exercise44 and these formed part of the Defence Cost Studies process (DCS).45 What eventually emerged was a defence policy officially based on three defence roles.46 Defence Role One was largely about home defence and the defence of Britain’s dependent territories. In reality it was almost entirely about the preservation of an independent nuclear deterrent, support for the civilian authorities in Northern Ireland and the defence of the Dependent Territories – where feasible. Other areas, such as the air defence of the United Kingdom were effectively abandoned. Defence Role Two was the defence of Europe. NATO was viewed as the key to this defence role and the majority of resources were earmarked towards it. Finally, and of least priority, Defence Role Three swept up the remaining missions, in particular the out-of-area role and support for UN peacekeeping missions. As a result of these roles, perceptions of the importance of the strategic nuclear deterrent remained and successive reviews left the Trident programme virtually untouched.47 The reason was threefold, not only has Trident been viewed by the Conservative Party as a sacred cow,48 but it has also traditionally been used as one of Britain’s justifications for her permanent seat on the UN Security Council. Moreover, the political and financial cost of acquiring the Trident system meant that the Conservative administration was reluctant to admit that it was no longer needed. Nevertheless, all Britain’s other nuclear capabilities were ultimately cut back with the Trident system given the sub-strategic role. As a result the RAF’s WE-177 free-fall nuclear bombs were decommissioned.49

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The majority of defence cuts therefore fell on the conventional forces. However, as in the earlier Nott and Healey reviews50 the issue of retaining influence within NATO remained key. With the advent of NATO’s new Strategic Concept, a major reorganization of NATO’s command structure was undertaken.51 This resulted in Britain’s loss of its one major command52 and led the British government successfully to pursue command of the new Allied Command Europe Rapid Reaction Corps (ARRC) at Germany’s expense. However, there was a significant cost to this – the commitment of two divisions and a headquarters staff.53 Support for Europe’s other institutions, in particular the WEU, remained more sanguine. Britain’s position within NATO allowed it to have more influence and use its relationship with the US to its advantage. However, the Conservative’s support for Bush in the 1992 Presidential election soured AngloAmerican relations. Moreover, support for the WEU rose as the EU expanded. This led to Britain finding itself increasingly isolated within Western Europe. To cover the high cost of the ARRC commitment, defence cutbacks fell on other conventional areas. Officially, the aim was to have ‘smaller forces, better equipped, properly trained and housed, and well motivated. They will need to be flexible and mobile and able to contribute both in NATO and, if necessary, elsewhere.’54 However, although ‘Options for Change’ allowed the services to get rid a lot of their older kit, the goal of making the remaining forces more flexible and mobile was sacrificed. A number of procurement decisions were delayed, such as the order for new amphibious ships, and those that were made largely reflected Cold War commitments such as the order for Challenger 2 main battle tanks. The situation was subsequently made worse with the Front Line First: Defence Costs Study review, which made further reductions. These principally focused on the support units with the result that deploying and sustaining forces abroad became increasingly problematic. This reflected the need for the government to emphasize its defence credentials at minimum cost, a trend towards political tokenism that was most evident in the announcement of the purchase of 65 Tomahawk Land Attack Missiles in 1995.55 This decision was announced in parliament to the surprise of the services, while ministers quietly ignored the navy’s subsequent argument for a second, more substantial purchase to give it a sustainable capability.

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With smaller forces the Ministry of Defence was initially unwilling to undertake further overseas commitments. Among its West European allies Britain was noticeable in failing to send ground troops to Somalia when the United States called for assistance.56 It was also one of only two EU states to vote against sending military forces as peacekeepers during the initial break-up of the Yugoslav Federation. However, circumstances subsequently forced the British government to take a more proactive role, especially once the issue of Britain’s retention of its permanent seat on the UN Security Council again became an issue in the mid-1990s.57 Britain subsequently pulled together an infantry force for the escort of humanitarian aid in Bosnia and when a Serb mortar attack in February 1994 led to wide-scale casualties the British deployment was increased with elements of 24 Airmobile Brigade. After the Dayton peace agreement Britain was involved not only heavily as part of the ARRC commitment but also took responsibility for one of the three sectors deploying a divisional headquarters and supporting units. For defence policy the early years of the post-Cold War era were traumatic. Institutional conflict and jockeying for position within the various organizations dominated defence policy. Major cutbacks in defence left Britain, like many of its European counterparts, with smaller, poorly equipped forces. At the same time, the operational tempo for these forces had increased significantly and the various services found themselves over-stretched and in reality unable to support their traditional military tasks. Into the new millennium: defence under Labour Not surprisingly the Labour front-bench team had been very critical of the Conservative government’s handling of defence policy. In part this was an attempt to usurp the traditional Conservative stronghold on defence as an election issue. They argued for a defence review based on foreign policy, highlighting the hollowness of Britain’s defence capabilities and Britain’s isolation within Europe.58 However, the criticism also reflected the internationalist agenda within Labour and their concern about the role Britain should play in the world. George Robertson’s speech at the first Labour Party conference after the 1997 general election was far closer to that espoused by the Foreign Office under Hurd than his Conservative predecessor in the Ministry of Defence. As a conse-

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quence, the SDR aimed to ‘maintain and reinforce the present favourable external security situation’.59 It was officially based on the requirement: to move from stability based on fear to stability based on the active management of these risks, seeking to prevent conflicts rather than suppress them. This requires an integrated external policy through which we can pursue our interests using all the instruments at our disposal, including diplomatic, developmental and military. We must make sure that the Armed Forces can play as full and effective a part in dealing with these new risks as the old.60 Initially it was thought that such a review would take about six months and the government sought to canvass a wider range of views than had previously been the case in defence reviews. The result was a review that took 14 months to publish and which is still to be fully worked out. Robertson virtually admitted this when he stated that the SDR was only the first step in the process. The SDR sought to address the defence requirements to 2015,61 but retained the existing military tasks, defence roles and defence missions that were promulgated under the previous administration. The first obvious change to defence policy within the SDR was the creation of an eighth defence mission – defence diplomacy.62 In part this drew together a number of existing tasks under a new heading but it also reflected the government’s internationalist agenda and the desire that Britain should be a force for good in the world. Initially defence diplomacy had a European focus, continuing the pro-European bias of defence policy. Its links to NATO’s Partnership for Peace Initiative and overt reference to the UK’s existing Outreach programme made this implicit assumption.63 However, defence diplomacy has now been broadened to stretch beyond Europe, with the government’s contribution to the peacekeeping mission to East Timor being only the most recent example of this.64 The SDR also drew attention to Britain’s position as a leading member of the EU and this was linked into Britain’s membership of NATO and the importance of the United States.65 On first appearances this was an apparent reversal of previous policy reflecting a European, rather than transatlantic, focus. However, the change is subtler. It represented an attempt to keep a foot in both the US and

