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One of the key vectors in the Air Force Strategy 2017-2027 is ‘People Capability’, and Air Force has introduced a variety of strategies to increase representation of women to 25 percent by 2023. In this post, Flight Lieutenant Jenna Higgins reflects on the need to critically examine attitudes to merit and bias in order to bring about the organisational change needed in today’s Air Force. On Friday 24 March, the National Defence, Police and Emergency Services Women’s Leadership Summit was held in Canberra focussing on ‘opportunities and challenges for women seeking leadership positions in today’s workforce and broader Australian community.’ The summit hosted some remarkable and inspiring ladies who relayed their experiences in both the defence/emergency services and the corporate arena. The speaker that most sparked my interest however, was Julie McKay, the Gender Advisor to the Chief of the Defence Force. As female aircrew, to say that I am sceptical of gender programs and schemes that aim to increase female participation and leadership would be an understatement. I have always believed that if there is a job you want to do, just work hard and make it happen. I further have a particular distaste for quotas. Surely the best person for the job will be picked; that’s purely a capability argument that everyone can get on board with. However, Julie McKay made a very interesting point regarding merit and bias. She stated that when you are down to the top three candidates for selection into one position, you have already determined that all are equally meritorious. They likely have similar qualifications, similar experience and equally meet essential and desirable criteria. Each candidate has reached this position due to equal ‘merit’. So who is selected? At this point, the position will usually be filled based on personality; the person who will most easily to fit into the culture. Alternatively, they will be just like the person who last successfully fulfilled the role. While perhaps unintentional and well meaning, this is unconscious bias also known as the ‘similar to me’ or ‘affinity bias’. It cements the status quo, and makes diversity at the upper levels of leadership more difficult to achieve. To be honest, this doesn’t just apply to women. In fact it applies to anyone that isn’t a middle aged white male i.e. the bulk of our senior leadership. CDF Gender Advisor Julie McKay meets with students at an Air Force Flight Camp [Image credit: RAAF] In this case, the argument for a quota system holds some validity whereby the quota is equivalent to the percentage of women in the organisation. This would encourage the upward growth of women until the system normalises. With that said, it is pleasing to know that the Australian Defence Force, especially the Air Force and Navy has recognised this bias and now seek to ensure that at least one female representative is on all promotion boards. Army have a slightly different system however seek to have female representation on all Personnel Advisory committees. McKay also made the point that the organisational structures should be adapted for the future ADF. Just as it is important for the Air Force to focus on technologically advanced platforms for future sustainability, the organisational structure must change to support a changing workforce and generational aspirations. Especially in the context of recent research which indicates that today’s young workers will hold between 10 and 15 jobs in their lifetime. One such example of evolving structural change is the encouragement of flexible working arrangements (FWA). FWA need to become the norm. And I don’t mean the norm for working mothers and fathers, I am suggesting the norm across the board. Personnel who do not specifically need flexible working hours should consider taking ownership over the hours they work in order to achieve the balance that suits their lifestyle best. Among many of the benefits of this system is that when parents do take FWA, they aren’t stigmatised or viewed as not contributing enough. This concept does not just have to apply to ground postings. At a flying squadron, it is not uncommon to use reservists to fly in a training role when short of personnel (taking leave, on course etc). Why can this not used as a construct to bring women (and men) back to a flying role in a part time position? The cultural shift that must continue to occur is to identify that women are not the problem. They do not need to be taught how to be leaders any more than a man does. They should also not need to adjust their style to be ‘one of the boys’ in order to gain respect. Parenting requirements should not require ‘special treatment’. It is the organisational constructs that need to continue to evolve with FWA being just one example. I deliberately say ‘continue’ because they are evolving, and amazing progress is being made. But now is not the time to strike it up as a ‘win’. Just as we acknowledge the requirements we set for platform acquisitions are no longer the same as they were 50 years ago, we also need to accept that the requirements for recruitment, retention and organisational structure are going to shift. Flight Lieutenant Jenna Higgins is a currently serving Royal Australian Air Force Air Combat Officer. The opinions expressed are hers alone and do not reflect those of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. #peoplecapability #organisationalculture #diversity #bias #merit #flexibleworkarrangements #employerofchoice #gender

In a future networked force, can we afford to have single-mission platforms? Wing Commander Paul Hay makes the case for air mobility assets to be equipped with additional sensors, in order to optimise every asset and provide airborne intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance (ISR) and communications capability across the operating environment. The acquisition of a suite of modern networked, or ‘networkable’ platforms offers Air Force the opportunity to think differently about how we may employ those capabilities. Perhaps we should start thinking of these platforms as a way to fly effects into the battlespace, and keep them powered and available for other users to employ to achieve their outcomes. We may for example consider using air mobility aircraft in different ways without impacting their primary mission or role – such as C-27 Spartan or C-130 Hercules platforms configured with ISR sensors to enhance their mission or provide an ISR sensor to land forces below. C-27J Spartan [Image credit: RAAF] The C-27, like other air mobility capabilities before it, is quite obviously configured to fit as much bulk and weight in the cargo compartment – these being the key drivers for the aircraft design and performance. This is no different to how we manage the remainder of our capabilities; ISR aircraft are primarily designed to carry sensors and their operators, not to carry cargo or passengers. What this means is that to provide any other effects, such as overwatch of a landing zone for a C-27, a second aircraft type must be tasked to provide that effect and have suitable communications networks to pass the information to the C-27. In our current force structure this may involve tasking an AP-3C Orion, with a dozen crew onboard, to perhaps simply provide a Yes/No answer to whether a landing or drop zone is clear. In a future force structure this may involve a dedicated tasking for an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV), when demand for these assets is likely to be significant. There would be similar requirements providing ISR support for a humanitarian assistance/disaster relief (HADR) activity; a concept I will discuss later. Where a limited, but still valuable ISR capability is required, or in instances where persistent UAVs cannot operate, perhaps we should consider enabling our other platforms – such as C-27 – by reconfiguring them to enhance their primary role or provide effects for others. Example of a pylon mounted ISR system A similar concept could be applied to C-130 aircraft, potentially without modifying the aircraft at all; instead utilise wing pylons to mount the ISR capabilities, such as the ISR pod shown at right. Not only could this provide enhanced awareness to the crew, but many of these reconfigurable pod mounted options are designed to be controlled by land or surface elements without any interaction by the crew. The C-130 could not just be used to clear a drop zone, but after the paratroopers have landed it could remain overhead to provide streaming video, threat warning, highlight targets with the inbuilt laser pointer and potentially use the laser as a target designator for laser guided munitions of a supporting fighter. Some of these capabilities can be controlled directly from the ground, enabling the customer to take control of the turret while the aircraft merely keeps it powered overhead. Consider how such platforms may have been of use during the Cyclone Debbie assistance efforts. C-27s, C-130s and B-300 aircraft are tasked for air mobility support, perhaps transporting valuable water and food or state emergency service (SES) personnel to locations struck by cyclonic winds or flood waters, but with each platform fitted with ISR systems. Each platform could be tasked to fly a different route to image towns, bridges, roads and dams, either with personnel operating the sensors or with pre-programmed collection tasks using unattended sensors fitted externally. The C-130 may be fitted with an electro-optic capability and able to stream imagery directly into the cargo hold for display on an AirView 360 video system for the emergency personnel to view on the transit to their nearby destination. The same video could be streamed offboard to the SES volunteers on the ground via Wifi to assist in locating flood rescue victims. SES members brief Minister for Defence and Chief of Defence Force following Cyclone Debbie [Image credit: Defence] What if in the year before the cyclone, defence had leant forward and partnered with Australian Industry, Emergency Management Authorities in Queensland, New South Wales and Victoria, and developed an iPhone and Android mobile device compatible ISR App based on a GoogleMaps engine. On landing the aircraft’s unclassified media hard drives would be removed and connected to an unclassified server or laptop, indexed and made discoverable to emergency services personnel for immediate use. Emergency Services staff throughout Queensland had each set their own searches around towns, over bridges and dams to alert them when new imagery was available to assist in their planning for the days’ activities. Immediately after the B-300 landed in Bowen and plugged the media hard drive into the internet, the metadata tagged data was indexed, and dozens of emergency services personnel across the state received alerts that imagery of their individual area of interest was now available for download. They each review the low-res small data chips that automatically appeared in the GoogleMaps alert box, and only pull the relevant hi-resolution images pertinent to their area to conserve valuable bandwidth. All of this being possible with the only person in the loop being the maintainer who pulled the hard drive on landing and plugged it into the local internet; a concept worth thinking about. Thinking more broadly, it would be an interesting outcome if Air Force developed a roadmap for future ISR and enabling communications systems inform the acquisition of a suite of pod mounted, platform agnostic capabilities to generate effects in the battlespace. These may include electro-optic systems, radars, electronic attack pods and communications enablers in the battlespace. In the Cyclone Debbie assistance scenario above, Air