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'Training as Combat Generation: The Case for a Systems Approach' in Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance Proceedings - Paper 4, Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar, 23 April 2026 By Robbin Laird Alexander Robinson speaking to the 23 April 2026 Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar. One of the more thought-provoking presentations at the seminar came from Alexander Robinson, Sales and Capability Director at Pilatus Aircraft Australia. Robinson opened with a self-deprecating acknowledgment: he had spent the previous evening sitting next to Air Chief Marshall Binskin, trying to make the turboprop training argument against a career’s worth of carrier landing experience, Mirage time, Hornet time, and F-16 time. He called it “a valuable discourse.” His escape hatch, he said, was to frame the entire discussion as being about providing options, not selling platforms. That framing was more than rhetorical cover. It was the intellectual spine of the presentation. The Core Argument: Training as Operational Terrain Robinson’s central argument cuts against the grain of how training is conventionally discussed in defense circles. He is not making an education argument, and he is deliberately not making a platform argument. He is making what he calls a “combat generation” argument or the claim that Phase 4 training design has direct strategic consequences for mass, depth, and survivability, especially in a high-threat and fiscally constrained environment. The point is not subtle. Australia fields a genuinely tier-one Air Force, exceptional platforms operated by high-quality people, but at limited scale, across a vast operating area, with finite surge depth relative to task demand. In that context, as Robinson put it, “the training pipeline itself becomes operational terrain.” Every instructor posting, every red air sortie, every jet hour consumed for training is an opportunity cost: it represents combat-ready mass that either exists or does not when the call comes. The harder question, Robinson argued, is not simply whether Australia is training well. It is whether the training system is designed to generate and sustain combat-ready mass at the tempo the strategic environment demands. That is a different question entirely and it is one that the current architecture may not be optimally positioned to answer. The Fifth Generation Mismatch In fifth generation air combat, the center of gravity in the cockpit has shifted. Modern fighters are in many respects easier to fly than their predecessors but considerably harder to employ effectively. As Robinson observed, aircrew today are managing far more sensors, far more data, and far more complex tactical situations. The aircraft has become a decision node, not merely a weapons platform. The pilot is functioning as a conductor rather than a musician. The competencies that now dominate modern air combat, systems thinking, cognitive prioritization, situational awareness, decision-making under pressure, timeline control, are being developed late in the pipeline, often largely at the OCU level. Meanwhile, expensive jet hours are being consumed earlier for training events that do not require jet-specific performance to achieve the required training effect. The result is the familiar combination: bottlenecks, downstream remediation, and pressure concentrated at the most expensive end of the system. Robinson was careful to frame this as a system design problem, not a failure of people or effort. That distinction matters. It means the solution is also systemic, not a question of working harder within the existing architecture but of rethinking the architecture itself. Training Realism Defined by Effect, Not Platform The core design principle Robinson offered is deceptively simple: training realism should be defined by the effect, not by the platform. Each training task should be delivered by the lowest cost platform that can credibly deliver the required training outcome, whether that is a simulator, a turboprop, an advanced jet trainer, or a frontline aircraft. The goal is to protect what he calls “the jet-only envelope” and to be explicit and disciplined about where that envelope actually begins. There are tasks that genuinely require jets: high alpha, sustained high-G maneuvering, transonic acceleration, mass fuel flow management, specific excess power. Those effects are envelope-specific, not merely syllabus-specific, and they belong in jets. But many of the highest-value training tasks are cognitive, procedural, and decision-based rather than kinematic. Radar mechanics, intercept geometry, tactical formation, data link discipline, attack decision-making, the closure rates change on a turboprop, but the decision points do not. If the trainee is making the same calls, in the same sequence, under the same cognitive pressure, the training effect is being generated. This logic points toward what Robinson describes as a hybrid Phase 4 construct: cognitive-dense tasks delivered on a high-performance turboprop integrated with embedded mission training suites and potentially live-virtual-constructive capabilities, while jets are reserved for the irreducible envelope that only jets can teach. The objective is not to pretend a turboprop is a fighter. It is to stop using jets for tasks that do not actually require them. The Allied Precedents: Switzerland and France Robinson grounded the argument in operational precedents rather than theory. Switzerland has trained fighter pilots exclusively on turboprops since 2008. It is one of at least four nations operating a direct turboprop-to-fighter pipeline, transitioning directly from the PC-21 to the F/A-18C and shortly to the F-35. The Swiss made this shift incrementally, after operating Hawks and F-5s as advanced jet trainers—and what instructor and student feedback has consistently shown is that the hardest transition was not PC-21 to Hornet but PC-7 to PC-21. The cognitive load explanation accounts for that; the kinematic explanation does not. Importantly, Switzerland has reported no requirement to double training time and no degradation in operational outcomes. France offers a parallel data point. The French Air and Space Force replaced a mixed fleet of Epsilons and Alpha Jets with a single PC-21 fleet for transition directly to Rafale and Mirage. The results: a fivefold reduction in maintenance and operational costs, fuel savings, improved training flow, and no change in downstream operational performance. What the French have been explicit about is that the primary value of the PC-21 is not kinematic replication. It is systems management exposure, decision discipline, and structured deep debriefing, precisely those fifth-generation skills that Robinson identifies as the current pipeline’s gap. Both services openly acknowledge their limitations, high alpha, sustained specific excess power, the absence of external stores. Robinson’s point is not that these limitations are irrelevant but that they can be mitigated through syllabus design and a protected jet envelope, rather than by holding onto legacy platforms that were designed for a different training logic. What These Forces Have Done and What It Means for Australia Robinson’s summary formulation is worth sitting with: these forces have traded platform purity for training system resilience. They have strengthened their combat generation capability and their scalability as a result—both upward and downward. The argument is not that Australia should copy Switzerland or France. As Robinson put it, there are no perfect solutions, only trade-offs, and the goal is to help Air Force design the training system as a system of systems so that air power can be genuinely scalable across all four training phases. He closed with something more personal and more revealing about the intellectual posture behind the presentation. He had considered swapping out one of his slides to feature the forthcoming PC-21X, a platform refresh Pilatus is set to announce later in 2026. He thought better of it. To do so would have been, as he put it, “disingenuous to the first point I made” that this is not about a platform. What Pilatus wants, what industry wants, and what Robinson said he personally wants as an Australian, is a training system that produces aircrew ready for OCU at the standard required: the right knowledge, skills, attitudes, and mission-critical competencies so that when those young men and women get to the frontline, they fight tonight, they win tomorrow, and they come home. The Broader Context Robinson’s presentation connects to a broader theme running through the Williams Foundation seminar and through the wider conversation about Australian strategic advantage: the question of how to generate and sustain effective air power at scale in a fiscally constrained environment, against a threat that is evolving and across an operating area that demands both range and presence. The training pipeline is not typically where those conversations begin. Robinson’s argument is that it should be because the pipeline is where the force is made or unmade before the fight begins. The kill web construct that Ed Timperlake and I have developed over the years places significant weight on the depth and resilience of the force, not merely on the exquisite capability of individual platforms. A training system designed as Robinson describes would contribute directly to the intelligent mass side of the equation: more air crew, progressed further and faster, with the cognitive tools to function as effective decision nodes in a networked, distributed fight. That is not a training abstraction. It is a combat generation problem. And Robinson is right that it has strategic consequences. The paper Robinson referenced published in The Air and Space Power Journal and forthcoming in condensed form in the ASPI Journal is worth reading for those who want the analytical foundations in full. ∗The presentation itself, delivered to a room that included some of the most experienced airmen in the Indo-Pacific region, was a model of how an industry representative can contribute to a serious strategic conversation: by leading with the operational logic, letting the platform follow if it must, and keeping the focus on the outcome that actually matters.∗ ∗ https://ciasp.scholasticahq.com/article/158558-better-faster-smarter-scalable-aircrew-training-for-modern-air-power ∗ The paper addresses the urgent need for scalable aircrew training in the Indo-Pacific context, where modern aviators must manage information at tempo, make autonomous decisions under pressure, and coordinate effects within joint, complex, and often degraded battlespace conditions. Robinson’s work emphasizes how Australia’s strategic environment, characterized by accelerating military modernization, grey-zone coercion, and potential high-intensity conflict—elevates the premium on adaptable, integrated air power. See my own book, on the same subject: Training for the High End Fight: The Paradigm Shift for Combat Pilot Training Also published in DefenceInfo