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European camps. The latter encouraged by the ‘EU first’ language of the document and the subsequent British-led initiatives on defence. The former placated by the preservation of the close links of a EUled force with NATO with the US retaining a veto on the release of NATO assets. Moreover, any initiative that seeks to shift the defence burden from the United States to Europe inevitably has the support of the incumbent US President. According to Blair: in defence we have long relied on NATO for our security. Without it and the US commitment to Europe, we would not have been able to bring peace to Bosnia or reverse the humanitarian disaster in Kosovo. We must shape European Defence policy in a way designed to strengthen that transatlantic bond by making NATO a more balanced partnership, and by giving the Europeans the capacity to act whenever the United States, for its own reasons, decides not to be involved. Only then will Europe pull its weight in world security and share more of the burden with the United States.66 This emphasis on giving the Europeans their own capability as a means of reinforcing the Atlantic Alliance received a boost when the British and French agreed that the EU ‘must have the capacity for autonomous action, backed up by credible military forces, the means to decide to use them, and a readiness to do so, in order to respond to international crises’.67 This was a significant change in previous British policy, which had sought to preserve US involvement at all costs. This initiative was followed through at the EU’s Amsterdam summit, which sought to provide a crisis management mechanism for the EU partners.68 The key to preserving American goodwill was NATO’s retention of a veto over dual-hatted units which British negotiators have been willing to concede. In reality this concession is of little consequence if Britain’s raiding of NATO stocks during the 1982 Falklands War is anything to go by. However, the process seemed set for slow progress until the Kosovo experience provided the British government with further grounds for a renewed impetus. In Kosovo the Europeans found themselves totally dependent upon an American decision to use force and for the conduct of the majority of the air campaign. When the Americans subsequently put a limit on their own ground

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deployment the Europeans struggled to put sufficient land forces together in time to implement the peace agreement.69 This led to a Franco-British call for a European corps level intervention capability.70 The Joint Declaration of the British and French Governments gave a renewed impetus to the Saint Malo Declaration and put concrete proposals forward. These were subsequently endorsed at the EU’s Helsinki Summit: on the basis of UK proposals, EU Member States committed themselves to concrete goals for capability improvement. They specified the scale of armed forces that they should be able to deploy rapidly, with the right skills and equipment, and able to sustain in a theatre of operations until the military job is done. They agreed by the year 2003 they should have modernized their armed forces so as to be able to draw from a pool of deployable units (15 brigades) to tackle the most demanding crisis management tasks, in operations up to corps level (up to 50,000 to 60,000 personnel, together with appropriate air and naval elements). These forces are to be militarily self-sustaining for at least a year. The EU Member States also agreed to develop collective capability goals in such fields as command and control and strategic transport, to address the specific capability shortfalls identified in the audit of European capability undertaken by the Western European Union.71 Linked into this was the British decision to assign troops to the headquarters of the Eurocorps. Politically this was highly symbolic, as the previous British administration had been one of the principle critics of the corps and had sought to block its evolution at every opportunity. This quiet reversal of policy, therefore, represented a shift of the UK from a confrontational position with the FrancoGerman founded Eurocorps to an acceptance of its importance. Conversely the French government agreed to English becoming the sole working language within the corps. Following on from this it was agreed that the Eurocorps will take over from the ARRC in Kosovo72 with the Eurocorps reporting directly to NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR). This marked the first significant step post-Helsinki towards the creation of a second rapid reaction force within NATO run by the Europeans. Subsequently

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NATO’s military staff has set the requirement for three high-level readiness headquarters and Eurocorps is one of the six bidders for inclusion.73 If successful, it will significantly enhance NATO’s expeditionary capability74 and by implication the Eurocorps will serve as the basis of a European capability to match NATO’s ARRC. Britain has accepted that it will not have the European lead of this corps. However, it will have seen off any challenge to its control of the ARRC, which will allow it to remain closely aligned to the US, without it appearing at all disloyal to the Eurocorps. The next step is an open British declaration of a brigade or more to the Eurocorps as part of the 15-brigade structure. Without such a move it is impossible to imagine that the Helsinki agreement will ever become reality, and Britain will have left itself open to criticism from its European partners.75 This step would most easily be achieved by offering the Anglo-Dutch Commando Brigade, which has already been committed to WEU tasks. By way of contrast the SDR also placed a considerable amount of emphasis on joint capabilities within the UK services and Britain’s ability to take unilateral action.76 To manage the remodelled expeditionary forces a new Permanent Joint Task Force Headquarters (PJHQ) was created, which is capable of overseeing simultaneous operations. This marks a significant advance over the previous situation and, if fully implemented, will mean that more than one operation can be undertaken outside the United Kingdom without recourse to the callout of a significant number of reserve personnel. This will, therefore, give the government a greater degree of flexibility than it has had to date and ensure that it is not forced to choose between NATO and EU-led operations. To support this, SDR also contained a number of structural changes, such as the reordering of the army’s brigades, which underpinned the declared policy. In addition, it contained a number of procurement commitments, such as to two large aircraft carriers and improvements to strategic sea and airlift, which will ensure that different elements of policy will have a more harmonious relationship.77 However, the realities of these policies remain dependent upon the provision of the requisite support capabilities, and this is where their continuity is brought into question. SDR highlighted the importance of technology, particularly the ability to gather information about an opponent and use it to maximum advantage. ISTAR

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and improved command and control are stressed within the SDR document and one of the first announcements after the SDR document was released was the decision to go ahead with the next generation of military communications satellites.78 However, the concept of information warfare is discussed in only five lines.79 Partly this reflects an innate conservatism that still persists within the MOD and that opposes radical change. It also represents the desire to see what emerges from the United States before making any financial commitments. Nevertheless, as the United States continues to push further ahead in command and control, communications and intelligence, and long-range interdiction systems, the widening gap between America and her allies can only serve to undermine NATO. The Kosovo experience reinforced this conclusion and it is worth noting the limited air contribution made by even Britain and France – Europe’s leading military powers.80 There are further clouds on the horizon. In the future Britain is increasingly likely to be presented with the choice of purchasing limited amounts of equipment in order to allow its armed forces to remain compatible with the United States or to build equipment in conjunction with its European partners. This situation is further confused by the industrial implications of such decisions. For example, there was much prevarication over strategic lift aircraft and the new air-to-air missile for the Royal Air Force. Each decision was viewed as an indication of the MOD’s bias towards either Europe or the US. For example, the airlift decision – to buy the Airbus A400M – emphasized the government’s commitment to Europe and European defence industry. This ran contrary to the air force’s preferred option, the C17.81 The BVRAAM (Beyond Visual Range Air-to-air Missile) decision had similar implications with France and Germany putting pressure on Tony Blair to intervene and ensure that the Matra BAe Dynamics missile was ordered rather than the rival US product.82 This time the RAF’s preference was for the European option and it got its way. To placate the US an interim purchase of AMRAAMs (Advanced Medium Range Air-to-air Missiles) was announced.83

Conclusion The Labour government has clearly taken a number of important steps to try and re-establish Britain at the centre of Europe and as a

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close ally of the United States. British defence policy has pursued this twin-track approach with some success and Britain has currently managed to restore its level of influence in Europe and with the United States to that achieved during the bleakest days of the Cold War. This is quite an achievement given the state of Britain’s relations with both Europe and America that the government inherited. At the same time the government has taken a number of steps in the development of an expeditionary capability. In capability terms the SDR has sought to give the British government three options. First, one involving the use of force in conjunction with its European partners as mentioned above. Second, to undertake independent action – presumably in support of dependent territories or as lead nation for a Commonwealth type operation. Third, to act in cooperation with the United States outside NATO in operations such as Desert Fox. These fit neatly into the requirements to placate both the Europeans and Americans while reserving the option of independent action in order to preserve Britain’s wider interests – such as retention of a Permanent Seat on the UN Security Council. However, the ability of Britain to continue this policy remains questionable in the longer term. There are difficult choices ahead, which could easily send this particular train off the rails. First, reference has already been made to the diversity in technological capabilities between the various members of NATO. In essence there are three tiers: the United States is on its own at the top (tier 1); the next tier down includes the major military states of Western Europe of which Britain is the leading member (tier 2); below this lie the smaller West European states and some of the new NATO members (tier 3). The Kosovo experience has indicated the problems of tiers 1 and 2 remaining compatible. There is a significant danger of Britain being forced to choose between tiers 1 and 3. Second, the defenceindustrial dimension looks as though it will force the government to choose in favour of Europe. This is probably the area in which the first crack will appear. Moves towards a greater European defence capability will reinforce the trend towards a deepening of the European political relationship and Britain’s divisions with its European partners on other issues, such as the single currency, may sour its defence relationship with Europe while the trend towards European defence-industrial consolidation may drive a schism between the UK and USA. Maintaining a policy balanced berween

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Europe and the USA will therefore revolve around the government’s ability to paper over the cracks as they appear, but the ultimate success of such a policy seems doomed from the outset. As a result Britain is likely to be left with a fudged expeditionary capability, which is half myth and half reality.