Force may also be able to provide mobile phone or wifi services onboard its persistent platforms above cyclone or flood affected areas where communications systems have been disabled. A RAAF KA350 King Air flies over flood affected areas after Cyclone Debbie struck Queensland [Image credit: RAAF] In this future, an air tasking order (ATO) for a KC-30 sortie may include a fuel load of 80,000lbs, a networked electro-optic/infrared pod for use by ground forces and an airborne gateway capability to provide communications translation and relay for land and maritime forces. Those same capabilities may be carried by a Triton UAS the next day to ensure the same supported unit is serviced by the effects. In this sense, the platforms are conducting their primary roles, and at the same time simply transporting and powering effects for other supported elements in the battlespace. This future view would require us to ‘operationalise’ communications in the Air Force. This process would start with communications planners in the Master Air Attack Plan (MAAP) cell of the Air Operations Centre (AOC) who would understand the supported commander’s scheme of manoeuvre for the ATO day being planned, and ensure that the requested communications and ISR effects are taken into account with the force laydown being planned. They would look at the available platforms on task during the effects period, perhaps moving a tanker orbit 20nm closer to the supported commander to ensure the networked sensors are in range of both the target area and their datalinks. The ATO would drop, the aircraft would launch, and during execution the communications personnel in Combat Operations Division would dynamically re-task assets remotely or talk to the aircraft airborne to generate the required ad-hoc networks to support the commander. Nothing comes for free of course. The adoption of such a concept comes with the usual overheads of training, through-life support of systems, stores carriage clearance, degradation of fleet numbers during modifications and the risk that it may look attractive to some people to employ expensive platforms in other than in their primary role. Air Force would need to ensure that any investments in this arena are integrated within the extant Air Force Capability Programs and joint force design and make sense in terms of personnel and funding resource constraints. It would also require Air Force to establish and equip an agile experimentation, integration and testing organisation well resourced to conduct this type of work. Perhaps this would fit nicely within our new Air Warfare Centre. Wing Commander Paul Hay is a current serving RAAF Officer. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect those of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. #interagency #capabilitydevelopment #HADR #airmobility #sensors #ISR

This month marks the 75th anniversary of one of Australia’s most important feats of arms, the defence of Port Moresby by the Royal Australian Air Force’s No. 75 Squadron in March/April 1942. Between December 1941 and March 1942, Japanese forces shocked Australians when they swept southwards, capturing Malaya, the Netherlands East Indies and Rabaul in rapid succession. Suddenly, the battle for Australia had reached New Guinea, only 150 kilometres from the northern tip of Queensland. Control of the air-sea gap that constitutes Australia’s natural defensive barrier was the key. If Port Moresby fell, intensified bombing followed by a sea-borne invasion, with its unthinkable consequences, seemed likely. Army reinforcements which had been sent to Port Moresby in January were coming under heavy air attack from Rabaul, now a major Japanese stronghold. RAAF Catalinas and Hudsons based in New Guinea retaliated, but to little effect. As the supremacy of Japan’s elite fighter squadrons in the preceding months had shown, effective air defence demanded modern aircraft flown by skilled pilots. 75 Squadron Kittyhawk overhead Port Moresby [Image credit: Defence] Urgent representations to the United States resulted in the delivery to the RAAF of P-40 Kittyhawk fighters. In an atmosphere of crisis, three squadrons – Nos. 75, 76 and 77 – were raised in the first two weeks of March, and only a week later No. 75 Squadron was rushed to Port Moresby. Several pilots were veterans of the North African campaign, but for the others the word ‘training’ seems too formal to describe their introduction to the Kittyhawk. When they landed in Port Moresby some had flown a mere dozen hours in the aircraft and had fired the guns only once. Yet under the leadership of Squadron Leader John Jackson, they were about to achieve one of the great feats of arms in Australian military history. They were fortunate in the Air Force’s choice of their leader. Born in Brisbane in 1908, Jackson had been a grazier and stock and station agent, as well as a member of the Citizen Air Force. He had fought in North Africa with No. 3 Squadron and had 5½ kills to his credit before returning to the Southwest Pacific Area. Jackson assumed command of No. 75 Squadron on 19 March 1942 and led his unit north to war that very same day. Arriving at Moresby’s ‘Seven Mile’ strip (so named because it was seven miles from the town) on the 21st, the pilots of the first four Kittyhawks were fortunate to escape with their lives when Australian Army gunners opened fire, mistaking them for Zeros. All aircraft were hit. Known affectionately as ‘Old John’ because his thirty-four years made him elderly for a fighter pilot, Jackson provided his untried unit with a calm head, a wealth of combat knowledge, and inspirational leadership. When two of his pilots shot down an enemy reconnaissance aircraft within an hour of the squadron’s arrival at Port Moresby and in full view of the garrison, spirits were immediately lifted. The day after arriving Jackson led nine Kittyhawks – including one flown by his younger brother Les – on a strafing attack against Lae. Taking off at first light and catching the enemy by surprise, No. 75 Squadron swept in from the sea so low that the wing of one Kittyhawk struck a parked aircraft. Twelve enemy machines were left in flames and another five were damaged. That set the scene for the coming weeks as the squadron flew an exhausting schedule, alternating between daring strikes against Japanese strongholds and sudden scrambles to defend Port Moresby. Squadron Leader John Jackson, 28 April 1942 [Image credit: RAAF] When Jackson failed to return from a reconnaissance mission on 10 April his squadron sank into a depression, a mood which was lifted eight days later when it was learnt he was safe. Having been bounced by three Zeros and shot down near Lae, Jackson had made a remarkable escape, firstly feigning death alongside his crashed aircraft so the circling Zeros would not finish him off; and then, helped by two natives, trekking bare-foot through the jungle for eight days, occasionally within earshot of Japanese patrols. Nor was the drama over then. As the aircraft which brought him back to Port Moresby was about to touch-down it was attacked by a Zero, a bullet shooting off the tip of Jackson’s right index finger. It nevertheless landed safely and within days Jackson was back on operations. Fate, however, is an ephemeral power. The intensity of sustained combat had by this time reduced No. 75 Squadron’s strength severely. On 28 April Jackson led the squadron’s five remaining serviceable Kittyhawks against an enemy force of eight bombers and their fighter escorts and, in the ensuing combat, after destroying a Zero, was shot down and killed. In just over six tumultuous weeks, Jackson’s men had curtailed Japanese air power in New Guinea by destroying eighteen enemy aircraft in the air and seventeen on the ground. The price was severe: No. 75 Squadron had effectively ceased to exist, having lost twelve pilots and twenty-two aircraft. But Port Moresby was still in Australian hands; and on 3 May twenty-six USAAF Airacobra fighters arrived, becoming the first American aircraft to be based in New Guinea. The immediate threat to Australia had been contained. Shortly afterwards, in a fitting memorial to one of Australia’s greatest feats of arms and to No. 75 Squadron’s inspirational commander, the Seven Mile strip was renamed ‘Jacksons’. Australian Defence Force assets continue to operate from Jackson’s International, Port Moresby [Image credit: RAAF] Dr Alan Stephens is a Fellow of the Sir Richard Williams Foundation #AirPower #RAAF #SecondWorldWar

In the first post of a four-part series on air power and strategy, Peter Layton discusses the importance of defining objectives to strategy-making. Strategy and air power confuse many, both in and out of uniform. Over four posts we’ll discuss how the two relate; mainly trying to make clear the concept of strategy. Making successful strategies is by no means easy, particularly when time is short and demands many.  The task is not made easier if you’re unsure what strategy is. Strategy is simply a way to solve specific types of problems.  Strategy’s big idea – and its big attraction – is that it offers the possibility of shaping events rather than being shaped by them. Other methods are better for other types of problems as we’ll discuss later. The type of problems that strategy is intended for are those where an objective – an ‘end’ – can be defined. The strategy adopted may not succeed, but the intention is to realize this desired outcome. Western thinking since Carl von Clausewitz has stressed that military force is used to achieve political outcomes: “the political object is the goal, war is the means of reaching it”. A strategy’s objectives are accordingly best expressed in terms of politics. The field of politics between states has been examined for decades within the academic discipline of International Relations. Its language, concepts and theories developed over many years can be used to assist defining the desired ends. British strategist Basil Liddell-Hart advanced thinking about ends in stressing that the aim of war should be a better peace. When fighting ceased, you should be better, not worse, off.  Accordingly, your political object is not just the return to the status quo ante as this led to the war in the first place. War should aim at the peace beyond, not the war in itself.  Clausewitz noted: “The political object…will thus determine…the military objective to be reached”. Achieving the military objective is a stepping-stone to the political end, not an end in itself. In recent years, Western states have had great difficulty in defining the desired ends of various conflicts entered into.  However, strategy is not the appropriate problem-solving methodology if you cannot define the desired ends. Well-defined strategic ends lay behind the stunning success of the Israeli Air Force (IAF) in the June 1967 Six Day War.  Israel wished to change the relative balance of power between itself and surrounding Arab states into a more favourable one; with this its likelihood of survival would be improved. Within the Arab alliance, Egypt had the largest neighbouring military forces. If these could be significantly weakened relative to Israel, a better peace could be established. The IAF’s role was to diminish the Egyptian Air Force’s (EAF) combat power.  