'Space as a Fight Tonight Domain: Jeremy King on Australia’s Strategic Imperative' in Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance Proceedings - Paper 5, Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar, 23 April 2026 By Robbin Laird Jeremy King speaking to the 23 April 2026 Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar. At the Williams Foundation Seminar on the Fight Tonight Force held on 23 April 2026, Jeremy King’s, Chief Executive of Lockheed Martin Australia and New Zealand, central argument was straightforward, even if its implications are not: space is no longer a distant frontier or a strategic luxury. It is essential infrastructure, and it is already under attack. The fight tonight is not coming. It is happening now. The Infrastructure Dependency In Plain sight He opened by grounding the audience in a reality that defense planners have long understood intellectually but have been slow to operationalize. Space-based systems now underpin not just military operations but the entire functioning architecture of modern society, position, timing, navigation, communications, banking, weather, insurance, and intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance. Australia’s own independent review of critical infrastructure security has catalogued space as a dependency across every sector it examined. That dependency is deepening precisely as the threat is intensifying. King pointed to the sheer density now accumulating in low Earth orbit — thousands of satellites today, tens of thousands anticipated — and the sobering mathematics of what happens when maneuvering capability is lost. A recently published analysis found that at current orbital density, without active collision avoidance, the time to first collision would be measured in days, not years. That is not a distant risk scenario. It is a physics problem playing out in real time. But the physical threats — solar weather, collision risk — are only part of the picture. The more operationally relevant threats are the ones being prosecuted by state actors right now. King was direct: jamming, spoofing, and unsolicited rendezvous and proximity operations are not edge cases. They are standing features of the current gray zone contest. When he described the boundary between hard kill and soft kill as “wafer thin” in any operation where space dependencies are paramount, he was describing the operational environment his former colleagues inside the ADF are managing today. The Fight Tonight Frame Applied to Space The seminar theme — fight tonight — took on particular weight in King’s remarks. He was explicit that space is already a contested operational domain. The cyber attack on a satellite ground system at the outset of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 was not an anomaly; it was a preview. The ongoing electronic warfare contest in Ukraine, the persistent interference campaigns in the Middle East, these are not future scenarios. They are data points from the current fight. This framing has direct implications for how Australia structures its space architecture. King drew on the PACE methodology — Primary, Alternative, Contingency, Emergency — as a framework for thinking about resilience across degraded operational conditions. The point is not simply to build better satellites. It is to build architectures that can absorb degradation and continue to deliver effect. Primary systems must be resilient by design and fit for purpose in a contested threat environment. Alternative systems, including commercial capabilities, must be integrated to augment requirements. Contingency and emergency solutions must exist for the genuinely denied environment. This is not a new concept in resilience thinking, but its application to the space domain has lagged badly behind the threat. King did not shy away from saying so. He noted, pointedly, that the pace of space technology development has outrun procurement timelines, a dynamic that those serving as delivery managers inside Defence are experiencing directly. The systems being bought today must be able to do more than “fight tonight.” They must survive the first night and maintain an assured path to continued access thereafter. The Collaborative Imperative King was emphatic that space superiority, for Australia, is not achievable unilaterally. The ADF leadership has said as much consistently, and he reinforced it with substance. Just the previous month, Lieutenant General Coyle hosted a gathering of space chiefs at the Australian War Memorial with the explicit intent of building collaborative relationships and reinforcing shared access to space technologies. The diplomatic architecture of space competition is being assembled through these practitioner-level engagements, not through formal treaty negotiation. The industrial dimension of this collaboration is where King’s remarks carried the most operational weight. He pointed to Lockheed Martin’s work with Japan on next-generation anti-jamming military communication satellites as a model for what allied co-development can deliver, capabilities designed with regional threat considerations at heart, built to meet the needs of the warfighter today and into the future. The recently launched tenth GPS III satellite, the final in that series, represents a generation of capability offering substantially improved accuracy, coverage, and anti-jamming performance over its predecessors. GPS IIIF, the successor series, is already under construction with even more robust counter-EW features. Interoperability and resilience, in King’s formulation, are not simply technical requirements. They are the mechanisms through which allied force multiplication in the space domain becomes real. Nations that collaborate on space programs achieve more than the sum of their individual investments. They build shared architectures that are harder to degrade comprehensively and that create redundancy at the alliance level, not just the national level. The Australian Industry Dimension King was careful to anchor his remarks in Australian sovereign capability, and the picture he painted was more encouraging than many in the room might have expected. Australia has world-class companies operating in the space domain, exporting globally across civil, commercial, and military sectors. Nevaeh Technologies out of Adelaide, a graduate of Lockheed Martin’s mentor-protégé program, and Salentium Defence are examples of what Australian industry can deliver when given access to the global supply chain. FCOM Space and Defence, Black Tree Technology, Gilmore Space, and Space Machines Company round out a roster of companies that, in his telling, are genuinely competitive on the international stage. Lockheed Martin’s Australian industrial participation program has surpassed $225 million in export contracts with Australian companies, a portion of which flows directly into the space sector. King’s point was that the sovereign industry base Australia needs to underwrite its space resilience is not a distant ambition. It exists now. The challenge is to integrate it deliberately into the ADF’s space architecture rather than treating it as an afterthought to large prime-contractor programs. This is where King positioned the role of the primes. Rather than positioning Lockheed Martin as the solution to Australia’s space challenges — a pitch he deliberately stepped back from — he articulated a prime systems integrator model in which the major defense companies serve as the connective tissue linking Australian small and medium enterprises into global supply chains and allied program structures. That is a different framing than the traditional prime contractor model, and it is one that aligns better with the sovereign industrial capability objectives Australia has been articulating since the Defence Strategic Review. What Fight Tonight Actually Demands There was a thread running through King’s remarks that connects directly to the broader seminar theme. Fight tonight is not a readiness standard that applies only to aircraft and submarines and soldiers. It applies to the domain that makes everything else function. An F-35 without assured communications, navigation, and ISR from space is a diminished platform. A joint force without assured space access is not a joint force in any operationally meaningful sense. It is a collection of platforms attempting to coordinate through degraded and contested channels. The 2026 Secure World Foundation counter-space capabilities report, which King cited, is now tracking thirteen nations with counter-space programs, up from three in 2018. That trajectory does not suggest a domain that will stabilize. It suggests a domain in which the competitive pressure will intensify, the gray zone contest will continue, and the premium on resilient architecture will grow.∗ King’s contribution at the seminar was to make that case with the credibility that comes from having sat on both sides of the capability acquisition table, as a delivery manager inside the ADF and now as an industry executive. His argument for resilience by design, for collaborative architecture with allies and partners, and for deliberate integration of Australian industry into global space programs is not a marketing pitch. It is a practitioner’s assessment of what fight tonight actually demands in the domain that underpins all others. The question that follows from his remarks is the one the seminar was designed to address: does Australia’s current approach to space capability — its procurement timelines, its industrial integration, its collaborative architecture with allies — match the fight tonight standard? King’s implicit answer was that the gap remains, but that the pieces to close it are present. The challenge now is organizational will and procurement speed. Note: This is the first article covering the second session of speakers at the seminar. The presentations during the second session of the seminar will published throughout this week. Notes Lockheed Martin, “Small Business Programs: Mentor Protégé Program,” https://www.lockheedmartin.com/en-us/suppliers/small-business-programs/Programs.html. “Silentium Defence Becomes Second Australian Company to Graduate from the Lockheed Martin Mentor Protégé Program (MPP),” news release, Lockheed Martin Australia, November 9, 2023, https://lockheedmartinau.mediaroom.com/index.php?s=2429&item=122663. Andrew McLaughlin, “Silentium Passive Radar Selected for Land 156,” Australian Defence Magazine, January 18, 2026, https://www.australiandefence.com.au/defence/land/silentium-passive-radar-selected-for-land-156. “Silentium Defence World‑Class Passive Radar Technology Selected for LAND 156,” Silentium Defence, February 9, 2026, https://www.silentiumdefence.com.au/silentium-defence-world-class-passive-radar-technology-selected-for-land-156/. “Gilmour Space Technologies | Launching Rockets and Satellites to Orbit,” Gilmour Space Technologies, https://www.gspace.com. “Gilmour Space Secures Major Funding,” Australian Defence Magazine, January 20, 2026, https://www.australiandefence.com.au/defence/cyber-space/gilmour-space-secures-major-funding. ∗ Secure World Foundation, Global Counterspace Capabilities: An Open Source Assessment, 2026 (Broomfield, CO: Secure World Foundation, 2026). Also published in DefenceInfo