Notes 1. See S. Duke, The Elusive Quest for European Security: from EDC to CFSP (London: Macmillan, 2000). 2. J. Delors, ‘European Integration and Security’, Survival, vol. 33, no. 2 (March/April 1991), p. 100. 3. T. Blair, ‘Doctrine of the International Community’, speech made to the Economic Club of Chicago, Hilton Hotel, Chicago, 22 April 1999 (http://www.fco.gov.uk/news/speechtext.asp?2316). 4. See House of Commons Defence Committee, Fourteenth Report: Lessons of Kosovo, Report and Proceedings, HC.347, session 1999–2000 (London: HMSO, 2000). 5. Lord Robertson, ‘European Defence: the Way Ahead’, speech to Royal Institute of International Affairs, 7 October 1999. 6. Joint Declaration of the British and French Governments on European Defence, Anglo-French Summit, London, 25 November 1999; ‘Moving Forward European Defence’, MOD Press Release, no. 421/99, 25 November 1999. 7. Statement on the Estimates, 1999 (www.mod.uk/policy/wp99), para.17 (London: HMSO, 1999). 8. M. Evans, ‘British Officer Takes Over in Sierra Leone’, The Times, 2 November 2000, p. 20. 9. For a fuller examination of this argument see J. Roberts, ‘Oil, the Military and the Gulf War of 1991’, RUSI Journal (Spring 1991), pp. 11–16. In contrast D. Hiro, Desert Shield to Desert Storm: the Second Gulf War (London: HarperCollins, 1992), emphasizes the level of Kuwaiti overseas investment. K.R. Timmerman, The Death Lobby: How the West Armed Iraq (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1991) argues that it was to do with the West’s over-arming of Iraq and the imbalance created in the balance of power in the region. 10. The Strategic Defence Review, Cm. 3,999 (London: HMSO, 1998), p. 2. 11. In the deployment to the Gulf and Somalia the West European countries were the first to follow the US in announcing the deployment of their forces. 12. House of Commons Defence Committee, ‘Fourth Report: United Kingdom Peacekeeping and Intervention Forces: Report together with the proceedings of the Committee relating to the report, minutes of evidence and memoranda’, House of Common Papers no. 188, session 1992–93 (London: HMSO, 1993), p. xxvi. (Bold in the original.)

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13. Statement on the Defence Estimates 1993 – Defending Our Future, Cm. 2270 (London: HMSO, 1993), p. 10. 14. The role of the media in influencing public opinion has been clearly evident in Britain with the recent airlift of wounded from Bosnia. Operation Irma, the British aerial evacuation of a number of seriously wounded individuals from Bosnia was due largely to the media focus on the plight of one child. 15. Lord Carrington, Reflect on Things Past: the Memoirs of Lord Carrington (Glasgow: William Collins, 1988), p. 218. 16. S. Croft and P. Williams, ‘The United Kingdom’, in R. Cowen Karp (ed.), Security with Nuclear Weapons? Different Perspectives on National Security (Oxford: Oxford University Press/ SIPRI, 1991), p. 147. 17. See P. Cornish, British Military Planning for the Defence of Germany, 1945–50 (London: Macmillan, 1996); C. Bluth, Britain, Germany and Western Nuclear Strategy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), pp. 10–30. 18. See W. Churchill, The Second World War Volume VI: Triumph and Tragedy (London: Penguin, 1974), pp. 495–507. 19. J. Baylis, Anglo-American Defence Relations, 1939–84: the Special Relationship (London: Macmillan, 1984), p. 34. 20. C.M. White, The Gotha Summer: the German Daytime Air Raids on England, May–August 1917 (London: Robert Hale, 1986); J. Terraine, Business in Great Waters: the U-boat Wars, 1916–45 (London: Leo Cooper, 1989); D. Robinson, The Zeppelin in Combat: a History of the Naval Airship Division, 1912–18 (Henley-on-Thames: G.T. Foulis and Co., 1971), pp. 95–138, 204–33, 262–83. 21. E.R. Hooton, Eagle in Flames: the Fall of the Luftwaffe (London: Arms and Armour Press, 1997), pp. 13–76. See also Terraine, op. cit. 22. P.S. Meilinger, ‘Proselytiser and Prophet: Alexander P. de Seversky and American Airpower’, in J. Gooch (ed.), Airpower: Theory and Practice (London: Frank Cass, 1995), pp. 22–3 and A.G.B. Vallance, The Air Weapon: Doctrines of Air Power Strategy and Operational Art (London: Macmillan, 1995), p. 16. 23. M. Dockrill, British Defence since 1945 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1988), p. 32. 24. See W.S. Churchill, The Second World War Book III: their Finest Hour, the Fall of France, May–August 1940 (London: Cassell, 1949). 25. Quoted in H. Wynn, RAF Nuclear Deterrent Forces (London: HMSO, 1994), p. 13. 26. Ibid., p. 44. 27. L. Freedman, Britain and Nuclear Weapons (London: Macmillan, 1980), p. 5. 28. Defence: Outline of Future Policy, Cm. 124 (London: HMSO, 1957). 29. Wynn, op. cit., p. 397. 30. F. Roberts, 60 Years of Nuclear History: Britain’s Hidden Agenda (Chalbury: Jon Carpenter Publishing, 1999), pp. 153–4. 31. The United Kingdom Defence Programme: the Way Forward, Cmnd. 8,288 (London: HMSO, 1981), p. 6; A. Dorman, ‘John Nott and the Royal

Andrew Dorman 197

32.

33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

45.

46. 47.

48. 49. 50.