The way chosen to achieve this was through an offensive counter-air operation that predominantly attacked EAF airbases. Planning began in 1963. An intensive intelligence collection programme was commenced to gain and continually update detailed information on all Arab airbases. Very detailed mission planning was undertaken, and air and ground training optimised for the particular types of missions envisaged, with the IAF’s force structure purposefully developed. The detailed planning revealed that the IAF’s force structure was inadequate for the task envisaged;  however, a larger force structure was simply unaffordable. With the means insufficient for the ends sought, the IAF response was to adjust the way it would employ its air power. The crucial change was to put significant emphasis on achieving very rapid aircraft turnarounds. Generating more sorties would give a virtual, if not literal, increase in air combat fleet size. Other measures taken included having three pilots per aircraft, achieving a very high aircraft serviceability rate and reducing to a bare minimum aircraft withheld for national air defence. Only twelve Mirages were retained from the air combat force of 196 aircraft that included 76 Mirage IIICJs. Formation of the Israeli Mirage fighters in 1967. [Image credit: http://ibzine.idu.edu.pl/?p=420] The IAF generated about 1,000 sorties on 5 June 1967 of which some 750 were flown against Egypt and the remainder against Syria, Jordan, and Iraq. The EAF lost 304 aircraft that day, most on the ground with only nine shot down during air-to-air combat. In addition to EAF losses, half the small Syrian Air Force was destroyed with Jordan’s completely annihilated. The IAF lost 20 aircraft, a worrying daily percentage for a long war but a reasonable trade off for a short one.  By war’s end 452 Arab aircraft had been destroyed for the loss of 46 Israeli aircraft. The IAF dramatically changed the relative balance of power between itself and surrounding Arab air forces. This success came from a single-minded concentration on achieving the ends; indeed the operation’s name was Moked, which translates as ‘focus’ in English. The offensive counter-air operation was very carefully choreographed; much could have gone wrong and almost did. Egypt’s President Nasser told the EAF Chief to expect an attack 3-5 June; the Chief sought to undertake a pre-emptive strike against IAF bases but for political reasons was not allowed.  Such an attack would have significantly upset the IAF’s attack schedule. The strategy’s ends drove a resource-constrained IAF to adopt a fragile plan that optimised the IAF for a very specific operational circumstance. It significantly helped Israel achieve its desired better peace albeit there were risks involved. But what happens if you can’t define the ends?  In that case, using strategy as a problem-solving tool is impractical. Now, instead of trying to shape events, the air force concerned needs to be able respond to them. This is where the IAF finds itself today. Israel is in an intractable conflict with the Palestinians. Instead of defining and seeking a better peace, Israel has embraced a risk management approach, popularly termed mowing the grass.  This approach tries to limit the losses incurred if some specific feared risk eventuates; in Israel’s case, this would involve the Palestinians in Gaza or Lebanon launching a mass unguided rocket attack into populated areas.  The feared risk event occurred in Gaza in late 2012. The IAF by this time was very well-resourced and had developed both an impressive integrated sense and strike capability that was able to quickly locate and destroy rocket launchers before they were used, and an equally impressive capability to shoot down in flight any rockets fired (the Iron Dome system).  The combination proved highly successful. While almost 1500 rockets were fired and many more attempted to be launched, only six Israelis were killed in the eight-day conflict with building damage sharply limited as judged by insurance claims. The IAF’s operations limited the damage inflicted on Israel by the Palestinian attack albeit without creating a better peace where such wars ceased. Risk management wars can reoccur and indeed the IAF had already fought two similar wars in Lebanon in 2006 and in Gaza in 2008 before the 2012 one, and would fight another in 2014. The importance of well-defined ends in the business of making strategy is apparent. It’s not that air power will be tactically less effective if you can’t decide the ends but you won’t build the future you want. Instead, the likely outcome is a nightmare vision of recurring wars.  Strategy-making is necessary if you want to win, not just fight, wars. Dr. Peter Layton is a Visiting Fellow at the Griffith Asia Institute at Griffith University.

In the second post of a four-part series on air power and strategy, Peter Layton discusses a frequently overlooked element of air power: the competition. The aviation business is a very complicated one where inattention to detail or shortcomings in expertise can quickly lead to catastrophe. Reflecting this, air forces are inherently rather technocratic organisations. This necessity can lead to a strong inward focus, onto the operation of aircraft rather than onto the reason for having an air force in the first place. In contrast, the air power business requires an outward focus. It is not how good your air force is in terms of having new equipment, flying abilities, serviceability or sustainability. Instead, it is whether your air force’s strategy is better than others. The second fundamental characteristic of strategy (discussed in Part One) is that it involves interacting with intelligent and adaptive others, whether friends, neutrals or adversaries. This social interaction is of a particular kind. Each party involved continuously modifies their position, intent and actions based on the perceptions and actions of the others participating. As the old saw declares, the enemy gets a vote. This attribute reveals the difference between a strategy and a plan. The objects of a strategy actively try to implement their own strategies, changing and evolving as necessary to thwart efforts made to obstruct them. In a strategy all involved are actively seeking their own ends.  In contrast, in a plan all involved are working towards the same objective, they do not have their own countervailing goals. Two air forces might be evenly matched but in combat the one with the relatively better strategy generally succeeds. And making a better strategy depends on taking the adversary into account. A good example is that most famous of air battles: the Battle of Britain (August-September 1940). The very name highlights why the German Luftwaffe failed. Germany sought to change the balance of power between it and the UK, thereby forcing Britain to move from adversary to at least being neutral. This strategic objective could be achieved by various ways but in each the key was to gain air superiority. The Luftwaffe accordingly devised a plan that sought to destroy the British Royal Air Force’s (RAF) Fighter Command in southern England in four days, then eliminate the rest of the RAF across the rest of the United Kingdom in four weeks. This was effectively a strategy of a single decisive ‘battle’ and yet the adversary was a peer great power – a fact that the Luftwaffe overlooked. The Luftwaffe’s  strategy was not devised based on a clear-eyed understanding of the RAF’s combat capabilities. Instead the Luftwaffe  rolled out their standard way of war with few allowances made for the particular adversary they faced. Historian Tony Mason nicely summed up the result. The Luftwaffe  “did not identify Fighter Command as the RAF’s and indeed Britain’s centre of gravity; then was slow to identify the critical contribution of the radar and sector bases; then underestimated the vulnerability of the radar units; failed to appreciate the strategic significance of shifting the attack to London and even then failed to identify a strategic target array on which to concentrate.” The reconstructed Second World War RAF Sector Operations Room at the Imperial War Museum Duxford [Image credit: Imperial War Museum] Unsurprisingly, the formal post-war RAF analysis based on captured German documents considered the major factor in the Luftwaffe’s  defeat was that their strategy took too little account of their adversary. The report partially excused this as reflecting Luftwaffe hubris, for after their remarkable victories against European continental air forces: “opinion in the Luftwaffe…ignored the mere possibility of any serious opposition to the great and victorious Luftwaffe.” This was a case of not treating the adversary as intelligent and adaptive but rather almost one of overlooking them completely. There are other ways to ignore the adversary though, and for this the French Armée de l’Air’s experience in the 1930s may offer some sage advice for peacetime air forces. The defeat of Germany in World War One was greatly due to French military efforts and particularly of the French Army. Unity of command was seen as the crucial factor in achieving this victory. Accordingly, the concept was institutionalised in the post-war years in the form of a unified joint command structure that amongst its functions determined the French armed force’s force structure. The air force’s air combat capabilities were then principally shaped by the need to reach a compromise between the various unified command’s elements. The air force consequently acquired aircraft with a strong joint force flavour. The demands of the internal bureaucratic battles were more important than the external threats from the rebuilding Luftwaffe. The result was the Bombardement Combat Reconnaissance (BCR) program, which fielded a large fleet of strike/fighter/reconnaissance aircraft (in modern parlance). This design pleased all groups within the unified command structure through being multi-role. Such a platform addressed the concerns of those worried about the air force becoming too independent as the BCR tied the air force to the land battle. By the late 1930s it was evident that the multi-role battleplane concept was technologically obsolete with single-role higher performance aircraft designs now prevailing. However, there was little time left and less money available to remake the air force. Anthony Cain writes the BCR program “saddled the air service with useless materiel…[however] the Armée de l’Air had created an entire organisation and training system based on employing formations of BCR-type battle planes. … The airmen became caught in a trap that forced them to try to perfect a flawed system in the face of increasing evidence that their technological gamble was bankrupt. To recast the air service into one that was better able to meet the Luftwaffe on more or less equal terms would have required great courage and large amounts of political capital.” The Armée de l’Air was not shaped by the threat, instead becoming in Pascal Vennesson’s words simply “an administrative rationalisation”. Harsh words but defeat was harsher still. The failures of the German and French air forces nicely illustrate that strategy is all about the adversary. It seems a statement of the bleeding obvious and yet two very experienced air forces missed it in both war and peace. Let us not repeat their mistake. Peter Layton is a Visiting Fellow at the Griffith Asia Institute, Griffith University. His PhD is in grand strategy and he has taught on this at the US National Defense University. He is the author of the book ‘Grand Strategy’. #history #organisationalculture #Strategy #AirPower #AirForce