'From Prototypes to Operational Realities: Australia’s Maritime Autonomous Systems Unit and the Tasks That Cannot Wait' Interview with Marcus Hellyer, Head of Research at Strategic Analysis Australia By Robbin Laird Alexander Robinson speaking to the 23 April 2026 Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar. Australia’s Maritime Autonomous Systems Unit, the MASU, stands at an inflection point. The period of experimentation and prototype evaluation that has defined the past several years of Australian engagement with unmanned maritime systems must now give way to something harder to achieve and more consequential: operational delivery. The pressure is not abstract. Australia faces a significant hull gap as its surface combatant fleet ages and new vessels remain years from delivery. The AUKUS pathway toward nuclear‑powered submarines promises transformative capability but on a timeline measured in decades. In the meantime, the strategic environment is not waiting. The question is whether MASU will rise to meet it as an operational command with real mission responsibilities, or remain primarily a niche capability and development cell within Navy’s bureaucracy. In a wide‑ranging conversation, defence analyst Marcus Hellyer, Head of Research at Strategic Analysis Australia and former Senior Analyst at the Australian Strategic Policy Institute, engaged with these questions directly. What emerged was both a frank assessment of where Australia currently stands and a practical agenda for what MASU should be doing right now. The Bolt‑Action Rifle Principle The instinct to treat maritime autonomous systems as precursors to some future perfected capability waiting until doctrine is fully developed, until the optimal platform arrives, until the concept of operations is airtight is precisely the trap Hellyer wants to avoid. He reached for a durable analogy: the bolt‑action rifle. If you look at a bolt‑action rifle as a prototype of some perfect firearm arriving thirty or forty years down the track, you miss the utility it offers right now in its own context. It kills people perfectly well. The same logic applies to maritime autonomous systems today. We know what Bluebottle USVs can do. We have seen them conduct fisheries surveillance operations. We have a good picture of their reliability from company testing and exercises such as Autonomous Warrior. The question is not whether these systems are ready for something; they are. The question is what that something should be. The answer lies not in the systems themselves but in the operational problems Australia already has and can already see coming. Learning by doing, iterating against real mission requirements, generating real data, these are the activities of an operational command, not a purely developmental one. The Hull Gap as Strategic Opportunity The Australian shipbuilding program’s well‑documented delivery challenges create an opportunity to reframe the hull gap. Rather than treating the absence of new surface combatants as simply a problem to be managed, the question becomes: how can maritime autonomous systems help bridge that gap operationally over the coming decade? The common objection that the vast distances of the Indo‑Pacific make Australian autonomous systems irrelevant compared to the compact operating environment of Ukraine’s Black Sea campaign does not hold up to scrutiny. Industry is already producing relatively small autonomous systems with strategically relevant reach: sufficient, in principle and depending on payload and configuration, to operate from Australia into the northern archipelago, from Guam to the Philippines, from the Philippines toward Taiwan. The geometry is no longer prohibitive. This reframing also changes how to think about what MASU should prioritize. Extending reach into the first island chain, managing water space to Australia’s north, building comprehensive port security for facilities that will eventually host nuclear‑powered submarines, these are not science fiction. They are near‑term operational requirements that autonomous systems, fielded thoughtfully and connected to real CONOPS, can begin addressing now. Protecting the Submarines Before They Arrive Hellyer’s sharpest observation concerned what he sees as the most underappreciated vulnerability in the AUKUS submarine pathway. He is not particularly worried about whether Australia eventually acquires and crews nuclear‑powered submarines; that will happen. Nor is he losing sleep over the prospect that technological advances will suddenly make submarines transparent to detection, vessels operating at the speeds and depths modern submarines achieve remain profoundly difficult to find. What concerns him deeply is survivability in port and during transit to open water. Submarines often spend the majority of their operational lives in port or in dry dock. HMAS Stirling, Australia’s primary naval base near Perth, will become the home of some of the most valuable and strategically consequential vessels in the Australian Defence Force. The question of how to defend that base against the full range of threats that will exist when those vessels arrive and that already exist today demands urgent attention. The threat picture is layered and diverse. Long‑range ballistic missiles can reach Australian ports. Autonomous surface and underwater vehicles, potentially carrying small missiles or drone payloads, can be launched from considerable distances. Container ships, as Hellyer and I discussed, can serve as covert launch platforms, a pattern with both Iranian activities and World War II precedent. Short‑range drones do not need long range if the platform carrying them does. In a plausible worst‑case scenario, a high‑value submarine damaged or destroyed by a very low‑cost drone, launched from a long‑range unmanned platform, would represent a catastrophic return‑on‑investment failure. The response architecture, layered air defence, counter‑drone systems, underwater barrier operations, surface surveillance networks, is not futuristic. It is anticipatable and buildable now. And HMAS Stirling offers a ready‑made development environment. Whatever defensive architecture Australia learns to build around Stirling can subsequently be applied offensively to bottle up adversary forces at strategic chokepoints. The skills and the mesh networks transfer. The ISR Grid as Foundation Hellyer’s specific operational suggestion, deploying thin‑line sonar arrays on Bluebottle USVs and potentially on larger UUVs such as Speartooth and Ghost Shark, points toward a broader architectural principle. For relatively modest investment, Australia could begin placing large numbers of underwater sensors across the approaches to its major ports and along the transit corridors its submarines will need to use. These systems could form the beginning of a defensive anti‑submarine warfare barrier. But the value of this activity extends beyond its immediate tactical purpose. Every sensor network of this kind generates data, and the task of collecting, distributing, and acting on that data whether through USV‑to‑USV relay, USV‑to‑aircraft handoff, or satellite distribution builds exactly the mesh‑networking competency that more advanced future systems will require. It almost does not matter precisely how the data flows are resolved in early iterations. What matters is that the force learns to resolve them, because that learning is the foundation upon which future capability is built. Fleet Mix: Not a Capital Ship One of the more important conceptual points to emerge from the conversation concerns the fundamental difference in how to think about autonomous maritime systems compared to capital ships. A capital ship is designed to do everything itself. It is an integrated weapons and sensor platform. An autonomous maritime systems fleet is optimized differently: multiple specialized platforms, each contributing different capabilities, working together toward a combined effect. Hellyer raised the cautionary example of Triton as a warning about what happens when autonomous systems are asked to replicate everything a traditional exquisite manned platform can do. The result is predictable: development takes as long, costs as much, and produces as few units. The whole point of the autonomous systems revolution, its promise of intelligent mass over exquisite scarcity, is lost. Mine Countermeasures, Amphibious Support, and the Full Mission Set The conversation identified three immediate mission sets for MASU that extend well beyond the Ukrainian‑inspired port‑strike scenario that dominates public discussion. First, underwater barrier operations to protect submarine transit corridors and deny adversary UUVs the ability to lay mines in approaches to Australian ports. Second, comprehensive port security, including defence against drone swarms, autonomous surface vessels, and other asymmetric threats, which carries commercial value as well as military utility. The threat to merchant shipping approaching Australian ports is real and does not require state‑level adversaries to materialize. Third, and perhaps most overlooked: mine countermeasures. As Hellyer noted candidly, Australia, like most Western nations, has allowed its mine countermeasure capability to atrophy significantly. The most effective response to a mine threat is to prevent mines from being laid in the first place, and autonomous systems operating persistent barrier patrols around port approaches offer a practical mechanism for doing exactly that. The Offshore Patrol Vessels already in service, integrated with USV and UUV capabilities, represent an existing asset combination that could deliver this mission without waiting for new procurement. The 2023 Defence Strategic Review and the subsequent National Defence Strategy have directed the Australian Army towards a more explicitly amphibious and littoral operational focus. Maritime USVs have obvious roles in amphibious operations: sanitizing landing zones, conducting ISR in contested littoral environments, providing persistent surveillance of the operational space ahead of landing forces. Given the deep operational relationship between the Australian Defence Force and the United States Marine Corps, this is an area where coordinated development could produce capabilities valuable to both forces. Strategic Rear Defence and the Alliance Value Proposition The conversation closed with a point that deserves more prominent attention in Australian strategic discourse. Japan, South Korea, and the United States increasingly regard Australia as a strategic rear area, a secure base from which to sustain and regenerate forces operating in the western Pacific. That strategic value is only as durable as Australia’s ability to actually defend its ports, its logistics nodes, and its maritime approaches. A robust MASU, one genuinely delivering operational effects rather than conducting perpetual prototype evaluation, is therefore not merely an Australian defence capability. It is a contribution to allied deterrence, a demonstration that the strategic rear is credibly defended, and potentially