Navy: the 1981 Defence Review Revisited’, Journal of Contemporary British History, Summer 2001. Statement Relating to Defence, 1948, Cm. 7,327 (London: HMSO, 1948), reprinted in H.G. Thursfield (ed.), Brassey’s Naval Annual (London: William Clowes, 1948), p. 528. C. Ponting, Breach of Power: Labour in Power, 1964–70 (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1989), pp. 41–2. See Defence: Outline of Future Policy, op.cit. J. Pickering, Britain’s Withdrawal from East of Suez: the Politics of Retrenchment (London: Macmillan, 1998). The United Kingdom Defence Programme: the Way Forward, Cmnd. 8,288 (London: HMSO, 1981), p. 6; A. Brunner and I. Aitken, ‘Thatcher Heading for Battles over Gulf Force’, Guardian, 2 March 1981. Ibid; See also M. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years (London: HarperCollins, 1993), p. 162. W. Wallace, ‘Britain’s Search for a New Role in the World’, Observer, 15 August 1993. W. van Eekelen, ‘WEU on the Way Back to Brussels’, speech given at Chatham House, 22 September 1992. D. Hurd, ‘Foreign Policy and International Security’, RUSI Journal (December 1992), p. 2. M. Rifkind, ‘Peacekeeping or Peacemaking? Implications and Prospects’, RUSI Journal (April 1993), pp. 1–6. C. Brown, ‘Chief of Staff Protest to Major over Cuts’, Independent, 30 October 1993. D. Barrie, ‘Nuclear Conflicts’, Flight International, 27 October–2 November 1993, p. 18. T. King, House of Commons Parliamentary Debates, vol.177, sixth series, session 1989-90, 23 July–19 October 1990, Statement to the House, 25 July 1990, cols. 468–86. Front Line First: Defence Cost Study (London: HMSO, 1994). See also D. White, ‘Strategy Outlined for Blitz on Defence Costs’, Financial Times, 6 July 1993; and C. Bellamy and C. Brown, ‘Rifkind Squeezes Budget as Peace Dividend Falls Short’, Independent, 8 July 1994. Defending Our Future: Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1993, Cm. 2,270 (London: HMSO, 1993), p. 7. The recent announcement of cuts in Trident warhead numbers appear to have more to do with the problems at the Aldermaston plant than a desire for arms control. D. Fairhall, ‘Aldermaston Plant Delay a Factor in Decision to Scale Down Warheads’, Guardian, 16 November 1993. P. Calvocoressi, ‘Deterrence, the Costs, the Issues, the Choices’, Sunday Times, 6 April 1980. Barrie, op. cit., p.18. The United Kingdom Defence Programme, op.cit.; and Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1968, Cm. 3,540 (London: HMSO, 1968).

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51. Agreed at the NATO Heads of State and Government meeting in Rome, 7–8 November 1991, NATO Press Communiqué S-1 (91) 85, 7 November 1991. 52. Statement on the Defence Estimates 1993, op. cit., p. 10. 53. B. George, and N. Ryan, ‘Options for Change: a Political Critique’, in Brassey’s Defence Yearbook (London: Brassey’s, 1993), p. 44. 54. Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1991: Britain’s Defence for the 1990s, Cm. 1,559, (London: HMSO, 1991), p. 6. 55. Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1996, Cmnd. 3,223 (London: HMSO, 1996), p. 57. 56. House of Commons Select Committee on Defence, ‘Fourth Report: United Kingdom Peacekeeping and Intervention Forces: Report Together with the Proceedings of the Committee Relating to the Report, Minutes of Evidence and Memoranda’, House of Commons Paper no. 188, Session 1992–93 (London: HMSO, 1993), p. xxiii. 57. Ibid., p. v. 58. Ministry of Defence Press Release 055/97, 28 May 1997. 59. The Strategic Defence Review, op. cit., p. 8. 60. Ibid., p. 5 61. Ibid., p. 6. 62. Ibid., pp. 14–15. 63. Ibid., p. 15. 64. ‘Defence Diplomacy: Good Things Come in Threes’, MOD Press Release No. 367/99, 18 October 1999. 65. Ibid., p. 6. 66. T. Blair, speech at the Lord Mayor’s Banquet, London, 22 November 1999. 67. Joint Declaration issued at the British-French Summit, Saint Malo, France, 3–4 December 1998. 68. J. Lodge and V. Flynn, ‘The CFSP after Amsterdam: the Policy Planning and Early Warning Unit’, International Relations, vol. 14, no. 1 (April 1998), pp. 7–21. 69. Robertson, ‘European Defence’, op. cit. 70. ‘Joint Declaration of the British and French Governments on European Defence’, Anglo-French Summit, London, 25 November 1999; and ‘Moving Forward’, op. cit. 71. Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1999, para. 17. 72. L. Hill, ‘New European Task Force Takes on First Task in Kosovo’, Defense News, vol. 15, no. 7 (21 February 2000), p. 4. 73. L. Hill, ‘NATO Offer for High-alert HQs is Oversubscribed’, Jane’s Defence Weekly, vol. 34, no. 17 (25 October 2000), p. 12. 74. Ibid. 75. M. Evans, ‘Britain Will Control its EU Troops Says Hoon’, The Times, 20 November 2000. 76. See paragraph 4 of Secretary of State for Defence’s introduction to the SDR. The Strategic Defence Review, op. cit., p. 2. For a list of the enhancements to joint capabilities see G. Robertson, ‘Robertson’s Review:

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77. 78. 79. 80. 81.

82. 83.

Modern Forces for the World’, Ministry of Defence Press Release 172/98, 8 July 1998, pp. 2–3. Ibid., pp. 24, 26–7 and 29. Ministry of Defence Press Release no. 213/98, 12 August 1998. The Strategic Defence Review, op. cit., p. 21. See House of Commons Defence Committee, ‘Fourteenth Report: Lessons of Kosovo, Report and Proceedings’, op. cit. P. Beaver, ‘UK MOD Instructed to Re-examine RAF’s Future Airlift Requirement’, Jane’s Defence Weekly, 22 December 1999, p. 3; and N. Cook, ‘Endgame Nears for UK RAF’s New Transporter’, Jane’s Defence Weekly, 26 January 2000, p. 29. M. Oliver, ‘Blair in £900m Missile Row’, Observer, 27 February 2000, Business Section, p. 1. ‘Major RAF Equipment Order Announced’, (www.raf.mod.uk/history/ 00arch.html#eqpt), 16 May 2000.

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10 The Economics of Joint Forces Keith Hartley

Introduction: the need for critical evaluation The 1998 Strategic Defence Review (SDR) confirmed the increasing importance of joint forces and the need to extend the joint approach throughout defence, embracing the front line, command structures and support areas. The SDR claimed that ‘Success in modern warfare depends on joint teamwork. Battles and wars are won by maritime, ground and air forces operating effectively together in support of shared military objectives.’1 A further official statement stressed that: The concept of using Joint Forces with the three arms of the Services operating together, is today more and more important as the traditional distinctions between maritime, land and air operations have been removed. The Royal Navy, Army and Royal Air Force rely on each other and combined they provide a greater punch than possible as separate elements. By increasing ‘jointery’ we are not proposing to amalgamate the three Services into a single amorphous defence force. There is great value in the separate identities and distinct characteristics of the Navy, Army and Air Force … because the needs of the modern battlefield still require the specialist skills and ethos of each Service.2 The various arguments for jointery appear persuasive but such impressions need to be evaluated more carefully and critically. While there is a general absence of economics literature on jointery, 201

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economists would approach the subject by focusing initially on the defence economics problem and the need for difficult choices in a world of uncertainty. Typically, the economist’s task is to identify the range of choices together with the myths, emotion and special pleading in the case for jointery and to subject these claims to economic analysis, empirical testing and critical evaluation.3 A starting point requires an outline of the main features of United Kingdom (UK) joint forces.