In the third post of a four-part series on air power and strategy, Peter Layton reminds us that strategy is just an idea. Part One in the series examined the need to define ends and Part Two considered the competition. In earlier posts we discussed the first two fundamental characteristics of strategy. The third may perplex: strategy is just an idea. To examine this, let us use a simple well-known model. Art Lykke deconstructed the art of strategy into ends, ways and means where the ‘ends’ are the objectives, the ‘ways’ are the courses of actions and the ‘means’ are the instruments of national power (air power in these posts).  The ‘means’ are used in certain ‘ways’ to achieve specific ‘ends’. All three parts are important albeit some mistakenly try to simplify this even further. Some conceive strategy as being solely a balance between ends and means. Christopher Layne for example declares: “strategy is simple: it is the process by which a state matches ends to means.”  In this perspective, great means leads directly to great victories. Historically however, nations with great means have often found it surprisingly difficult to convert these into achieving their desired ends.  Given its great means, the United States should have been able to readily achieve its objectives in Afghanistan after 2001, in Iraq after 2003, or indeed in the 1960-70s in South Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia.  The outcomes actually achieved suggest strategy is more than the simple balancing of ends and means. Instead as Sir Lawrence Freedman observed, strategy is “about getting more out of a situation than the starting balance of power would suggest. It is the art of creating power.” Good strategy involves an astute course of action, a shrewd ‘way’, that is additive to the available power; the impact of the means is magnified. A good example is the 1967 Israeli counter-air strategy (see first post).  In contrast, poor strategy subtracts from the available means; it destroys the power you have. This is well illustrated by the German counter-air strategy in the Battle of Britain (see second post). This can be simplified into Ends = Ways + Means albeit it is impossible to actually sum unlike objects. Strategy is then the ‘ways’; it sets out the causal path to victory. It explains how the means will be used to reach the defined political objective.  Strategy is an idea but one with a well-defined purpose and big ambitions. In passing, Ends = Ways + Means also reveals that ends and ways are directly related.  A single way does not produce any possible end; the way used needs to be compatible to the ends sought. The consequence of this is that the grand strategy that shapes the subordinate air power strategy informs the choice of ways but that’s too complicated for now. In initially considering the ways that air power could be applied, the early air power theorists realised traditional strategic thinking needed reconceptualising. Surface force manoeuvre was inherently constrained by geography and the adversary’s defending forces. Now, aircraft could soar above all that. As 19th century aeronautical pioneer Sir George Cayley said the air was “an uninterrupted navigable ocean that comes to the threshold of everyman’s door.”  For the first time, military power could be applied at any time anywhere across a hostile state. The inter-war period was particularly prolific in debates about which target sets to attack. Douhet and Harris thought attacking the populations of major cities would undermine an adversary’s resistance. Conversely some generals and admirals considered that attacking an adversary’s land and naval forces would lead to victory. In a third approach, American thinkers decided that the adversary should be viewed as a system; attacking carefully chosen key industrial nodes would lead to the collapse of the adversary’s economy and war making ability.  In World War Two all three broad approaches were tried, at times succeeding and at times failing. A clear determination of what to target in future wars was difficult to make. Today two air power theorists stand out with a third possibly emerging. John Warden has developed a five-ring model to guide target selection. The adversary is perceived as a system composed of the leadership, organic essentials (energy, food, money), infrastructure, population and fielded forces. In this, the key ring is the leadership, both physically and psychologically, with some delving deeper adding values targeting. In simple terms Warden’s model recommends creating system paralysis, as this will most quickly cause the adversary leadership to change their aggressive policies. John Boyd moves beyond such target set thinking.  For Boyd winning requires working the Observation, Orientation, Decision and Action (OODA) loop faster than an adversary. With this, the adversary’s reactions to friendly force initiatives will always lag, becoming less and less appropriate to the battle as it evolves. He stresses that the crucial aspect to attaining the requisite superiority in OODA loop speed is rapid orientation. Success lies in building an accurate image of the battlespace more rapidly than the opponent. Situational awareness is the sine qua non of victory – a notion not unknown to aviators. Apparent in this discussion is the focus on warfighting. John Olsen has recently added the notion of systemic empowerment to the concepts of winning through systemic paralysis that Warden and Boyd developed.  With recent nation-building experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan in mind, Olsen considers that air power can be used for positive purposes not just negative. He envisages “systemic empowerment [that] would create better conditions for friendly actors to assume power. [It would] encourage, enhance, establish, and educate.”  Air power would be used not just to destroy but also to build. Which particular way some future strategy should embrace depends both on the context and the ends sought. In this it’s worth noting that the target set approaches, and OODA loops offer simplicity in their advice but may draw attention away from other air power aspects. You will recall the Israelis in 1967 (first post) focused on developing the capability for higher sortie rates as a way to magnify their limited means and achieve their strategic ends.  This lateral thinking example highlights a criticism by Peter Faber about air power thinking that needs to be remembered when developing practical air strategies: “the causal relationship between aerial attacks and political outcomes remains murky…a clear exposition of this relationship remains the Holy Grail of air power theory.” Air power strategising remains a work in progress. Peter Layton is a Visiting Fellow at the Griffith Asia Institute, Griffith University. His PhD is in grand strategy and he has taught on this at the US National Defense University. He is the author of the book ‘Grand Strategy’.

In the last of his four part series on air power and strategy, Peter Layton argues strategies must be dynamic or they are doomed. In earlier posts we discussed three fundamental characteristics of strategy. This post completes the series in examining an often-neglected characteristic of strategies: they are dynamic, with a finite life.  Sometimes strategies are seen as immutable; once started they continuing unchanged for a protracted period. This is a serious misunderstanding. A strategy involves interacting with intelligent others, all seeking their own objectives. It will inevitably decline in effectiveness and efficiency over time as others take actions that oppose it, either deliberately or unintentionally.  Moreover, the complex environment within which strategies operate remains continually evolving and changing. Strategies should be continually adjusted to meet the ever-changing circumstances. They have a distinct life cycle: strategies are conceived, implemented, purposefully evolved through learning and at some point ended. A strategy may finish when it reaches its desired objective although, an earlier termination may be as likely. Adjustments can only go so far to address changing situations and eventually the extant strategy may reach a point at which its utility is less than its costs. Clausewitz’s culminating point captures this idea.  At some time in its life cycle a strategy will reach a culminating point where it has achieved the greatest effect for the effort expended. Beyond this point greater efforts will yield diminishing effects and bring only marginally greater benefits. The strategy may then be terminated, transitioning to a replacement strategy or some other approach. Conversely, the strategy may be continued if it seems it will still reach the desired objective. The focus then moves to optimising the strategy’s effectiveness and efficiency, shifting its culminating point further into the future. Strategy’s dynamic nature is well illustrated in the longest war Israel has ever fought: the War of Attrition (March 1969-August 1970). The Six Day War of June 1967 (see first post) ended with a ceasefire not a negotiated peace settlement. Egypt in particular was not reconciled, even after losing 80% of the Army’s equipment and most combat aircraft.  In “the phase of defiance” (July 1967-March 1968) Egypt built a defensive line on the Suez Canal’s west side, concentrating some 150,000 troops there. In “the phase of confrontation” (March 1968-March 1969) the Egyptian armed forces rebuilt and began periodic artillery fire and hit-and-run commando raids into the Israeli occupied east bank of the Suez Canal. Israel dug in, constructing the Bar Lev line of defensive fortifications. On 8 March 1969, Egyptian artillery fire became continuous, beginning the War of Attrition. Egypt aimed to prevent the ceasefire line along the canal becoming the new border through raising the cost to Israel of its occupation of the Sinai. Egypt’s strategy sought to exploit its relatively advantages in artillery and manpower while avoiding Israel’s land manoeuvre and air warfare strengths.  Israel’s initial strategy involved responding in kind with artillery duels and special force raids aiming to raise Egyptian costs, but by June 1969 the need for an adjustment was worryingly evident. In July, Israel doubled down, commencing a major air campaign, principally to increase the rate of attrition of Egyptian forces. The Israeli Air Force (IAF) was used as “flying artillery” to destroy the Egyptian artillery batteries and the fighters and surface-to-air Missile (SAM) systems defending them. Tactically this campaign was very successful but strategically less so. Israel’s economy, society and military force could fight short, sharp wars but this protracted war was becoming unexpectedly painful. Israel now changed its strategy. In January 1970 the IAF began undertaking deep penetration raids into the Egyptian hinterland principally aiming to pressure the Egyptian leadership into abandoning the war.  Egypt’s air defences were insufficient to adequately protect its rear areas in Cairo and along the Nile valley. The IAF’s coercive diplomacy worked but Egypt’s leaders rather than ceasing hostilities decided to seek direct assistance from Egypt’s ally, the USSR. In Operation Kavkaz (“Caucasus”) the Soviet Union deployed unattributed air defence units to Egypt. By early March 1970, the Soviets had deployed three SAM brigades and five squadrons of MiG-21MFs to Cairo, Alexandria, and Aswan. In addition, to more effectively defend against IAF low altitude attacks, upgraded SA-2, SA-3, and SA-7, as well as ZSU-23/4 anti-aircraft artillery, were provided to Egypt together with embedded Soviet personnel. The Soviet forces greatly strengthened rear area air defence while the Egyptians maintained attacking the Bar Lev line. Together they steadily pushed SAM systems ever closer to the Suez Canal, providing a defensive screen for Egypt’s artillery forces. In mid-April Israel ceased deep strikes to avoid confrontations with Soviet forces and its strategy switched back to the earlier attrition focussed one practised before January 1970.  