a model for collaborative capability development that partners could invest in and contribute to. The alliance value proposition runs in both directions. Hellyer noted that real progress is being made in Australian thinking about autonomous systems after years of what he considered excessive caution. The investments are real. The conceptual advances are real. But the gaps remain, and the timeline pressure is intensifying. The adversarial autonomous systems that might threaten Australian ports are not waiting for MASU’s concept of operations to mature. A large UUV capable of travelling from the northern approaches to Australia to its major ports is essentially a question of battery volume, platform size, and design choices, rather than a distant technological fantasy. Conclusion: Focus on Real‑World Mission Requirements MASU should be focused on real mission requirements: port security, submarine transit protection, barrier ASW operations, mine countermeasure support, and amphibious ISR requirements. The Maritime Border Command already demonstrates what this looks like: an operational force using Australian‑built systems to deliver real‑world surveillance effects. The bolt‑action rifle is not a prototype of the machine gun. It is a weapon that kills people effectively right now. Australia’s maritime autonomous systems are not prototypes of some future fleet. They are capable systems that can begin delivering operational effects today, against threats that are already evident, in defence of infrastructure that cannot afford to wait. Marcus Hellyer is Head of Research at Strategic Analysis Australia and former Senior Analyst at the Australian Strategic Policy Institute. He is the author of multiple editions of The Cost of Defence and holds a Master’s and PhD in History and the History of Science from the University of California, San Diego, as well as a Master’s in Strategic Studies. Also published in Second Line of Defense

'Air and Missile Defense, Precision Strike, and the Indo-Pacific: Lessons from Ukraine and the Gulf' in Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance Proceedings - Paper 3, Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar, 23 April 2026 By Robbin Laird At the Sir Richard Williams seminar held on 23 April 2026 focused on the fight tonight challenge, Justin Bronk delivered a presentation that cut through a great deal of the conceptual noise currently cluttering Western defense debates. His subject was the evolving balance between integrated air and missile defense (IAMD) and precision strike, examined across three theaters: Ukraine, the recent Gulf conflict (Operation Epic Fury), and the Indo-Pacific. What emerged was not a tidy set of prescriptions but something more valuable, a framework for understanding what is actually working, what is not, and what the cost curves are telling us about the choices Western air forces must now confront. Ukraine: The Evolutionary Contest in the Air Domain Bronk began with Ukraine, and with an observation that cut against the prevailing gloom. Things are, for once, looking somewhat better. Ukrainian mobilization reforms are working: the Ukrainian force has grown slightly each month since January, which had not been the case for an extended period. On the Russian side, the force has held at steady state only by reverting to coercing conscripts into contract service, putting Russian losses back on what Bronk characterized as an unsustainable trajectory. Neither of these facts resolved the war, but they represent a genuine shift in the operational situation. On the IAMD side, the low point for Ukraine came in mid to late January of this year. Bronk was direct about this. He described being in country during a period of persistent freezing fog and limited power, when Patriot interceptor stocks had run out and many counter-UAS systems proved to have inadequate all-weather capability. Interception rates against both UAVs and cruise missiles dropped sharply, and ballistic missile penetration followed. The human and industrial consequences were severe. What turned this around was a new shipment of PAC-3 interceptors, a small number relative to what Gulf states subsequently expended in Operation Epic Fury, and the arrival of better weather. The evolutionary contest between Russian one-way attack UAVs and Ukrainian defensive adaptation is one of the most instructive ongoing dynamics in the conflict. Russia’s Geran-2 and Geran-3 systems have had to be continuously upgraded in response to Ukrainian counter-UAS effectiveness, helicopters, turboprop gunships, and even improvised solutions have forced the Russians to slow production cycles while adding electronic warning sensors, FPV cameras, mesh networking, and evasive flight profiles. The result is a costlier, more complex system being produced in approximately the same quantities as before. As Bronk framed it, this is a back-and-forth evolutionary game, and it remains non-decisive.∗ The F-16’s role in UAV interception deserves particular attention. Bronk was unambiguous: yes, F-16s can intercept significant numbers of one-way attack UAVs. No, that should not be the primary course of action. The platform is too expensive and difficult to sustain for that mission set, and the tactical demands are genuinely specialized, formation awareness, gunnery against small maneuvering targets, dedicated counter-UAV weapons employment. One Ukrainian F-16 loss came from intercepting one target, banking, and flying into a second that had not been acquired. This is not a generic multi-role task. Bronk suggested that European nations without large high-end fast jet fleets consider specializing in this mission with advanced turboprop aircraft, the PC-9 being a practical candidate given its speed margin, wing load capacity, and two-seat configuration. That may be a harder conversation in some capitals than it sounds, but the logic is sound. The Myth of Cheap Mass One of Bronk’s most pointed analytical contributions was his challenge to the term “cheap mass.” The framing has become pervasive in Western defense discourse, the idea that large numbers of individually inexpensive systems can substitute for or complement high-end precision munitions. Bronk’s counter was not ideological. It was arithmetical. Ukrainian strike planning against meaningful targets may require between 250 and 400 one-way attack UAVs to reliably get effects on target. At $30,000 to $50,000 per platform, that is a significant expenditure and the effects delivered by the warheads that get through, typically in the three to six pound range, are minimal against anything except highly flammable targets. Oil refineries burn. Factories do not. Hardened military infrastructure does not. Against the kind of target sets that matter in an Indo-Pacific scenario, hardened, defended, often coastal, cheap mass UAVs are not substitutes for high-end precision munitions. They are, at best, decoys and enablers to improve the probability of kill for those high-end weapons. The corollary is equally important: you still need your ARGOMs, your PRSMs, your standoff precision munitions. What cheap mass buys you is improved PK on the few high-end weapons you can get into the target area. For Australia and US Navy power projection forces operating at the end of extended logistics chains, the constraint on how many high-end weapons can reach a launch-acceptable region simultaneously may be more binding than stockpile size. Ghost Shark and similar XL-UUV programs are interesting precisely because they offer a potential means of inserting large numbers of cheap systems into contested sea space alongside air power, without burning through the high-end inventory. Operation Epic Fury: Operational Accomplishment, Strategic Limits Bronk’s assessment of the Gulf campaign was crisp. The U.S. executed an operationally accomplished strike campaign, thousands of Iranian targets engaged, significant degradation of the Iranian ballistic missile arsenal, and the destruction of what remained of the Iranian integrated air defense architecture. But he was careful to calibrate the IAMD narrative: the Israelis had already systematically dismantled Iran’s air defense network in 2024 and 2025. What U.S. forces encountered in Epic Fury was a shell. Describing the campaign as a landmark counter-IADS achievement would overstate the difficulty of the problem set they faced. More interesting was Bronk’s analysis of where the campaign ran into limits, not militarily, but coercively. The political objective of regime change, announced from the outset, may have been the campaign’s central strategic error. When you make a fight existential for your opponent, when the leaders on the other side understand that losing means being killed or overthrown, you foreclose negotiated off-ramps. You push your opponent into maximum resistance rather than toward a calculation about when to compromise. This is a lesson with deep resonance beyond Iran. On the Iranian ballistic missile arsenal, Bronk identified a structural dilemma that deserves wider attention. Iran’s missiles are a finite, one-time-use asset. Every launch is an irreplaceable expenditure unless the production infrastructure is rebuilt. US and Israeli targeting of missile factories and fueling facilities made that rebuilding prospect uncertain. Iranian decision-makers therefore faced an impossible calculus: fire the arsenal and diminish your remaining deterrence, or conserve it and lose operational effect. This constraint — the non-replenishable strike arsenal — is a fundamental vulnerability that applies to any power relying primarily on ballistic missiles as a coercive instrument. The coercive dimension of this cuts the other way as well. A strike capability, Bronk noted, is generally significantly more coercive before it is used than after. Once the missiles fly and fail to achieve their intended political effect, the threat loses credibility. This principle deserves to be internalized in Indo-Pacific planning, including thinking about how Chinese long-range strike threats against Australian targets would be received after the first few strikes land, relative to how they are perceived as coercive instruments before any conflict starts. Stockpile Management: An Unresolved Problem The section of Bronk’s presentation that generated the most immediate operational relevance for Australian planners was his discussion of munitions expenditure and stockpile management. Gulf nations fired over 2,000 PAC-3 interceptors during the campaign, at approximately $6 million per round on FMS pricing. SM-3 ballistic missile defense interceptors, relevant to defense against the Chinese ballistic capabilities that can range Australia, run approximately $43 million apiece for US forces. Firing two at each incoming threat — standard shoot-shoot-look protocol — is the equivalent of expending an F-35 per target. THAAD rounds are roughly $20 million each on the same math. Bronk’s challenge to the audience was direct: can you afford to build and sustain a stockpile of these systems at the scale required for a credible defensive architecture, while simultaneously building and sustaining the offensive long-range strike