The stylized facts of UK joint forces Joint operations are not a new concept, but previously they were implemented on an ad hoc basis during crisis or war. Future UK defence policy and planning will be based on joint forces.4 Before the SDR, there were some joint force initiatives, namely, a permanent Joint Headquarters, a Joint Rapid Deployment Force (JRDF) and a Joint Services Command and Staff College (JSCSC). The SDR extended the joint approach to create Joint Rapid Reaction Forces (JRRF), a Chief of Joint Operations, Joint Force 2000, a Joint Helicopter Command (JHC) and various other joint units. Table 10.1 lists the UK joint forces and units and their features. The official literature claims two major arguments for jointery. First, the armed forces together provide a greater capability than the sum of their individual parts; and second, joint solutions offer efficiency savings through rationalization and the elimination of wasteful duplication. Nonetheless, continued emphasis is placed on the need to retain the individuality and separate identity of the three services and their specialist skills, ethos, loyalty and commitment. For example, one option considered by SDR was to transfer all battlefield helicopters to a single service but the MOD concluded ‘as with merger of the Services, we believe that any advantages would be outweighed by the damaging impact it would have on ethos, morale and operational effectiveness’.5 In contrast, both the army and RAF had maintained separate air defence capabilities using different variants of the Rapier missile. Each used their own operating procedures, command and control systems, maintenance support chains and training organizations. This has been ‘operationally inflexible and wasteful’.6 The new Joint Ground Based Air Defence will ‘have a properly integrated and flexible low level air defence

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Table 10.1

Joint Forces, UK

Organization

Features

Joint Rapid Reaction Forces

A pool of some 20 warships, 4 ground force brigades, about 110 combat aircraft and over 160 other aircraft (replacing the JRDF)

Chief of Joint Operations

Top level budget holder for JRRF and for training of this Force.

Joint Force 2000

A single force combining the RN’s Sea Harriers and the RAF Harriers to operate from land bases or carriers. Plans to replace all Harriers with a common aircraft type.

Joint Helicopter Command

The Command will bring together, under a single joint organization, the battlefield helicopters of all three services.

Joint Ground Based Air Defence

Brings together the low-level air defence capabilities of the army and RAF regiment.

Joint Nuclear, Chemical and Biological Defence

A new joint army and RAF NCB regiment to be formed

Joint Forces Logistic Component Headquarters

Part of Joint HQ to coordinate all joint logistics support.

Chief of Defence Logistics

To replace the three single service logistics organizations with a single integrated organization

Defence Logistics Organization

DLO will include 14 Defence Agencies.

Joint Service Signal Units

Bringing together of the army and RAF’s communications support units.

Joint Doctrine and Concepts Centre

For developing joint doctrine and future joint vision for UK armed forces.

Source: Ministry of Defence, UK Defence Statistics 2000, DASA (London: HMSO, 2000).

coverage, as well as achieving greater efficiency, particularly in Rapier training and support’.7 Despite the emphasis on more jointery, the official position continues to emphasize the strengths of the single services: ‘we are not proposing to amalgamate the three Services into a single amorphous defence force’.8 These arguments for jointery need to be assessed critically, including the claims made

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about the continued benefits of three services, which include specialist skills, ethos, morale and commitment.

The defence economics problem The defence economics problem arises because the armed forces have unlimited demands for new equipment, more personnel and improved bases, but the resources available for defence spending are limited. This problem has been accentuated by falling defence budgets and rising equipment costs. Typically, equipment costs have been rising at about 10 per cent per annum in real terms, leading to forecasts of a one tank army, a single ship navy and Starship Enterprise for the air force! With a limited defence budget, rising unit costs mean smaller numbers of new equipment for the armed forces. Inevitably, the twin pressures of falling budgets and rising unit costs mean that difficult defence choices cannot be avoided: something has to go and the question is what goes? There are three broad sets of choices for defence policy-makers and governments. First, a further major defence review of the UK’s commitments, such as a Strategic Defence Review II which might reexamine the UK’s worldwide role; its commitment to provide a complete range of modern air, land and sea forces; and the size of UK forces in Germany. Second, the ‘fudge it’ option or a defence review by stealth, which encompasses reductions in training, delays in new equipment programmes and running-on old equipment. Third, improvements in efficiency leading to higher productivity, such as ‘Smart Procurement’ and the public/private partnership initiatives. Efficiency improvements might mean that it is possible to achieve the same level of defence ‘output’ at a lower cost, or a higher level of capability from the same expenditure. In this context, Joint Forces offer efficiency improvements by maximizing defence capability from a limited budget and/or providing cost savings through rationalization, less duplication and economies from shared training and logistical support activities. The UK defence budget provides only limited information on the costs of Joint Forces. Table 10.2 shows the main budget headings for the UK defence budget in 2000/2001. Joint forces have a specific budget of about £5.2 billion accounting for some 23 per cent of total defence expenditure (Chief of Joint Operations and Chief of

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Table 10.2

UK Defence Budget, 2000/2001

Budget Area Commander-in-Chief Fleet General Officer Commanding (Northern Ireland)

Expenditure: £ million 1105 545

Commander-in-Chief Land Command

3166

Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief RAF Strike Command

1609

Chief of Joint Operations Chief of Defence Logistics

335 4854

2nd Sea Lord/Commander-in-Chief Naval Home Command

588

Adjutant General (Personnel and Training Command)

1261

Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief RAF Personnel and Training Command 2nd Permanent Under Secretary of State Centre Defence Procurement Agency operating costs and nuclear warhead/fissile material programme Defence Systems Procurement Major Customers’ Research Budgets Total

618 2069 635 5617 435 22 820

Source: Ministry of Defence, UK Defence Statistics 2000, DASA (London: HMSO, 2000).

Defence Logistics) compared with the single services with a budget of £8.9 billion which accounted for almost 40 per cent of the total. However, this is a misleading comparison since the costs of the Joint Rapid Reaction Forces are borne by the individual services. For illustration, if each of the services contributes 20 per cent of its force to the Joint Rapid Reaction Force, the cost of the joint force would be some £1.8 billion giving a total cost of jointery of at least £7 billion in 2000/2001 (that is, including the £5.2 billion for joint operations and logistics). Some further insights into the UK’s joint units is provided by employment data for service and civilian personnel. Table 10.3

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Table 10.3

Employment in Joint Units, 2000

Unit

Service Personnel (000s)

Civilian Personnel (000s)

Chief of Joint Operations Defence Logistics Organization Joint Helicopter Command Total Joint Units

4.6 8.4 10.8 23.8

0.3 30.3 0.5 31.1

Source: Ministry of Defence, UK Defence Statistics 2000, DASA (London: HMSO, 2000).

shows employment data for the Chief of Joint Operations, Defence Logistics and the Joint Helicopter Command. The three joint units in Table 10.3 employed some 55 000 military and civilian personnel, representing about 18 per cent of total military and civilian personnel employed by the MOD in 2000. Once again, these are only part of the UK’s joint forces, but the data in Table 10.3 are the only published statistics on joint units: they reinforce the point about the lack of data in this increasingly important aspect of UK defence policy. The lack of published data means that parliament, voters and taxpayers do not have the statistical information needed for sensible public debates about the UK’s joint forces.

The efficiency of joint forces: lessons from the private sector Armed forces are monopoly organizations relying on rule-based decision-making so resembling command economies. In contrast, the typical Western economy prefers competition in private markets to state monopolies and prefers capitalism to central planning. Questions then arise as to whether the private sector provides any lessons for the armed forces and jointery? Employment contracts provide efficiency incentives. In the private sector, employers have limited legal rights over their labour force. Private sector employment contracts specify the terms on which buyers and sellers agree to market trading, which chiefly encompasses such items as wages, hours of work, fringe benefits, conditions of employment, including health and safety, trade union representation, strikes, and the notice required for quits and firing.