With the emphasis returning back on canal zone operations, air battles sharply intensified. In early July 1970 the IDF chief noted that IAF had recently lost three aircraft attacking upgraded SA-2 sites jointly manned by Egyptians and Russians whose tactics now included launching salvos not just single missiles. By late July, Soviet aircraft were trying to engage IAF aircraft conducting attacks on the west bank of the Suez Canal while also flying combat air patrols in support of Egyptian aircraft attacking Israeli positions to the east. IAF air superiority was becoming in doubt. To deter the Russians, on 30 July, in Operation Rimon (Pomegrante) 20 an IAF force of four F-4s and ten Mirages ambushed 24 Soviet Mig-21s, shooting down five. Three days later however, three SA-2 and one SA-3 were moved undetected within 15km of the Canal, shooting down an IAF F-4 and damaging another. The SAM radars were using frequencies that IAF electronic warfare equipment did not cover. Worse, the new SAM sites could now engage IAF aircraft flying east of the canal. Israel suddenly decided to accept the Rogers Plan, brokered by the United States, and end the War of Attrition on 7 August 1970. Immediately before it came into effect, Egyptian forces hurriedly deployed another 17 artillery units and 13 SAM batteries close to the canal, covering the entire front. The IDF chief noted there was now “a hell of a lot of artillery, all covered by missiles.” Even though IAF losses were half those of the preceding Six Day War and much less than Egypt’s — 20 IAF aircraft lost (mostly to SAMs) compared to some 110 lost by Egypt — Israel ended the 17-month War of Attrition worse off than it started. During the war, both side’s strategies were dynamic: they were adjusted, changed, and even reverted as circumstances required. Strategies inherently have a finite life as all sides learn and adapt. They are not set-and-forget. The War of Attrition nicely illustrates all four fundamental characteristics of strategy discussed across our four posts. Strategy has defined ends; it is all about interdependent interaction between all involved; it is simply an idea, the ‘ways’ in ends, ways and means; and it has a life cycle, it arises, evolves through learning and finishes. Remembering these four attributes can bring some clarity to your future strategising. Making strategy is not an easy task but being sure of what strategy is will help. Peter Layton is a Visiting Fellow at the Griffith Asia Institute, Griffith University. His PhD is in grand strategy and he has taught on this at the US National Defense University. He is the author of the book ‘Grand Strategy’. #history #Strategy #AirPower #AirForce #lessonslearned

The Central Blue sat down with Chief of Air Staff – Defence Command Denmark, Major General Anders Rex, on the sidelines of the March Williams Foundation seminar, to talk about high intensity warfare, adaptation and training, and recruiting and retention. Major General Rex joined the Danish Air Force in 1994 and has an extensive history flying the F-16 – including as the detachment commander for the Royal Danish Air Force F-16 Libya Force in 2011 – as well as performing staff roles in planning, acquisition and logistics. Central Blue (CB): What do you think high intensity warfare is? Is it possible to define? Does it depend on the capability of the adversary? Major General Rex (MG Rex): Coming to a seminar like this, you end up with more questions than answers. If you had asked me before, I may have had an idea what high intensity warfare was, but now I don’t. Actually, I think, what is going to be interesting about the times we live in is how do we know we are in a conflict for instance. We have the Russians using the chemical substances. And we have cyber attacks continuously. I don’t know what conflicts we will have in the future. I don’t know what how to define what the threshold is [for high intensity]. For the guy being shot at, that is high intensity. If we are flying and dropping bombs in Iraq, that’s a different intensity than dropping bombs in Syria, because of the perceived threat of the pilot. (CB): To follow on from that, are you able to define high intensity warfare from just an air perspective? Is it possible to do that? And from the Danish perspective, are the space and cyber domain built into that domain? (MG Rex): I think it will be multi-domain. Say we are practicing soccer to use an analogy. We know the rules, number of players each time. But I think the problem is, our adversaries aren’t telling us what players they are bringing, how many, or what game they are playing. They could be practicing golf for all I know. That is what I think will be the big challenge. (CB): How do you feel your organisation has adapted to preparing for a HIW? Do you think that you have to? Do you war game potential scenarios you could find yourself in? (MG Rex) We aim to train to the highest standard possible, with the resources we are given of course. We aim to have good equipment, and that is our way of training to high intensity. In the game we think we are going to play, we want to be the best we can be. We don’t do, yet, big joint exercises in Denmark with a set scenario. We have not done that yet, and not in the last few years. It is difficult with the op tempo we have sustained. We always have our capabilities out somewhere. So as an example, in two or three weeks we will have our QRA Quick Reaction Alert over five countries: Denmark, three Baltic States and Iceland. (CB): In all defence forces you have to work around training requirements and operational tempo. You don’t necessarily train for a high-end conflict but you do in a way with operations. (MG Rex): Yes, and take for instance our C-130s. They have so many missions, that they find it very hard to get the time to train. So, they have to do the training on the fly. Its low percentage numbers that are dedicated training sorties. On the F-16, we have better opportunities to train high end. We have actually not been training for the high event or scenarios for short periods of time because we have been focusing on converting pilots onto the F16. We still need a lot of pilots on the F-16 before we go to the F-35. So aside the from the air related debate, the debate we are also missing out on is the personnel-related debate. (CB): Are you finding any issues with recruitment? Especially as you say, with your requirement to staff the high-end capabilities you are bringing into service soon? (MG Rex): This year we have seen the lowest number of applicants for pilot, I think forever. We are down to 350 applications. That is not enough, we think, to achieve what we need. We know that some of the young kids, they don’t want the 12 years obligation to serve, there are so many other options. Right now, we recruit everyone out of a set of standards that are laid out for fighter pilots. But that may limit us, so we are trying to change that. (CB): Do you think Air Force personnel of the future will need a different skill set than what they do today? (MG Rex): I think we need to recruit all kinds of people, I don’t think we can limit ourselves, and put people in boxes and say they must look like this. We need the geeks, we need the straight shooter. I think we have 9% women in the air force right now. We are the best across all the forces. The Army is low, the Navy is low. And we don’t have a Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) 25% goal; we just have a goal to get more. We don’t have a specific area of focus in the recruitment for more women. All job categories are open to women except Special Forces. We have one woman that flies the F-16, we have 2 women that fly search and rescue helicopters and one on the C-130. And that is out of about 300 pilots. So that is not a lot. I don’t know whether this is an issue of culture. (CB): Danish Defence has conscription, how does that influence your workforce? (MG Rex): It helps because it provides a base for recruitment. We have conscription for the men, and for the women it’s a volunteer service. But everyone called up for service are volunteers, because we have an intake of around 4 500 a year and there are more than 4 500 who want to join. But we keep some of them. In order to join the officer scheme, you have to leave after the conscription and get a Bachelor degree. Then you can come back. Most people until about six years ago, we hired for life. It gives protection, a good pension. But then we changed our whole human resources construct and now we want people to be able to switch in and out of military and civilian employment. In theory, we want people to be able to leave, but we don’t encourage that. At least I don’t hear of people encouraging people to go out and have a civilian job for a while and then come back as active duty. The cost of training is so high in a lot of what we do. (CB): When you are talking about issues regarding retention and recruitment, it’s important to understand what is keeping people in. (MG Rex): We are struggling with that, because we are all saying that retention and recruitment are important, and so I asked my staff to analyse this and tell me what the problem is. Who do we need to retain and who do we need to recruit? Because if a member is 55 and will retire in five years with a good pension, we don’t have to retain him or her because they will stay on regardless. I don’t need to work on keeping the young pilot who still has 11 years of service obligation left; I can wait a few years. Right? But maybe air crew chiefs, technicians, the people in control and reporting, we have a hard time keeping them in. That is an easy question to answer? No its not. Because at least in Denmark, we jump right past the analysis phase, right to solving the problem. So, we are solving problems, solving problems, but we don’t know if it’s the right problems we are solving. It’s like your car makes a squeaky noise, and you take it to the mechanic, and he changes the engine and everything. And you get it back, and it no longer makes the squeaky noise, but you don’t know why. (CB): These problems do take time to work out, and change, especially if there are cultural issues. And people’s motivations are complex; it’s not just about money. There are other reasons that people serve. (MG Rex): We have a hashtag. And one that I heard of was #worthfightingfor but apparently the younger generation don’t care for it. They want #makingadifference They don’t necessarily want to fight for something, they just want to make a difference. (CB): Do think the missions you currently conducting give that to them? How would you weight up the missions that you do? Do you do a lot of humanitarian work? (MG Rex): Mostly operations, and its low end of the conflict scale. We have done two tours in Iraq/Syria, in 2014 and 2016. So that is high end. But the rest is transport – Mali, Iraq, Afghanistan. It is a funny thing – I’m not sure if it is the same here – going to war is actually good for retention. People have something to look forward to. They want to #makeadifference. But there is also a tipping point. If you are away too much, then you leave. We had that problem in the Army. They spent a long time in Afghanistan. They lived for it. But then they got back to a normal routine, and it was boring, so they left. (CB): The Central Blue is a forum to generate discussion about defence policy and air power. Do you have something similar in Denmark? (MG Rex): Yes, it’s called, (rough translation) Danish Society of Military Science. It’s joint, we don’t have anything just for air power. People learn about it if they meet one of the people who are engaged in it. It is mostly officers – those who are officers by heart. Not only the old ones, but those who are by heart. We don’t have a big debate culture with regard to the armed forces. I think it’s because we are so small and people are afraid they will be singled out. There is no formalised process to feed that debate back into the organisation. But we all notice, and if we see something that is a good idea, or if there is a perception that we have made a mistake, then we can look at how to fix it.