capabilities that actually deter conflict? The answer, for most Western air forces except the United States, is no. Which raises the question of whether investment in passive defenses, hardening, dispersal, flush procedures, rapid generation from austere locations, should be carrying more of the defensive burden than expensive interceptors. The Ukrainian example here is instructive. Airbases that have absorbed more than a hundred individual attacks against them are still generating operational sorties. The reason is not elaborate active defense . It is dispersal, concealment, rapid sortie generation, and the simple expedient of towing aircraft into the treeline when warning indicates inbound strikes. These techniques are not glamorous. They also cost a fraction of ballistic missile defense interceptors. The unsolved problem Bronk identified is the relationship between national stockpile management authority and operational-level targeting decisions. Who, in a given country, has visibility on the national interceptor inventory during an active campaign? At what risk tolerance are operational planners authorized to proceed when that inventory is being drawn down? These are questions most Western air forces have not answered with sufficient precision, and the Gulf campaign with its extraordinary expenditure rates makes answering them urgent. What Australia Should Prioritize When asked directly what concerned him most if Australia faced a conflict scenario in ten months’ time, Bronk’s answer was characteristically honest and somewhat contrarian. He was, he said, less worried about Australia than Australians might expect him to be. From a Chinese planning perspective, projecting force down toward Australia means operating at the far end of an extended logistics chain, through submarine-patrolled waters, against a force that is tactically proficient, equipped with modern high-end systems, and operating from a sovereign base. That is not an attractive proposition. The more probable Chinese coercive option, in Bronk’s assessment, would be firing conventionally armed intermediate-range ballistic missiles into the waters near a major city, creating political shock without triggering a full military response. His actual concern was munitions. If Australia commits to alliance obligations in a Taiwan scenario pressing forward in the southern flank to prevent China from simply ignoring the southern theater forward-deployed Australian forces run short of precision munitions quickly. That gap, in his view, is where Australian investment most needs to be focused. His assessment of the Royal Australian Air Force was striking: for the people and budget invested, the RAAF deploys more practical firepower against high-end threats than the RAF does at roughly double the budget and triple the personnel. This was not flattery. It was a direct critique of how UK defense investment has been allocated, and by extension, a reminder that organizational efficiency and targeting firepower are not the same thing as dollar expenditure. The Strategic Logic of Offense and Defense Bronk’s closing argument was one that bears repeating in any capital currently debating the balance between IAMD investment and long-range strike development. IAMD investment is only valuable insofar as it buys time for offensive options to deny your opponent their immediate theory of victory. China will not start an operation against Taiwan expecting a two to three year attritional struggle. They will start it because they have convinced themselves it can succeed, and that Australia and Japan can be intimidated into staying out. That calculation is more likely to be modified by visible Australian long-range strike capability by the capacity to threaten Chinese theories of victory than by impressive air defense architecture. This is not an argument against IAMD investment. It is an argument for understanding what IAMD is for. Defense buys time. Offense denies the adversary’s plan. You cannot defend all the cities. You cannot cover all the coastlines. What you can do is make the cost of the offensive campaign prohibitive which requires that you have the strike capability to execute that threat credibly. The kill web framework I have been developing with Ed Timperlake is relevant here. The question is not whether you can defend each node. The question is whether your distributed force can continue to generate combat power and threaten the adversary’s operational plan even as individual assets are degraded. That requires hardening, dispersal, and redundancy on the defensive side and credible, ranged offensive capability on the other. Bronk’s analysis from three active theaters of competition points to the same conclusion: the force that survives to generate sorties and deliver precision effects shapes the operational calculus. Everything else is a supporting investment. Justin Bronk’s remarks at the Sir Richard Williams Foundation seminar provided significant insight into lessons being demonstrated in real world operations. The harder question is whether the acquisition decisions, the doctrine, and the command structures are moving fast enough to absorb them. ∗ The Geran-2, Russia’s domestically produced version of Iran’s Shahed-136, is a low-cost, long-range loitering munition used extensively against Ukrainian infrastructure. Powered by a pusher-propeller piston engine, it cruises at 150–190 km/h with a range of 1,000–2,000 km, carrying a 30–50 kg warhead now upgraded with tungsten shrapnel for improved anti-personnel effects. Russia replaced the original Iranian avionics with GLONASS navigation, Russian flight-control units, and hardened jamming-resistant electronics, while scaling production at the Alabuga SEZ into the thousands of units; by late 2025, variants had also gained 4G connectivity and alleged Starlink-based terminal guidance. The Geran-3 is a jet-powered evolution of the same family, using a small turbojet to reach 300–370 km/h and closing gaps that Ukrainian air defenses had exploited against the slower Geran-2 swarms, with the KometaM-12 CRPA antenna system added to defeat the spoofing and jamming that had degraded earlier waves with both variants now deployed together in mixed strike packages launched from new forward bases near the Ukrainian border. Also published in DefenceInfo

'From Boutique Concern to Existential Question: Logistics, Sustainment and Combat Power' Interview with Dr. David Beaumont By Robbin Laird During a visit to Canberra in April 2026, I had the opportunity to sit down with Dr. David Beaumont, writer at the website ‘The Paper War’ (formerly ‘Logistics In War’), and one of the most persistent advocates for taking logistics seriously as a strategic discipline. For years, Beaumont has argued that logistics and sustainment sit at the very heart of military capability, not at its periphery. Conversations with him have a way of reframing how one thinks about defense preparedness, because he insists on connecting the most abstract questions of strategic competition to the most practical questions of what a force can actually sustain, for how long, and under what conditions. Over the past decade, questions of energy security, logistics resilience and supply chain integrity have migrated from the margins of strategic debate to its center. What once appeared as boutique concerns, fuel reserves, munitions stockpiles, industrial capacity, now shape both household economics and the strategic calculations of governments. In this environment, Beaumont argues that logistics and sustainment are no longer supporting considerations that follow force design. They are now foundational to how combat power is created, preserved and projected over time. A Decade of Warnings For years, a small number of voices raised concerns about fuel security, munitions depth and supply chain resilience, and they were largely ignored. These topics were categorized as narrow technical issues, important to specialists but insufficiently weighty for senior strategic attention. Then came a series of jarring disruptions: natural disasters through North Asia, the COVID-19 pandemic, the war in Ukraine, and repeated shocks to globally dispersed production and distribution systems. Each episode, in Beaumont’s view, was a “wake-up moment” that exposed broad structural vulnerabilities, dependence on offshore manufacturing, concentrated refining capacity, and fragile transport links for critical commodities. Beaumont is careful to note that fuel and munitions shortfalls are only the most visible fraction of a far larger iceberg. They stand in for a much wider set of logistics and supply chain challenges that all modern militaries face. The deeper problem is structural: entire economies have accepted growing strategic risk by outsourcing manufacturing, concentrating critical production in the hands of a small number of suppliers, and assuming that “the system” would always deliver what was needed, where and when it was needed. That assumption held long enough to seem like a law of nature. It no longer does. From Globalization to Risk Acceptance The issue is not globalization as such. Global relationships and trade are not inherently problematic. What is problematic is the way states chose to participate in globalization, specifically, their willingness to allow basic manufacturing capacity to atrophy because importing was cheaper. Pharmaceuticals, specialty chemicals, electronics, steel: in sector after sector, domestic production was wound down in favor of lower-cost imports. Countries able to produce and distribute at lower cost gained an economic, and with it strategic, advantage being able to undercut competitors and outpace domestic manufacturers. However, the decisive factor was the willing acceptance of dependency by consuming states. They made this choice with clear eyes, and they made societies wealthier for a time. But they also embedded new forms of strategic vulnerability that are now proving very difficult to reverse. Fuel is illustrative of the broader pattern. In Australia, the defense force consumes only around three percent of national fuel. Defense demand, on paper, appears manageable. Yet the national logistics system that supports both civil society and the military depends on a complex web of imported supply, overseas refining with substantial international involvement at various points in the chain and maritime transport. When that system falters, the consequences are felt by every citizen in household energy costs and simultaneously constrain military planners. Fuel has become both an economic and a defense problem, and politicians and officials now experience its implications personally, through their own household bills. For Beaumont, that experiential shift is one reason why logistics is finally becoming a topic of genuine strategic interest rather than a niche specialty. The Art of Logistics and the Management of Risk Beaumont is insistent that there is no single, tidy solution to these structural challenges. Logistics and supply chain management are an art of balancing options and risks across multiple dimensions simultaneously. For any major operation, planners face a layered set of