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In contrast, military employment contracts have some distinctive features resembling contracts of slavery. Individuals serve for a specified period which has to be completed during which they are subject to military law and discipline; they cannot strike for higher pay during their contract; they can be ordered to serve in a variety of locations, sometimes with little notice and without family support; and their duties can result in injuries and death. The duration of military employment contracts creates a challenge for the armed forces since long-term contracts and guaranteed employment make it more difficult to ensure that military personnel continue to provide efficient effort levels. Private firms offer incentive payments to managers and workers whereby they reward efficiency improvements and innovation: entrepreneurs and top managers share in profits whilst other managers and workers might receive performance-related pay. In privately-owned firms, the pursuit of profits leads to the continuous search for opportunities to reduce and economize on costs. Such economies might be achieved by creating new forms of industrial organization and by mergers with other firms. Pressure to economize on costs comes from rival firms and from the capital market with its threats of takeover and bankruptcy and the possibility of job losses for managers and workers. In a competitive private enterprise economy, firms will not remain static: they will be subject to continuous change as they search for new markets, new products, new methods of production and new forms of industrial organization. They will, for instance, make continuous decisions regarding the mix of outside suppliers and work undertaken ‘in-house’: the ‘make or buy’ decision. In this form, the private enterprise model has implications for jointery. In private enterprise economies, the search for profits and the desire to economize on costs determines the form and extent of jointery, including the efficient size of an organization together with its degree of specialization and diversification. Mergers are the private sector equivalent of jointery and they involve both benefits and costs. The benefits of mergers include lower costs from rationalization, from achieving economies of scale due to a larger output and from economies of scope from producing two or more activities in one firm, like military and civil aircraft. Further benefits might include technical progress as the merger results in a larger firm able

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to undertake costly research and development. But mergers also involve costs through the creation of monopoly power resulting in higher prices, monopoly profits, a lack of innovation and inefficiency – epitomized by managers pursuing a quiet life, ‘consuming’ luxury offices and chauffeur-driven cars. There are three types of mergers, namely, horizontal, vertical and conglomerate. Horizontal mergers involve firms at the same stage of production, say, two tank producing companies or two warship builders. Examples from the armed forces might include mergers between infantry regiments or between artillery regiments or between vehicle repair units. Other examples include the formation of Joint Force 2000 (RAF and Royal Navy Harriers which will eventually be replaced by a common aircraft type), the Defence Logistics Organization and Joint Ground Based Air Defence. Vertical mergers involve firms at different stages in the production process, say, a tank company acquiring a steel-making plant. For the armed forces, possible examples include an infantry regiment merging with a vehicle repair unit, or with a logistics unit, or with an air transport squadron, or assuming responsibility for the recruitment and training of its soldiers. The Joint Helicopter Command resembles a vertical merger in that it combines attack, commando and support helicopter units. Conglomerate mergers involve diversified firms with a variety of unrelated products and services, for instance, defence companies acquiring motor car, insurance, construction and hotel businesses. Relevant examples for the armed forces include Joint Rapid Reaction Forces and the ‘ultimate’ solution of merging all three separate services into a single defence force (a conglomerate firm or the ‘purple’ solution). The private sector model of industrial organization and mergers would result in jointery being determined by market forces. Military units and bases would be regarded as firms with military commanders as entrepreneurs and managers: they would be required to combine their forces of equipment, personnel, bases and facilities to produce a defence output at minimum cost. In this model, commanders would be able to select the most efficient ‘mix’ of work undertaken ‘in-house’ and ‘bought-in’ from outside contractors. Similarly, unit commanders would be allowed to determine the most efficient size of their units and the most efficient scope of their operations, including the possibility of mergers and takeovers. For

Keith Hartley 209

example, in the army, this approach would allow unit commanders to question whether the traditional regiment is the best form of organization and its most efficient size. Army commanders would be able to determine whether it would be more cost-effective to merge with other similar units (such as horizontal mergers between infantry units to form larger units), or with different army units (such as vertical mergers between infantry, artillery, tank and transport units), or with units in other services (such as conglomerate mergers with an infantry unit merging with air force strike and transport squadrons). However, application of the private sector model requires that military commanders and their personnel need incentives to behave efficiently and seek lower-cost solutions. Competition, the capital market and profits provide the incentive mechanisms in the private sector and these features are absent in the armed forces and elsewhere in the public sector. For military commanders, the equivalent of private sector profits would be the introduction of performance-related pay. Commanders would be given fixed budgets with monetary rewards for economizing; and genuine entrepreneurship would allow commanders to change their ‘mix’ of inputs, so that they would have the freedom to allocate their budgets between different combinations of personnel, equipment and facilities, including training areas where they might replace large land training areas with simulators. In addition to fixed budgets, military commanders would also need to be given realistic output targets against which their performance can be assessed and rewarded or punished. Here, there are at least two problems. First, unlike the private sector, the armed forces operate as a set of non-competing organizations: indeed, the existence of three services encourages collusion and the allocation of the defence budget on the principle of ‘buggins turn’. Second, experience with output targets and performance indicators shows that they can produce unexpected and undesirable results. People can adjust and play games.

A critique: the economics and politics of jointery Economic models have been applied to political markets, comprising political parties, governments, bureaucracies and other interest

210 The Changing Face of Military Power

groups. Such models can be used to analyse the military-politicalindustrial complex which includes the armed forces, the Ministry of Defence, vote-sensitive politicians, especially from constituencies which contain large military bases or defence plants, together with defence contractors as interest groups of scientists, managers and workers. All these groups have budgetary and income interests in influencing defence policy and defence budgets in their favour and this will affect the way in which they present information to governments. For example, acting as budget-maximizers, bureaucracies, defence ministries and armed forces have every incentive to overestimate the threat and underestimate the costs of their preferred policies. Examples include exaggerating the enemy’s missile threat; focusing on regional instabilities and on the need to support every United Nations peacekeeping and humanitarian mission; identifying the ‘gaps’ in military capability shown by operations such as the Gulf conflict and Kosovo; and the need for new equipment to meet the requirements of new missions.9 As a result, economic models of bureaucracy predict that to obtain funds, the armed forces will ‘play any games’, including jointery. In doing so, the services will be selective in their use of language to support their case. For example, single-service forces are claimed to have benefits in terms of specialist skills, ethos and morale, while a single defence force is rejected as ‘amorphous’.10 It would be interesting to inquire why a single defence force could not achieve a distinct identity with the same ethos, morale and specialist skills and why such criticisms apparently do not apply to joint units. Joint operations will be supported by the services if they are the only means of obtaining funds in an era of tight defence budgets. Jointery can be presented as a means of ‘maximizing military capability’ and of achieving efficiency savings from ‘rationalization and coordination, so freeing up resources for other defence priorities’. These are attractive aims, but they cannot be assessed without information on the magnitudes involved, like the size of efficiency savings. Also, jointery creates opportunities for all three services to combine and collude to influence government policy in their favour. They can point to the need for Joint Rapid Reaction Forces enabling the UK to be a major participant in international operations such as the European Rapid Reaction Force, as well as being able to use such a joint force for United Nations peacekeeping and