Most readers will have heard or read discussions about the ‘combat cloud’. Like the white fluffy things from which its named is derived, the combat cloud can seem to be an ethereal thing – composed mostly of vapour and not necessarily establishing solid foundations upon which to build. That is a shame, particularly for the Australian Defence Force and Australia’s defence industry, because combat clouds are potentially a critical element in Australia’s realisation of a truly integrated force that can genuinely punch above its weight. So, how do we define what a combat cloud is? Borrowing from its commercial progenitor, the combat cloud conveys a system in which data is pooled and is available from this via a number of different means. The essence of the ‘cloud’ notion in combat cloud is that a user is not dependent upon information being pushed to them via a specific means; they are connected to the cloud via whatever means they have at their disposal, and can pull data they are authorised to see as and when necessary. This aspect is only part of the story though. The combat cloud terminology may suffer from being an idea that is a little before its time, as the more recent notion of an ‘internet of things’ is a more appropriate descriptor for what people seem to be trying to achieve with the combat cloud. The combat cloud is not just about smoothing the passage of information in the way that Dropbox or iCloud does for its users. Instead, the concept of the combat cloud is about sharing information and resources across a networked force in a manner than allows the information and resources – sensors, weapons, processors, and deciders – to be optimised for the task at hand. This is more akin to a combat internet of things than a combat cloud, because a user can control and exploit resources anywhere on the network, not merely access the information available on the network. Much is made of the F-35A’s own and multi-ship fusion capabilities that enhance its ability to locate, identify, and track targets. This is indeed impressive, but the combat cloud allows this fusion effort to be scaled up exponentially. Instead of the data collected by the F-35A’s sensors being processed solely onboard, it can also be pooled with information from the E-7A Wedgetail, Hobart-class DDG, EA-18G Growler, MQ-4C Triton, Jindalee Over-the-Horizon-Radar (JORN), and orbital sensors, and then processed in server racks onboard a nearby orbiting KC-30A tanker to generate a high-fidelity multi-source track. The combat cloud concept matters for the ADF because it has the potential to enhance a small force’s lethality, survivability, resilience, and efficiency. The combat cloud has the power to enhance  the ADF’s potency by allowing engagement at greater ranges, using a greater array of weapon systems from potentially unexpected aspects. Physics dictates that an aircraft can only carry a limited number of missiles of a certain size, and that the more missiles the aircraft carries, the larger its signature becomes and the less distance it can travel. But in a combat cloud, the aircraft is not dependent upon the weapons it carries. Instead, it can call for fires from weapons on any of the platforms available in the network. In this instance, an F-35A called on land-based long-range surface-to- air missiles (SAM) to engage targets far beyond the horizon of the ship’s own sensors. The SAM battery’s crew, coordinating via datalink with the F-35A formation, swap the explosive warheads on several missiles for a microwave attack system designed to disable electronic systems and arrange to fire two salvoes. The first salvo of explosive and microwave weapons is fired, intended to disrupt the enemy strike package. Meanwhile, a second salvo of weapons flies to programmed waypoints to await updated targeting information from the F-35A. The first salvo does its work and the second salvo, approaching from a different aspect, targets remaining high value targets thanks to updated information from the on-scene F-35A. The enemy’s inbound strike package had no idea what hit them. There were no emissions until aircraft started exploding or falling out of the sky with malfunctioning electronics. In many ways, it was the combat cloud that hit them because the combat cloud had enabled crumbs of information from multiple sources to be fused into robust tracks. Aside from low probably of intercept/low probability of detection datalink transmissions, neither HMAS Hobart nor the F-35A force emitted at all during this engagement. The F-35A’s targeting data was derived from its own impressive onboard systems but was also fused – in server racks onboard a KC-30A refuelling a pair of Growlers – with sensor information from offboard systems. This was important as the F-35A force had detected the incoming enemy aircraft minutes earlier but could not identify them without giving away their own presence. The cloud’s resilience had also been on show. The processing performed onboard the KC-30A was usually done in server rooms located in Canberra via satellite communications. But a Carrington Event the year before this story had disrupted most satellite communications. Enemy counter-space operations leading up to the attempted strike had compounded earlier problems. But due to the combat cloud, commanders had been able to divert processing power from routine activities towards the fusion of fragments of information from numerous sources to derive a sufficiently clear picture. The only element of this that had been ‘by design’ was the flexibility in the system to rapidly re-orient. Efficiency had also been optimised due to the combat cloud. HMAS Hobart’s long- range SAMs were closer to the inbound strikers, but the cloud had recommended to the area air defence commander aboard an E-7A Wedgetail that the DDG’s weapons be preserved for defence of the amphibious task group she was escorting. Besides, the upgrades to allow HMAS Hobart’s crew to swap out warheads were not due to come online until next year, and the enemy’s single axis formation presented an opportunity to disable multiple targets with a limited number of non-kinetic payloads. The efficiency had also been apparent in the cloud’s optimisation of sensor allocation. Instead of the Wedgetail’s MESA radar radiating continuously, the cloud’s processing had identified the few targets that other sensors had been unable to identify and directed pulses of the MESA radar onto those targets, and those targets only, until they were identified sufficiently. Moreover, the smarts of the combat cloud allowed the battery commander to launch dumb weapons, preserving her active radar-homing missiles for subsequent missions. The fidelity and granularity with which the combat cloud could resolve targets, and the assuredness with which weapons could be guided to the target via a variety of data links, meant the weapons themselves could simply do as they were told until impact. This key breakthrough had enabled the rapid warhead swap as the missile’s payload would not interfere with a delicate guidance system. Of course, most of the above is fiction. The ADF will have a HMAS Hobart, F-35A, and land-based SAMs, but otherwise this is a made-up story. But it does not need to be. This fictional combat cloud vignette illustrates why the combat cloud is more than an easily accessible data swamp, and why it offers such potential for the ADF’s realisation of an integrated force. Like its real-world namesake, the combat cloud presents an outside observer with a seemingly unified and impenetrable mass, with untold latent potential. This is precisely why Peter Layton felt the combat cloud was “perhaps better named a ‘combat thunderstorm’, hurling destructive lightning bolts from any part of the cumulonimbus.” The ADF and its industry partners have a unique opportunity to drive towards a combat cloud. The ADF’s highly capable mix of USAF, USN, and bespoke equipment on a relatively small scale means it is well placed to tackle the challenges of integrating weapons systems with fundamentally different, and often hostile DNA. Proprietary, security, and other regulatory controls on information sharing must be overcome. However, this presents an opportunity for Australian industry to present itself as an impartial broker, one that can potentially find a way to bridge the divides that arise between industry primes’ valuable intellectual property, the need for security, and government’s desire to control the release of sensitive information. In an insightful study on battle network competition in the twentieth century, the US-based Center for Budgetary and Strategy Assessment identified that as competitions went on, the rate of change accelerated until the fundamental character of the competition was disrupted. Realising the combat cloud’s vision is essential if the ADF and its partners are to realise and maintain comparative advantage. A combat cloud that delays or precludes the integration of a new sensor, weapon, processor, or algorithm due to integration delays, is the combat cloud that the enemy in our scenario possessed. The results speak for themselves. This article was originally published in ADBR March/April 2018 edition. Wing Commander Chris ‘Guiness’ McInnes is an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force. The opinions expressed are his alone and do not reflect those of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government.

Olsen, John Andreas (ed.) 2018, Routledge Handbook of Air Power, 1st edition, Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, London; New York. Air power is a big topic and this is a big book. The Routledge Handbook of Air Power features some thirty well-researched, cutting-edge essays written by highly-regarded experts in their particular specialist areas within the broader air power field.  Before delving deeper however, lets address the ‘elephant in the room’, the big price: A$304.10 in hardback.  While that might be affordable only by major aircraft manufacturers and some wealthy libraries, don’t write the book off prematurely. The e-book version is priced at a much more reasonable A$56. This is fortunate as the Handbook is well-worth acquiring for reading now and reference later. The Handbook is divided into five sections, six essays in each. Part One presents the essentials of air power including theory, history and international law. Part Two focuses on air power roles and functions, most usefully including command and control and logistics. Part Three addresses applying air power cross-domain and moves beyond simply traditional joint service aspects into cyber, space and interagency. Part Four generically examines the broad strategic context featuring diverse aspects such as industry, media and popular culture, and cost. Part Five completes the book by looking at air power in its national context through six country-based case studies. Section Five in itself shows the care taken in the book’s design. A potential criticism is that the Handbook takes a rather American/ Western European centred view of air power but Part Five adroitly surmounts this. Rather than focusing on ‘the usual suspects’ such as the US and larger NATO air forces, this part features case studies that insightfully examine air power in Russia, China, Japan, India, Pakistan and Brazil. For this reviewer, the later was particularly interesting, in concerning an emerging great power in what the country’s strategic documents consider a ‘relatively pacific’ region. For Brazil, this means its development of air power must be ‘directly connected to a strategy for [national] development.’ (p.352) The book’s editing is particularly noteworthy. Being a book editor is roughly akin to ‘herding cats’, and this is a book with thirty cats. John Andreas Olsen is well known as an editor of air power books and in the Handbook he admirably displays his excellence in this demanding task. The thirty essays have been melded together into a coherent whole, each is readily understandable including by readers not expert in this field, and the written style across the entire book is wonderfully consistent. The editing has most definitely value-added and made the book more than the sum of its parts. In looking across the essays there is a perhaps surprising level of confidence in air power and what it brings. This seems to be because many of the essays discuss concepts based on practical examples from the post-Cold War era whereas most other air power books accent air power in the first half of the 20th Century. In the post-Cold War era air power came of age initially with precision attack and then later with persistence. While much air power writing on the bookshelves is then mainly historical, the Handbook breaks fresh ground in concentrating on contemporary air power and its capabilities. The Handbook asserts that in the present era air power has generally been able to do what was asked of it whether in the 1991 Gulf War (p.14), the 1995 Bosnian campaign (p.233), the 1991-2003 No Fly Zones (p.90), the 1999 Kosovo War (p.98-99), the 2001-2002 Afghanistan intervention (p.100), the 2003 Iraq invasion (p.101) or the 2011 Libya operation (p.268). Without air power these wars would have been very different in terms of strategies, forces used, tactics employed and outcomes. Indeed the arguments and evidence presented in the various essays suggests that air power is significantly shaping the character of war in the modern era. Olsen cautions however that ‘although air power is now strategically essential, it is not a panacea and it is not risk free.’ (p.373) Not all have such confidence in air power. There have been disappointments during land operations in Afghanistan and Iraq that some seek to attribute to air power. For example, some British Army officers in Afghanistan in 2006 considered the then target identification capabilities of the RAF’s Harriers inadequate.(p.161) While Alan Stephens writes (p.33) that General H.R. McMaster ascribes the US Army’s counter-insurgency shortcomings during the 2000s to the 1921 strategic bombing writings of the Italian air power thinker Giulio Douhet. As Stephens points out, such an eminent soldier-scholar as McMaster making such a ‘bizarre assertion’ (Podcast 28:22-28:40) highlights that educating all involved in the business of making war about air power remains an ongoing challenge. Air power may have come of age but not all have noticed or understand the implications. With modern air power strategically essential, the Handbook has a real warfighting purpose in that regard. With that acknowledgment though the Handbook perhaps unintentionally reveals some blind spots present-day air power thinkers may have. This is noticeable in three specific areas. Firstly, there is almost a complete absence of electronic warfare, a crucial element of air power in the modern era even if it has waxed and waned in some air forces. This absence is even more surprising as the Handbook most innovatively includes an excellent chapter on air power and cyber. Secondly, surface-to-surface missiles are entirely ignored. Since the V-2s of World War Two this technology has become increasingly important especially to non-Western militaries who see it as a way to offset shortcomings in their air force’s aircraft-based attack capabilities. While surface-to-surface missiles have long played an outsized role in the strike forces of the nuclear weapon powers, such weapon systems fitted with conventional warheads have been used in the 1980s War of the Cities, the 1991 Gulf War and today in Yemen. They are also an important element in today’s Chinese military force structure. Lastly, surface-to-air missiles (SAM) are rarely noted, even in the Control of the Air chapter that nevertheless includes two pages on ballistic missile defence. SAMs form an important element in non-Western militaries and can have a strategic as well as tactical impact. Indeed, the development of modern air power has been significantly influenced by the progressive development of SAM systems. To a considerable degree, the two are interdependent. The Routledge Handbook of Air Power is a most impressive work that astutely examines contemporary air power. The book’s overall breadth of coverage is noteworthy while each essay concisely and insightfully discuses its own specific carefully-chosen subject area.  The book offers much for defence policymakers, military professionals, academics and all concerned with deeply understanding air power in the modern era. Highly recommended. Dr. Peter Layton is a Visiting Fellow at the Griffith Asia Institute, Griffith University. His PhD is in grand strategy and he has taught on this at the US National Defense University. He is the author of the book ‘Grand Strategy’. #PME #history #Review #AirPower #Education

29 July 2018 Recently criticised as ‘overused and increasingly meaningless,’[1] the problem with the rules-based global order as a national strategy is not inherent lack of meaning. It is the near total lack of robust debate in the Defence and strategic planning communities about the purpose, capability needs and effects of a rules-based defence strategy. Instead, Australia’s defence strategy remains steadfastly bifurcated. On the one hand, it is founded on a whole of government approach based on the rules-based global order, which is largely undefined other than by reference to limited current aspects of the international legal structure. On the other, it sets out a separate program for capability development.[2] What is missing is rational explanation of how the latter is intended to support the former. This poses both conceptual and planning problems. The Conceptual Problem. Conceptualising a rules-based order as national strategy requires us to distinguish between the content of individual rules, and the idea of ‘law’ as a means of social organisation based on rules. Many militaries habitually view rules as a limiting factor on freedom of military action, and therefore the responsibility of legal officers as enablers – instead, in the same way that information operations, for example, seek social effects or modifications of enemy behaviour, law is a social concept that can be exploited to achieve strategic ends by planners and operators alike. This is not clear in White Paper 2016. It is especially concerned with the effects of rapid change and uncertainty in Australia’s strategic environment and international relationships, including in the South China Sea and Middle East. Rules are said to offer a non-confrontational solution to competition between states and their interests because they are predictable, where such competition outside the rules framework has significant ‘implications for free and open trade.’[3] Yet this desire for the predictability of rules against the uncertainty of unconstrained (foreign) national power clashes with the parallel White Paper argument that the content of rules is a contemporary source of ‘friction,’ particularly in the cyber and space domains; so that individual rules become the source for, as well as the resolution to, tension.[4] Moreover, the White Paper acknowledges that the rules-based system itself is ‘under increasing pressure and has shown signs of fragility’ in response to political changes, the emergence of new powers and non-state actors, and the refusal by some (Russia and North Korea) to act consistently with existing rules of international law.[5] The problem in adopting this content-based approach, in which differing views of specific rules become risks undermining the order, is that it misunderstands current international discourse. Close examination of developments in the South China Sea, for example, shows that: China’s engagement with dispute resolution procedures is based on argument about consent-based international legal jurisdiction while its claim of historic title sought to extend a concept already known to international law; coastal states rely on alternative rules of the law of the sea regarding sovereignty and usage rights; and third states seek the freedom of the high seas promised by international law. All are arguing within the rules-based framework, including China, although they do not agree on the content of the rules. Whether, and which, states are using the rules-based order instrumentally – that is, as a means to an end – does not detract from this. The nature of the international legal system means that rules are not immutable: other than a very limited number of specific rules (such as the prohibitions of genocide and torture), the creation of international rules is an act of sovereign consent. Such consent is essential to the development of new rules, or abrogation of old.  And, critically, this process of consensual development occurs in a system which acknowledges all sovereign states as formally equal.[6] Where there is dispute about rules, international law does not require states to settle them in any particular forum or manner, only that they be settled peacefully, nor are states obliged to develop new rules to apply to new domains, such as space, if they do not agree.[7] Thus, the international rules-based order, as it exists, struggles to offer either the certainty or predictability on which the White Paper is predicated. What this shows is that, while the Australian defence strategy speaks of a ‘rules-based global order,’ what it speaks to is a status quo based on certain preferred rules. Since the continued existence of individual rules is not within Australia’s control, a rules-based strategy cannot clearly offer the predictability White Paper 2016 seeks other than in a high-level systemic sense. That, however, requires consideration of the instrumental use of the concept of law in capability planning. The Capability Planning Problem. From a strategic perspective, what a rules-based order offers is less certainty in international engagement than a positive opportunity to maximise physical capabilities by exploiting their perceived legitimacy; in other words, by taking advantage of the presumption that the social acceptability and moral rightness of military operations depends on their asserted lawfulness. In this approach, lawfulness is determined by compliance with rules, whether or not they are inherently just rules, and legitimacy is determined by lawfulness. This currently manifests in extensive and public legal justifications for the use of force by governments; at the tactical and operational levels, it takes the form, for example, of defending allegations of civilian casualties during air strikes by a government emphasis on compliance with ‘very strict rules of engagement.’ What such an argument implies is that since what is right equals what is lawful, what is wrong extends only to what is unlawful. There is no room to say that the targeting decision might have been lawful and yet wrong. A rules-based strategy makes compliance with law the essence of legitimacy in this way. Its effect, when achieved, is to economise on the level of force needed to maintain power or achieve a mission. That is, since other states and citizens at home and abroad are more likely to accept legitimate than illegitimate force, the cost and scale of coercive force required to achieve a mission is likely to be reduced, as opposition is reduced, when the force is perceived as legitimate. Moreover, if legitimacy derives from compliance with rules, it is objectively easier to demonstrate it to potential opponents than other models of legitimacy such as religion, morality or subjective ethics. Critically, this kind of strategising cannot be the preserve of lawyers, for the exact technical content of rules is not as important as the way in which societies engage with the concept of law. The next step for an effective strategy is to link capability development with the strategic concept. This necessarily requires the instrumental use of law and legitimacy arguments. This author has recently proposed that the realisation of capability for a rules-based strategy could favour air power development over other environmental domains because of its perceived historical affinity with this ‘lawfulness as legitimacy’ culture.[8]  While not without weaknesses, the proposal seeks to answer the main shortcoming of the current forward capability program for the ADF – and challenge, through debate, alternate formulations that rationally link acquisition and development with the rules-based strategy. Such debate may show that, in fact, the defence capability element of a whole of government rules-based strategy, is to prepare for the contingency of its failure rather than to support it directly (although ADF personnel might be used in the interim for capacity building and presence tasks to support the work of the whole of government in preventing it). Either way, if it is not possible to find a rational connection between capability planning and a rules-based strategy, then the efficacy of such a strategy for Defence, compared to the whole of government, needs fundamental rethinking. Editor’s Note – Wing Commander Lewis has previously written about air power, legitimacy, and the rules-based global order in Air Power Development Centre Working Paper No. 44 ‘Air Power in the Rules-Based Global Order: Legitimacy as Capability for Future Forces.’ Wing Commander (Dr) Lewis’ most recent posting was as the Staff Officer (Legal) to the Chief of the Defence Force. She was commissioned into the Royal Australian Navy as an undergraduate Legal Officer in 2003. In 2014,  she transferred to the Royal Australian Air Force. Her operational service includes four tours of the Middle East area. Wing Commander Lewis holds a doctorate in international law and teaches that subject at the Australian National University College of Law. She has published a range of peer-reviewed legal research nationally and internationally, and is currently in the final stages of reading for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in strategic sea power history at the Australian Defence Force Academy. Although the author is a member of the Royal Australian Air Force, the views expressed in this paper are personal and do not necessarily reflect those of the Australian Defence Force or Australian government. NOTES: [1] Richard Menhinick, ‘The Rules-based Global Order’: Be Alert and Alarmed, The Strategist (Australian Strategic Policy Institute: 12 April 2018), available at https://www.aspistrategist.org.au/rules-based-global-order-alert-alarmed/, accessed 15 June 2018. [2] Department of Defence, Defence White Paper 2016 (Canberra, 2016); and see also Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Foreign Policy White Paper 2017 (Canberra, 2017). [3] Para 1.6. See also para 1.12. [4] Para 2.16. [5] Paras 2.23-6. [6] Charter of the United Nations, article 2(1). [7] Charter of the United Nations, article 1(1), for example. [8] Angeline Lewis, ‘Air Power in the Rules-Based Global Order: Legitimacy as Capability for Future Forces,’ Working Paper 44 (Air Power Development Centre: Canberra, 2018), available at http://airpower.airforce.gov.au/APDC/media/PDF-Files/Working%20Papers/WP44-Air-Power-in-the-Rules-Based-Global-Order.pdf .