tradeoffs. Do you move more stock forward with the force, accepting the burden of transporting and protecting it? Do you build supply in likely operating areas, investing in local infrastructure and prepositioned reserves? Do you hold core stocks to the rear but invest heavily in transport assets, ships, aircraft, land vehicles, to move supplies forward as requirements emerge? Or do you invest in new domestic industries to produce critical items at home, or work to create new multinational supply chains among allies and partners? Each choice reshapes the risk profile of both the force and the society sustaining it. For Beaumont, this balancing act is the essence of what he calls the “art of logistics.” It is not a technical concern to be delegated to specialists and then forgotten. It requires decision-makers to understand basic logistics principles well enough to make genuinely informed choices, including being honest about which risks they are accepting and why. He also warns against the political impulse to demand quick fixes. Whether the issue is fuel security, munitions depth or industrial capacity, large-scale logistics problems and the national economic choices behind them cannot be solved by “pumping more oil” or building a few new refineries. Options must be assessed in combination, and the right mix will vary by country, region and strategic context. There is no universal template, and the search for one usually leads to poor decisions. Oil as the Tip of an Iceberg One of Beaumont’s central arguments is that commodities such as oil, while critically important as has been exposed by recent supply shocks, are only the most visible part of far larger and more complex logistics systems. For example, oil’s relevance extends well beyond fuel for vehicles and aircraft; it underpins plastics, manufacturing processes and a wide range of products that sustain both modern societies and modern militaries. If states treat oil supply disruptions as temporary anomalies linked to specific crises, a particular war, a pandemic, a weather event, they miss the deeper, systemic nature of the problem. The real challenge is structural: societies have organized their industrial bases and supply chains around assumptions of uninterrupted access to cheap energy and globalized production. When those assumptions break down, the consequences ripple outward across everything from consumer goods to the availability of high-end military systems. Treating energy and logistics issues as existential questions for national survivability rather than as technical afterthoughts to be managed by specialists is the necessary reorientation. It has not yet happened comprehensively in most countries. Alliances, Scale and Shared Industrial Capacity These structural challenges lie at the heart of alliance relationships and defense cooperation. Alliances are not merely about basing rights, interoperable platforms or shared intelligence; they are also fundamentally about generating scale in production, building shared stockpiles and developing complementary industrial capabilities. Through alliances, states can collectively create logistics and industrial capacities that none could sustain independently, while distributing risk across multiple national systems. This is a core function of alliances, not a peripheral benefit. In the Indo-Pacific, arrangements that allow South Korea to build vehicles in Australia while maintaining surplus capacity for its own needs hint at the kind of mutually reinforcing industrial relationships that could sustain regional forces through a protracted crisis. Similar logic applies to joint efforts to expand production of long-range missiles and other high-demand capabilities. The key is to treat these cooperative arrangements as structural responses to a shared strategic problem, not as ad hoc measures driven by the urgency of a particular conflict. The danger is that political attention fades once the immediate crisis passes, and the structural work goes undone until the next emergency forces the issue again. Paradigm Shift: Sustainment as the First Question Beaumont is acutely aware that most defense debates still revolve around platforms, new aircraft, ships, armored vehicles, and force planning horizons of ten to fifteen years. Yet he argues that the real paradigm shift lies in moving sustainment and logistics from the end of the planning process to its beginning. Rather than treating sustainment as the final piece of the puzzle, he insists it should be the first question: what can this force actually sustain, under what conditions and for how long? This shift is reinforced by ongoing technological change. The move toward more digital systems, predictive maintenance and networked forces that link sensors and shooters across multiple domains creates new dependencies as well as new capabilities. In such an environment, sustainability is not simply about the readiness rates of individual platforms. It is about whether a force can show up in chaotic conditions, operate for long enough to alter strategic outcomes and adapt under pressure. That in turn demands changes in the sustainment enterprise itself: shared information architectures, cross-service data on platform performance, and organizational structures built to leverage digital tools and industrial capacity in new ways. Without those changes, the promise of predictive maintenance, digital twins and other innovations will not translate into meaningful gains in sustainable combat power. Duration, Readiness and the Nature of Combat Power Beaumont’s conception of combat power places duration at its center. It is no longer sufficient to ask whether a force can generate a surge of activity for a short period. The critical question is how long the logistics enterprise behind that force can sustain operations at the required tempo and intensity. This focus on duration introduces an essential temporal dimension into discussions of readiness that is often missing from platform-centric debates. Readiness statistics that look impressive in peacetime can prove deeply misleading if they do not account for supply chain resilience, industrial surge capacity and the ability to absorb unexpected attrition. True readiness is about more than the percentage of platforms that are technically available on a given day. It is about whether the system behind those platforms, fuel, spares, maintenance, transport, data, can sustain them throughout a protracted crisis or conflict. This perspective also reshapes how deterrence is understood. Deterrence depends not only on visible platforms and headline capabilities but on demonstrating to an adversary that a force can operate persistently, absorb losses, and continue to perform for long enough to alter strategic outcomes. That credibility rests on the adaptability and robustness of the sustainment enterprise. Adaptation Under Fire: Lessons from Ukraine Beaumont sees the war in Ukraine as a compelling illustration of how logistics, industrial capacity and adaptability combine to generate combat power under pressure. Ukraine’s extensive and innovative use of drones including rapid improvisation and close collaboration with external partners shows how a force can leverage available industrial capacity, workforce skills and emerging technology to create asymmetric advantages that more conventionally organized adversaries struggle to match. He questions whether such innovation would have occurred in peacetime. Peacetime planning tends to see the world as planners would like it to be, not as it is. Crises force militaries and governments to confront uncomfortable realities, discard cherished assumptions and take advantage of opportunities that institutional inertia would otherwise suppress. In Ukraine’s case, the imperative to generate combat power under dire conditions drove rapid experimentation, industrial adaption at a national level, and led to the integration of new systems that traditional acquisition processes might never have prioritized, or might have taken a decade to field. For Beaumont, the key lesson is that sustainment and logistics structures must be configured to enable such adaptation, not merely to support a fixed set of preplanned capabilities. Industrial structures that are too rigid, supply chains too narrow and sustainment systems that assume stable operating conditions will fail when confronted with the realities of modern conflict. Transforming the Logistics Community Itself Notably, Beaumont does not exempt logisticians from the need to change. If sustainment is now central to combat power, then the logistics community cannot simply announce that fact and continue with traditional processes and mindsets. He sees a compelling case for those responsible for logistics systems to transform their own approaches, their ways of communicating with partners inside and outside of traditional industry and government groups, and how they engage others in the broader defense enterprise. For technical specialists who have spent years working in logistics, the changes under way may appear incremental. But for most others in the defense enterprise, planners, operators, policymakers, acquisition officials, the shift is profound. Logistics must be communicated and understood not as an opaque technical specialty conducted somewhere in the background but as a central strategic function that shapes what forces can actually do. That means rethinking education, doctrine and organizational culture so that sustainment is considered from the outset in planning and force development, not added in as an afterthought once the platforms and concepts are already decided. It also means building systems designed for rapid learning: capturing lessons from operations, feeding them back into industrial production and maintenance practices, and adjusting supply chains as strategic conditions evolve. The pace of modern conflict and the complexity of modern supply chains both demand an organizational culture that can learn and adapt faster than the threat. Toward Sovereign Survivability and Shared Resilience Running through Beaumont’s argument is an implicit vision of what might be called “sovereign survivability” or a capacity for self-sustenance that is nonetheless embedded within a network of allied and partner capabilities. States need a sufficient domestic manufacturing and resource base to sustain themselves through disruptions. But they also need to embed that base within a broader web of allied industrial capacity, shared stockpiles and complementary logistics networks. This combination allows them to endure strategic shocks, support partners in difficulty and benefit from shared scale and redundancy that no single country could generate alone. For Australia, this means engaging seriously with hard questions about the proper balance between domestic manufacturing and imported supplies, about where to invest in new industrial capabilities, and about how to structure cooperation across the Indo-Pacific and beyond. These are not peripheral concerns that can be revisited when the strategic environment improves. They are central to whether Australian society can remain viable under sustained pressure and whether the Australian Defence Force can generate and sustain meaningful combat power over time. Conclusion: Logistics at the Center of Strategy David Beaumont’s perspective represents a clear departure from older ways of thinking about logistics as a necessary but secondary element of warfare. In his account, logistics, sustainment and industrial capacity are now the primary determinants of what forces can achieve, for how long and at what risk. Fuel security, stockpiles, manufacturing bases and supply chains are not technical topics to be managed by specialists; they are existential issues for national security and societal resilience. As preparedness becomes a mainstream political concern, Beaumont urges militaries, governments and alliances to recognize that transforming the sustainment enterprise may be the single most consequential step available to them for improving long-term combat power. That transformation demands new conceptual frameworks for thinking about risk, new forms of institutional cooperation across defense and industry, and above all a sustained willingness to place logistics at the center of strategic thinking rather than relegating it, once again, to the supporting margins. Also published in Defense.Info