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crisis management missions (including missions which are attractive to vote-sensitive governments). Jointery can also be used to justify and support major single-service equipment programmes which might not be approved on a single-service basis. Examples include strategic transport aircraft and combined RAF and Royal Navy support for the Joint Strike Fighter aircraft and the associated aircraft carriers for the navy. To economists, jointery resembles a cartel and monopoly situation. Here, successful capitalist economies prefer private markets rather than state ownership and central planning, and competition is preferred to monopoly. Applying these principles to the armed forces and jointery suggests the scope for inter-service competition. Civilians in the form of defence ministers, civil servants and politicians are at an information disadvantage compared with the expertise embodied in admirals, air marshals, generals and their specialist staffs. Competition and rivalry between the armed forces offers civilian defence managers at least three benefits.11 First, interservice competition generates vital information. For example, the RAF might divulge far more information than the Royal Navy about the vulnerability of the navy’s new aircraft carriers; similarly, the army will be more likely than the RAF to reveal the vulnerability of the RAF’s Eurofighters to surface-to-air missiles. Second, inter-service competition gives civilian defence managers some bargaining power in confronting senior military officers when seeking to control defence policy: it allows them to ‘play one service against another when particular policies are preferred’.12 For example, if the RAF is reluctant to support a United Nation’s (UN) mission, the navy might offer to undertake the task. Third, inter-service competition provides an incentive for innovation. The prospect of increased or reduced funding provides each of the services with an incentive to offer new ideas and novel methods of providing defence capability. If, for instance, governments and the electorate support British involvement in UN peacekeeping missions and are prepared to fund such missions, the armed forces might respond with a variety of novel proposals for providing such capability, including joint forces (for example, the use of unmanned air vehicles to avoid casualties to UK personnel). There is a major barrier to inter-service competition resulting from the fact that competitors do not like competition while govern-

212 The Changing Face of Military Power

ments and politicians usually dislike making the ‘difficult and painful’ choices required by the competitive process, namely that they have to choose a ‘winner’. Rather than compete, the armed forces prefer to collude and work together for mutual benefit, allocating budgets on the principle of ‘buggins turn’: this year, the RAF will receive its Eurofighters; next year, it is the army’s turn to receive its new armoured fighting vehicles, after which the navy will receive its new aircraft carriers and the Joint Strike Fighter. The armed forces are likely to oppose competition by pointing to the ‘costs and wastes of competitive duplication’ and by emphasizing the apparent benefits and successes of joint operations. However, jointery creates a cartel and facilitates collusion. Significantly, cartels, collusion and anti-competitive agreements among private firms are subject to legislation in the form of UK competition policy which aims to protect the ‘public interest’. Collusion between the armed forces is most likely when difficult choices do not have to be made. But collusion will cease when one of the armed forces recognizes that its vital interests are threatened by further budget cuts and the need for more reductions in its front-line strength. In this context, Sapolsky has concluded that ‘There is no better spur to candor, error correction, and creativity in defense planning than a very tight budget and a few smart rivals competing for budget share.’13 There is a further limitation of inter-service competition, namely, it is a competition restricted to the established armed forces. In contrast, private sector competition allows new entrants and these provide a further competitive stimulus to firms established in the market. For the armed forces, innovation has to be promoted by the existing services, there being no opportunity for a new armed force to enter the market. This means that any new revolutionary weapon has to be promoted by one of the services as was the case with the introduction of aircraft and the tank in World War I or nuclear forces after 1945. Some new technologies might increase interservice competition: for example, the army and the RAF might compete over the ownership of unmanned air vehicles. But, in other instances, new technology might be a threat to traditional force structures so that ‘established interest groups’ will oppose innovation which will make them ‘worse off’. Nor is competition necessarily attractive to governments and politicians. Competition requires governments to select a winner and

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as a result, there will be losers. A ‘winner takes all’ competition for a new major equipment project means that government will be subject to lobbying by defence contractors, with further pressures from voteconscious politicians preferring to share the contract between a number of bidders (and hence a number of constituencies). Similar problems are likely from inter-service competition, especially where the possible losers might be traditional army regiments with long histories and strong support from retired generals and from the local community. As a result, governments might avoid the difficult choices required by competition, preferring instead a ‘quiet life’ with the costs of such behaviour being borne by taxpayers. After all, unlike entrepreneurs, government ministers do not share in any efficiency savings which their policies might achieve. More fundamental questions arise about the appropriate balance between joint and single-service forces and the point at which a single defence force becomes worthwhile. For some tasks, the use of specialist single-service forces will be most efficient and cost-effective, while joint forces will more efficiently undertake other tasks. The parallel in private enterprise economies is the distinction between single-product firms, which obtain economies of scale and learning from specialization, and multi-product firms, which achieve economies of scope from the range of their activities. Currently, official policy simply refers to the need for ‘the specialist skills and ethos of each Service, and individual units depend for their fighting capability on the training, discipline and ethos generated by their parent Service’.14 This suggests that the armed forces will determine the appropriate mix of joint and single services and that it will be extremely difficult for government ministers and civil servants to question such judgements by the services. One solution to this information problem might be to introduce a policy rule requiring rivalry whereby the armed forces and private industry would be allowed to compete to offer innovative solutions to joint activities. Private firms would be invited to bid for economical jointery, seeking out cost savings across the armed forces and not only within each service. Such competitive bidding would extend from front-line units to support areas, including all aspects of military and civilian personnel policies. For example, there might be potential cost savings from joint recruitment and training; or the navy might find it difficult to attract married women returners, but

214 The Changing Face of Military Power

such trained naval personnel might be a valuable resource willing to serve in local army and RAF units (an opportunity requiring a joint approach). For front-line forces, private firms would bid for management contracts which combined various military units;15 and in the support areas, private firms would be invited to seek out cost-saving joint solutions. The distinguishing feature of competition is its ability to discover opportunities for cost savings and for innovation.

Conclusion: future possibilities and challenges Challenges and future possibilities for jointery can be grouped around two themes: 1. The challenge of creating an incentive system to promote jointery where it can be shown to be worthwhile. Three examples of incentives can be suggested. First, the introduction of employment contracts similar to those in the private sector which place senior armed forces personnel at risk by providing rewards for good performance and penalties for poor performance. Such contracts require the application of performance indicators for joint units, recognizing that these indicators can give unexpected and undesirable results. Second, joint units need their own budgets embracing the acquisition of personnel and equipment, with appropriate efficiency incentives. Third, the UK armed forces market might be opened up to competition by allowing other NATO armed forces to compete and offer joint force solutions. Similarly, there are real opportunities for international jointery at both the European and NATO levels. 2. One service or three? Further ‘downsizing’ will raise the inevitable question about the point at which a single defence force – a joint defence force – might be preferable to three single services. What, if any, is the minimum critical mass for a separate single service? UK policy uses language which suggests that this minimum critical mass has not yet been reached: ‘we are not proposing to amalgamate the three Services into an amorphous defence force’.16 In assessing the future of jointery, UK defence policy-makers will have to consider selecting the most efficient ‘mix’ of joint and single-service forces from the available defence budget: current

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policy is based on a case-by-case ad hoc approach. Jointery will involve both gainers and losers. Gains will be reflected in lower costs and greater military capability. However, if jointery is the military equivalent of monopoly, cartels and collusive tendering, then the losers will include UK taxpayers and citizens who are less well protected.