On 23 August 2018, the Sir Richard Williams Foundation is holding a seminar on #jointstrike to discuss the imperative for an independent deterrent. The aim of the seminar is to build a common understanding of the need for an independent joint strike capability to provide Australia with a powerful and potent deterrent and a means of demonstrating strategic intent. In the lead up to the seminar, The Central Blue will be running a series in order to generate discussion and enable those that cannot to attend to gain a perspective on the topic. Today is the first post of that series and Jenna Higgins gets us off to a great start by unpacking the complex notion of deterrence. We hope you enjoy, and look forward to hearing your comments and feedback. Part 1: Defining deterrence. In an uncertain world, the notion of being able to deter possible threats is self-evidently appealing: why risk having to fight a war when our defence policy and force structure are sufficiently robust to discourage potential aggressors before a shot is fired? Deterrence, however, is a very complex business, existing ultimately in the perceptions of the protagonists. The intricacies and nuances of how exactly deterrence achieves its objectives has been researched by some of the finest minds within the realm of defence strategy and security. This two-part series will firstly examine the key elements of deterrence theory; and then, next week, discuss those elements in relation to Australian air power. Generically, to deter is to discourage an action or event through instilling doubt or a creating a fear of the consequences. Ultimately, it can be distilled down into having the will and resources to achieve credible deterrence. And while this may seem simple, it is often difficult to make threats credible, or sufficiently daunting. Further, it is seldom cheap and rarely convenient. [1] Consequently, traditional deterrence has been described as a ‘sometimes thing’ as often it does not work. Deterrence, at times, makes preventing wars more difficult as it provokes resentment instead of acquiescence. Attacks are instigated, or efforts are made by opponents to design around it.[2] Despite significant shifts in the strategic environment including a greater focus on asymmetric and urban warfare, the strategy of deterrence continues to factor in the minds of our leaders. This is mainly because of the reluctance of the developed world to initiate lethal action against diffused adversaries that might lead to unintended casualties and collateral damage. However, the unquestioned capability to carry the war to the adversary and inflict unacceptably heavy damage is also central to pursuing deterrence as a viable security strategy.[3] Will & Perception Before a nation can be viewed as a credible military adversary, one worthy of being avoided, the national posture or willingness to commit military action must be known. This includes the political willingness to bear the costs and risks involved in asserting its will to deter; the appetite to incur casualties or the financial imposition for instance. To be sure, resorting to force will always involve costs of one kind or another; however, the government must be willing to convince external agencies and the domestic population that the benefits of force outweigh the costs. This idea is developed by Henry Kissinger in his 1957 book ‘Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy’, in which he states that: Deterrence is greatest when military strength is coupled with the willingness to employ it. It is achieved when one side’s readiness to run risks in relation to the other is high; it is least effective when the willingness to run risks is low, however powerful the military capability. In the case of a direct attack against the homeland, this may be easier to support than involvement in a conflict for a long term strategic outcome. Likewise, it is not just the cost of military lives which needs to be considered, but also ‘costs associated with killing non-combatants … when set against political objectives framed in terms of the defence of human rights or the elimination of terrorism.’[4] This becomes especially pertinent when dealing with ‘rogue states’ in which the threat is the leadership rather than the people. In making a case to the constituencies for the deployment of military force, the intent to target specific threats systems and leadership, as opposed to the local population, must be clear in order to ensure domestic support and willingness for such an action. In developing a national posture and willingness to act, communication is key. There is no scope for the adversary to perceive that a nation ‘may act’, it must be clearly communicated that a nation ‘will act’. Political will is only as good as the communication by which it is received. There are many ways that this may be signalled including by formal statement, force deployments or the forward positioning of troops as a trip-wire.  In selecting the correct form of communication, there requires an understanding of what the adversary perceives as their vulnerabilities in order to target and message the threat appropriately. The concept of messaging and assessing vulnerabilities is explained well by Thomas Schelling in his book Arms and Influence where he talks of the psychological nature of deterrence: It is a tradition in military planning to attend to an enemy’s capabilities, not his intentions. But deterrence is about intentions—not just estimating enemy intentions but influencing them. The hardest part is communicating our own intentions.[5] Capability & resources Capability and resources must be matched to a nation’s intent to implement its political will, less the entire premise be regarded as a bluff. There is little use in clearly articulating that you will complete action X if there are no funds or insufficient numbers of personnel or equipment to support said action. Schelling expands on the concept of the bluff in stating that: Nations have been known to bluff; they have also been known to make threats sincerely and change their minds when the chips were down. Many territories are just not worth a war, especially a war that can get out of hand. A persuasive threat of war may deter an aggressor; the problem is to make it persuasive, to keep it from sounding like a bluff.[6] While it may be possible to bluff the adversary with big talk, ideally, ‘logistics support, serviceability, quality of command and control systems, and ability to operate and resupply in the area of operations must also be taken into account.’[7]. In all cases however, communication must remain key; this may be signaled through military exercises, show of force, or involvement in peacetime activities so presence and abilities are observed.[8] Credibility Credibility, as an outcome of will and capability, is a product as opposed to a sum calculation. Each factor weighs heavily on the outcome, but likewise, there is undoubtedly an x-factor. The final product will be valid in some cases, but not in others. Perhaps the product of political will, and acquiescence to high risk along with capability, is successful in defensive deterrence, but not so for offensive deterrence. Put simply, a protagonist will not risk their forces on attacking their adversary’s homeland, but will attack with their own home ground advantage. Credibility is determined by perception. The effectiveness of a particular capability against the adversary is reliant on the adversary’s ‘perception of that capability or action vis-à-vis their own contemplated or proposed course of action.’[9] The adversary must be convinced that ‘fearsome punishment will be forthcoming; through an optimum combination of capability and the will to employ it; if any action inimical to the state’s well-being has been initiated’.[10] Nuclear vs conventional No conversation on deterrence theory would be complete without contemplating a nuclear option. On nuclear deterrence: We bet our lives, our societies, our civilization (and those of everyone else) on it. The ensuing absence of outright wars among great powers strongly suggested it was working, even though deterrence to prevent lesser conflicts or nasty provocations and challenges was much less successful. The nuclear revolution that occurred during the Cold War made the traditional assumptions regarding deterrence problematic. Where there is mutually assured destruction through nuclear weapons, defence of oneself becomes impossible. In contemplating this dilemma, coercive pressure raises the risk that the situation will escalate out of control. Nuclear deterrence, unlike conventional deterrence, has a sole focus on punitive action which may well be so devastating that its makes the political ends irrelevant.  In a scenario where vital interests are at stake, nuclear deterrence may be a valid tactic. In other cases, punitive threats may not deter because the opponent will accept great risks, but denying that opponent a practicable vision of success may deter. Conclusion Deterrence as a successful concept is ambiguous and relies purely on perceptions. Will all protagonists share similar perceptions? Deterrence is aimed at ‘the cognitive domain of a human being and it is extremely difficult to measure its effectiveness.’[11] That said, it is generally agreed that nuclear deterrence between the USSR and USA was successful during the Cold War, in that there was no nuclear exchange, and that the two countries never came into direct conventional conflict. Deterrence is even more complex when separating conventional and nuclear theories. A nation which can successfully deter will have considered the protagonist’s perceptions, clearly communicated its political will, demonstrated a willingness to accept risk, and signaled capability.If successful in achieving this, that nation has become a credible force. Next week, Part 2 of this series will examine the notion of deterrence as it has been interpreted and applied by Australian air power since the second World War. Squadron Leader Jenna Higgins is an Air Combat Officer in the Royal Australian Air Force and a co-editor at The Central Blue. You can follow her on twitter at @jenna_ellen_. The opinions expressed are hers alone and do not reflect those of the Royal Australian Air Force, the Australian Defence Force, or the Australian Government. _________________________________________________________________________ [1] Morgan, P., 2012, The state of Deterrence in International Politics Today, Contemporary Security Policy, 33:1, pp 85 – 107 [2] ibid [3] Kainikara, S., 2008, The Strategy of Deterrence and Air Power, Air Power Development Centre, Working Paper p27 [4] Stone, J., 2012, Conventional Deterrence and the Challenge of Credibility, Contemporary Security Policy, 33:1, p 111 [5] Cain, A., (ed)  2009, Deterrence in the Twenty first Century – Proceedings, London UK 18-19 May 2009. [6] ibid [7] Harvey, J., 1997, Conventional Deterrence and National Security, Air Power Development Centre [8] ibid [9] Op cit, Kainikara, S. [10] ibid [11] ibid