'Ten Months, Not Ten Years: Mike Pezzullo on Australia’s Strategic Moment' in Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance Proceedings - Paper 2, Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar, 23 April 2026 By Dr Robbin Laird There is a particular kind of clarity that comes from a man who spent four decades inside the machinery of Australian national security and is now, as he put it, “free” to speak. Mike Pezzullo, former Secretary of the Department of Home Affairs and one of the most consequential figures in Australian strategic planning over the past generation, brought that clarity to the Sir Richard Williams Foundation seminar in Canberra on April 23, 2026. The message was direct, unsparing, and organized around a single uncomfortable proposition: Australia needs to prepare for a fight tonight force focused on the right timeline. Geography as Inheritance, Geopolitics as Problem Pezzullo opened by insisting on a distinction that he said most strategic commentary fails to make: the difference between the geostrategic and the geopolitical. Australia’s geostrategic inheritance, he argued, remains among the most favorable of any nation on earth. No natural predatory adversary abuts its frontier. Unlike Ukraine, Lithuania, Taiwan, or the Philippines, Australia is not surrounded by hostile neighbors. The sea approaches are long, the country has never gone to war with a neighbor, and for the greater part of its federation it has enjoyed a kind of strategic insulation that most nations would envy. The one historical exception Pezzullo cited was instructive. In the 1950s and 1960s, Australian strategic thinking grew genuinely anxious about a militarized Indonesia under Sukarno. That anxiety reached its apex when Prime Minister Menzies met President Kennedy in the Oval Office in 1962 and was told directly that ANZUS might not apply in a conflict with Indonesia, depending on the geopolitical circumstances of the day. Menzies walked out of that meeting thinking about bombers. The decision to pursue the F-111 flowed from it, as did a now-declassified exploratory nuclear weapons program that continued until 1979. But that was the exception, Pezzullo emphasized. The rule has been strategic comfort, underpinned first by British sea power and then by American dominance of the Pacific. The only time that “protective dome,” as he called it, was genuinely penetrated was in 1942 and that penetration was not directed at Australia per se but at denying the Americans the ability to use Australia as a base for force projection against Imperial Japan. The structural logic of that moment, Pezzullo argued, is the logic Australia faces again today. Twenty Years of Warning Time, Squandered The core of Pezzullo’s argument was historical and personal. Around Anzac Day 2006 — twenty years ago — he had just been appointed Deputy Secretary for Strategy and was reading himself into what was then highly classified intelligence on Chinese military development. He went to see the then-Chief of Defence Force, Air Chief Marshal Angus Houston who was present in the room at the seminar. The conversation, Pezzullo recalled, turned on a single question: does the classical model of Australian defense still work? The “classical model” or the Defence of Australia doctrine that crystallized in the 1987 Dibb white paper under the Hawke government was a homeland defense model predicated on fighting in the sea-air gap to Australia’s north, relying on Australian combat forces but assuming U.S. enablers would be available. It was a model built for a world where the most plausible adversary was a militarized Indonesia, not a global peer competitor projecting naval and air power across the western Pacific. By 2006, Pezzullo told Houston, that model was breaking down. The PLA was developing the capability to push the Americans back. The American defensive perimeter was likely to reset along a line running from Alaska through Japan, the Philippines, and Guam, through northern Australia, with submarines potentially based in Western Australia. That assessment was not speculative. It was derived from intelligence that has since been substantially declassified through the Pentagon’s annual China Military Power reports. The warning time, in other words, was not ten years from 2006. It was two compounding ten-year cycles: they had already lost the first one, and by 2026 they were burning through the second. The National Defence Strategy and Its Limits Pezzullo was measured and fair about the 2026 Australia’s National Defence Strategy. For what it sets out to do, hedging against a classical ten-year planning horizon with a major recapitalization of the maritime force, the Hobart-class destroyers, the Hunter-class frigates, the Mogami-class ships, the Virginia-class submarines and eventual SSN-AUKUS boats, it is, he acknowledged, not a bad document. His quibbles were at the margins: the balance perhaps tips too heavily toward the Navy at the expense of the land force and Air Force, though he understood the recapitalization logic driving that weighting. But the NDS is a force for 2036, not for tonight. And Pezzullo’s central argument was that the two timelines, ten years and ten months, are not interchangeable. The force being built will not arrive before the window of maximum strategic risk. As he put it with characteristic bluntness: “It is not the force that we need in ten months’ time.” The Taiwan Window and the Phone Call The ten-month timeline is not arbitrary. Pezzullo walked through the intelligence record: former INDOPACOM Commander Admiral Philip Davidson’s assessment that the PLA was aiming to be ready in 2027; his successor Admiral John Aquilino’s consistent messaging; Admiral Sam Paparo’s more recent warnings about the capability window. Most significantly, he cited former CIA Director William Burns’s remarkable statement at Georgetown in February 2023, notable precisely because CIA directors speak of estimates and judgments, not of intelligence, that the Agency had intelligence indicating President Xi had directed the PLA to be ready to give him the military option against Taiwan in 2027. Pezzullo was careful about probability. He attributed roughly a 10 percent chance that Xi will use military force, blockade, quarantine, seaborne assault, airborne assault, or some combination, against Taiwan. That is not a high probability. But allowing for the weather window and the seasonal rhythms of military operations in the Taiwan Strait, the most opportune period runs approximately March-April 2027, roughly ten months from the date of the seminar. He then sketched a scenario that cut through the usual diplomatic abstractions. Imagine the phone call. The American president, whoever that may be, calls Canberra. He has not yet decided what to do. But he needs Australia to understand that the infrastructure being built in northern Australia is not theater. It is for war-fighting. He is asking: are you with me? The answer is binary. Political management, the art of the talking point, the art of threading the needle between commitment and ambiguity, will not work in that moment. The question will have been asked, and it will require an answer. Three Things That Need to Happen Now Against this backdrop, Pezzullo laid out three immediate requirements. First, the government should commission the writing of a war book, a genuine national contingency planning document led by Defence and the Department of Home Affairs that addresses fuel and petroleum reserves, pharmaceutical stockpiles, the protection of critical infrastructure now in private hands, the status of internet connectivity and undersea cables, and the question of whether vulnerable populations would be moved out of northern cities like Darwin if strikes became a possibility. This is not the war book of the 1930s or 1950s, he noted. Society has changed fundamentally. Critical infrastructure is privately owned and operated. Those private operators need to be inside the tent. Second, diplomacy needs to be restructured. The pursuit of middle-power coalitions, useful for some purposes, is not the right instrument for the problem Australia faces. As Pezzullo framed it, the credible risk of military conflict is a coalition fight in which the United States and China are the principals and Australia’s role flows from its geography. Two conversations need to happen, with clarity and without equivocation. In Beijing: Australia does not want this war, will work against it, and will honor its alliance commitments. In Washington: here is what we need to know about the plan, here is how command arrangements should work in the Australian theater, and here is the conversation about force flow and strike options that has not yet been had. “We don’t need Douglas MacArthur,” he said pointedly. “We’ll command the local theater.” Third, the NDS needs to be reframed on two time horizons simultaneously. The ten-year horizon document is broadly adequate for an independent defensive Australia force in 2036. The missing document is the ten-month readiness plan, working with what the ADF has available now, not what it will have when the shipbuilding programs mature, and focusing ruthlessly on unit proficiency, platform readiness, and the institutional capacity to fight tonight. The honesty of that framing was bracing. Pezzullo has spent a career inside the system, navigating the constraints that systems impose. He knows what it costs to say these things clearly. The Sir Richard Williams Foundation seminar gave him a room of people who understand both the stakes and the machinery, and he used it to make a case that does not require elaboration or diplomatic softening. For those of us who have spent time analyzing how Western democracies manage the gap between strategic reality and public communication, Pezzullo’s remarks were a useful benchmark. The “fight tonight” standard, the readiness criterion that animates much of the best allied defense thinking today, is not a slogan. It is a question that has to be answered honestly, even when the honest answer is uncomfortable. Also published in DefenceInfo