Notes 1. Ministry of Defence (MOD), The Strategic Defence Review: Supporting Essays (London: HMSO, 1998), section 8–1. 2. Ministry of Defence, Joint Forces: Modern Battlewinning Armed Forces (London: Ministry of Defence, 1999), pp. 1–2. 3. K. Hartley, ‘Jointery – Just Another Panacea? An Economist’s View’, Defence Analysis, vol. 14, no. 1 (1998), pp. 79–86. 4. See, MOD, The Strategic Defence Review, op. cit. and MOD, Joint Forces, op. cit.. 5. MOD, The Strategic Defence Review, op. cit., section 8–7. 6. Ibid., section 8–7. 7. Ibid., section 8–8. 8. MOD, Joint Forces, op. cit., p. 2. 9. T. Sandler and K. Hartley, The Political Economy of NATO (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 10. MOD, Joint Forces, op. cit., p. 2. 11. H.M. Sapolsky, ‘The Interservice Competition Solution’, Breakthroughs, vol. 5, no. 1 (Spring 1996), pp. 1–3. 12. Ibid., p. 1. 13. Ibid., p. 3. 14. MOD, Joint Forces, op. cit., p. 2. 15. A role similar to that played by managers in the National Health Service. 16. MOD, Joint Forces, op. cit., p. 2.

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Index Afghanistan 50, 61, 69, 81, 100, 102, 104, 178 Africa 55, 58–9 Air expeditionary wings 49 Al-Qaida 69 Albania 22, 31 Algeria 56–7, 69 Argentina 62 Asymmetric warfare 7, 15–43 Australia 55

El Salvador 3 European Union 4, 5, 94, 177, 187–92 Expeditionary warfare 10, 179

Balkans 3, 5, 47, 178 Bosnia 6, 17, 20, 97–8, 100, 104–5, 108, 116, 131, 180, 188 BR1806 131 British Army 11, 50, 201 Bulgaria 22 Cambodia 3, 178 Central Africa 5 Central America 58 Central Asia 47, 57 Chechnya 81, 95, 104 Chemical weapons 36 China 47, 55, 59, 95 Cold War 1, 2, 4, 9–11, 16, 47–8, 51, 54, 58, 60, 92–6, 101, 116–17, 119, 130, 134, 136–7, 159, 162, 178–81, 183, 185, 194 Cole, USS 45, 106 Complex emergencies 8 Cruise Missile 50, 131, 187 Cuba 51, 61 Cyber war 48 Dar es Salaam 47 Diego Garcia 49 East Asia 4, 47, 55 East Timor 6

Falklands/Malvinas 62, 159, 190 Federal Republic of Yugoslavia 4, 7, 15–16, 18, 95, 104, 116, 177 Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia 22, 28, 31, 32 France 56, 58, 179, 182, 191 Front Line First: Defence Costs Study 165, 166, 168–9, 186–7 Future Strategic Context for Defence 85 Germany 22, 99, 181, 183, 185, 191, 204 Greece 22 Grenada 61 Guam 49 Gulf 2–3, 6, 8, 17, 24, 47, 59, 61–4, 66–7, 81, 91, 93, 96, 99, 104–5, 108, 113–15, 118, 162, 177–8, 180, 210 Haiti 17 Humanitarian roles 3 Hungary 22, 36, 37 India 59 Indonesia 17, 56 Information warfare 120–1 Iran 59, 61, 66, 138 Iraq 2, 17, 20, 23, 50, 58, 61–3, 81, 94, 96, 102, 104–5, 114, 139, 177–8 Israel 62, 64, 79, 83, 115 Italy 22

217

218 Index

Japan 4, 55, 78, 99 Joint Doctrine and Concepts Centre 203 Joint Force 2000 131, 203, 208 Joint Helicopter Command 202, 206, 208 Joint Services Command and Staff College 1, 10, 168, 202–3 Joint Rapid Reaction Forces 10, 130, 202–3, 205, 208, 210 Joint Vision 2020 24 Jointery 10, 11 Kosovo 4, 6, 16–21, 27–39, 49, 53, 60, 80, 83, 91, 93–4, 96–7, 99–100, 102, 104–6, 108, 124, 179–80, 190, 210 Kurth, J. 5 Kuwait 2, 17, 58, 63, 95, 114 Lebanon 3, 61–2, 68, 79, 83, 104 Latin America 47, 51, 55–7, 59 Libya 61, 66, 101 Mexico 57 Middle East 3, 45, 47–8, 56 Ministry of Defence 11, 73–5, 81, 140–3, 151–2, 154, 157, 159, 160–1, 163–7, 169–71, 173, 188, 193, 202, 206 Mozambique 3, 178 Nairobi 47 National Missile Defense 52 New World (Dis)order 2, 5 North Africa 56 North Atlantic Treaty Organization 4, 5, 9–10, 15–16, 18–19, 21–3, 27–39, 50, 52–3, 60–1, 80, 84, 94–5, 97–8, 101–2, 104–6, 108, 116, 123, 132, 135–7, 145, 159, 162, 169, 177–8, 181, 183, 185–7, 189–92, 194, 214 North Korea 47, 61, 66 Northern Ireland 3, 94 Nott Review 130, 159, 185, 187

Nuclear, Biological and Chemical 15, 37, 62, 63 Options for Change 162, 186–7 Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe 177 Osama bin Laden 100 Panama 61 Peace dividend 4 Peacekeeping 3, 17, 95, 97–8, 107, 116, 186, 211 Permanent Joint Headquarters 10, 167, 192 Persian Gulf 5, 45, 47, 57 Peru 57, 68 Post-heroic warfare 3 Provisional IRA 69 Public/Private Partnership 142 Quadrennial Defense Review

24, 39

Revolution in Military Affairs 3, 8–9, 111–28, 132, 136, 145 Revolution in Political Affairs 9, 113 Royal Air Force 11, 35, 112, 131–2, 186, 193, 201–2, 211–12, 214 Royal Navy 11, 50, 112, 130, 159, 182, 201, 211 Russia 35, 47, 81, 95, 116, 137 Saudi Arabia 58, 64, 67 Sierra Leone 6, 17, 124, 178–9 Smart Acquisition 142, 145 Somalia 17, 20, 49, 77, 104, 116 South Africa 3 South America 58 South Asia 55 Southeast Asia 3, 55 Soviet Union 2, 4, 6, 58, 99, 102, 104, 177, 181–2, 184–5 Spain 101 Sri Lanka 68 Strategic Defence Review 9, 24, 124, 129–32, 143–5, 170, 180, 189, 192–4, 201–2, 204

Index 219

Sudan 50, 100 Suez 184 Syria 62 Taliban 69 Terrorism 53 Transcaucasia 3 United Kingdom 6, 8–9, 16, 37, 62, 69, 78, 81, 96, 101, 105, 111–49, 155, 160, 204, 210–12, 214–15 United Nations 7, 15, 18, 60, 74, 79, 94, 102, 106, 114, 116, 177, 180, 186, 188, 194, 210–11 US Air Force 49, 52, 67 US Army 51, 66, 119

US Marine Corps 50, 68, 77 US Navy 50 USA 3, 4, 8, 10, 15, 17, 22–4, 45–8, 50, 53, 61–4, 67, 77, 93, 95, 99, 102, 104–5, 112, 114–16, 122–4, 132–3, 135–7, 143, 145, 156, 159, 179–83, 185, 187–90, 193–5 Vietnam 61, 81, 96–7, 99, 102, 104, 114–16 Warsaw Pact 10, 94, 116, 177 Western European Union 177, 180, 187 World Bank 74, 78 World Trade Center 69 World Trade Organization 59