'So how to exploit Australia’s strategic advantages?' in Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance Proceedings - Paper 1, Sir Richard Williams Foundation Seminar, 23 April 2026 By Dr Robbin Laird ACM (Retd) Mark Binskin AC, Chair, Sir Richard Williams Foundation, opening the seminar on 23 April 2026. The Sir Richard Williams Foundation seminar of 23 April 2026 brought together practitioners, analysts, industry leaders and allies to confront a deceptively simple question: what does it actually mean to exploit Australia’s strategic advantage, not in a decade, but now? “Fight Tonight” was not a slogan but a stress test. It was applied to platform readiness, training pipelines, industrial capacity, space architecture, intelligence integration, munitions stockpiles and, crucially, the honesty with which government explains the strategic situation to its own citizens. The program framed four themes: building combat mass and depth across domains; generating tempo; enhancing industry and the national support base; and surviving to operate through redundancy and dispersal. Presentations made clear that these are not sequential objectives but simultaneous requirements under a tightening timeline. The Strategic Clock Mike Pezzullo, former Secretary of Home Affairs, delivered the day’s most arresting intervention: Australia is preparing for the wrong war on the wrong timeline. The dominant ten-year planning horizon embedded in most defence documents simply does not match the window of strategic risk. Pezzullo traced his own reckoning back to Anzac Day 2006, when serving as Deputy Secretary for Strategy he read highly classified intelligence on PLA developments and put a single question to then-CDS Air Chief Marshal Angus Houston: does the classical Defence of Australia model still work? That model, codified in the 1987 Dibb white paper, assumed focus on the northern approaches, ready U.S. enablers and a militarised Indonesia as the most plausible challenge, not a global peer competitor contesting U.S. access. By 2006, he had concluded the framework was breaking down as the PLA built the means to push the Americans back. In Pezzullo’s judgment, much of the ensuing twenty-year warning time has been squandered. The 2026 National Defence Strategy, with its recapitalisation agenda and aspiration toward a more independent maritime and strike capability by the mid-2030s, is not wrong in what it attempts but it is not the force Australia needs ten months from now. His ten-month clock is anchored in the intelligence record: Admiral Philip Davidson’s 2027 window assessment, consistent warnings from Admirals Aquilino and Paparo, and former CIA Director William Burns’s 2023 statement that Xi has directed the PLA to be ready to give him a military option on Taiwan by 2027. Pezzullo assigns around a ten percent probability to the actual use of force, blockade, quarantine or assault, but notes that the most opportune period runs through the March–April 2027 weather window, roughly ten months from the seminar. His prescription was pointed: commission a genuine national war book, restructure diplomacy around a coalition fight in which the United States and China are the principal antagonists, and produce a ten-month readiness plan in parallel with ten-year recapitalisation. Air Power and Fighting Depth Air Marshal Stephen Chappell, Chief of Air Force, offered the most comprehensive account of how Australia’s advantages can be converted into deterrent airpower. His framework, building fighting depth, ran from geography and basing through human capital, technical investment and national aviation potential to allied integration. Geographically, Chappell encouraged thinking of Australia not as a single island continent but as an archipelago, drawing on the work of Andrew Carr. An archipelago is defended by disaggregation, dispersal and distributed operations, the logic underpinning RAAF posture and exercises such as Bronze Crocodile, which develops runway repair and airfield recovery at Townsville, and Point Group Rising, which reconnects the force to the reality that bases are the core of the weapon system. On human capital, Chappell was emphatic: the RAAF is a tier-one force, and he offered evidence rather than rhetoric. An E-7A Wedgetail deployed at short notice into a two-way range in the Middle East, with crews sheltering under air raid sirens before regenerating airpower. The Air Warfare Instructors Course, running since 1954, produces graduates who hold their own with the best at Nellis. An Air Mobility graduate captained a C-130J into Tel Aviv between ballistic missile barrages to evacuate more than a hundred Australians and New Zealanders. Technically, the F-35A, Super Hornet and Growler fleets remain at the leading edge. The MQ-28 Ghost Bat has now demonstrated its credentials as a genuine combat system by firing an AMRAAM and shooting down a target. The National Air Power Council, co-chaired by Chappell and his transport counterpart, is designed to harness the broader national aviation ecosystem, some 50,000 Australians and approximately 2,200 airfields, into a coherent airpower resource. AIRCDRE Matthew McCormick, Commander Air Combat Group, gave the practitioner’s view from inside the force. The long transition following F-111 withdrawal is over. ACG has moved into spiral upgrading, with the F-35 as its backbone and the focus shifting from standing up platforms to maximising their effect. The tri-national Joint Simulation Environment at Pax River is central: RAAF pilots arrive confident and leave appropriately “recalibrated,” and at the most recent event the ACG team achieved the highest score of the year against a field dominated by U.S. weapons school students and instructors. In an era where fighter kill ratios against peers are closer to two-to-one than the ten-to-one of the Top Gun era, this matters. Lessons from Active Theatres Justin Bronk of RUSI brought the perspective of someone who walks airbases under fire and draws operational conclusions from live conflict. Across Ukraine, Operation Epic Fury in the Gulf and the Indo-Pacific, he interrogated the evolving balance between integrated air and missile defence (IAMD) and precision strike. In Ukraine, Bronk challenged the mythology of “cheap mass.” Achieving meaningful effects against defended targets may demand 250–400 one-way attack UAVs per strike, at US$30,000–50,000 each, carrying warheads in the three-to-six pound range. Against hardened or high-value targets of the kind that matter in an Indo-Pacific scenario, such systems are, at best, decoys and enablers that increase the probability of kill for high-end munitions; they do not replace ARGMs, PRSMs and other standoff weapons. In the Gulf, Bronk cautioned against overstating Epic Fury as an IADS-busting triumph. The United States executed an accomplished strike campaign, but much of the opponent’s IAMD architecture had already been systematically degraded by Israeli operations in 2024–25. More instructive were the limits of coercive leverage: making a fight existential by signalling regime change closes off negotiated off-ramps and incentivises hardline resistance rather than compromise. Bronk’s starkest warning concerned stockpiles. Gulf partners expended more than 2,000 PAC-3 interceptors during the campaign at around US$6 million per round. SM-3s for U.S. forces run to roughly US$43 million each, and standard “shoot-shoot-look” protocols mean expending the equivalent of an F-35’s cost per incoming threat. Most Western air forces, Australia included, cannot afford to field defensive stockpiles at that scale while simultaneously buying the offensive long-range strike that actually deters. The implication is a greater emphasis on passive defence: hardening, dispersal and rapid sortie generation, rather than false comfort in exquisite but unaffordable interceptors. His strategic bottom line was crisp: defence buys time but offence denies the adversary’s theory of victory. The force that survives to generate sorties and deliver precision effects is the force that shapes the operational calculus. Maritime Power in Transition Rear Admiral Matt Buckley, Acting Chief of Navy, spoke from three decades at sea, much of it in submarines. Deterrence, he argued, is not a single platform but an integrated all-domain effect generated by persistent posture and credible lethality. Availability and lethality must be held together: a lethal ship that is not available does not deter, and an available ship without credible lethality invites challenge. On any given day around half the fleet is at sea: as Buckley spoke, 23 ships and more than 1,600 sailors were deployed, and his weekly readiness brief rarely shows fewer than ten ships underway. This is readiness as practised behaviour, not a planning assumption. The Enhanced Surface Combatant Lethality Program has integrated Tomahawk, NSM, SM-6 and the Aegis Baseline 9 upgrade onto the Hobart class, transforming them from presence platforms into serious contributors to joint deterrence. The Navy must nonetheless grow by roughly 25 percent in people and platforms within a decade, approximately 4,000 personnel, into increasingly complex systems. Buckley’s confidence rests on people: the night before the seminar he was informed that a young Australian nuclear technician, in only her second year, had recorded the highest score ever for her category at U.S. Nuclear Power School, a performance the Americans are putting on a plaque. Space, Industry and the Alliance Space is no longer a distant frontier; it is essential infrastructure already under daily pressure. Jeremy King of Lockheed Martin Australia and New Zealand stressed that any force that loses assured space access loses the ability to integrate joint effects at scale: an F-35 without resilient space-derived communications, navigation and ISR is a diminished platform, and a joint force without space is joint in name only. The proliferation of counterspace programmes from three nations in 2018 to at least thirteen tracked in the 2026 Secure World Foundation report makes resilience by design, allied architectures and deliberate industrial integration non-negotiable. Harvey Wright of Optus Satellite highlighted how collapsing launch costs and the dominance of commercial satellites, now roughly ninety percent of objects on orbit, have transformed the strategic equation. His framework centred on sovereign control of critical ground infrastructure, delivery at commercial speed rather than multi-year procurement tempo, and targeted investment in key technologies with Australian firms and research institutions: the logic of distributed resilience applied to space. Industry speakers Kris Christensen of BAE Systems and Richard Morris of Northrop Grumman brought the readiness debate to the factory floor. Christensen’s war-footing workshops use back-casting from a 2027 crisis to ask what workforce, business and capability decisions leaders will wish they had made in 2026. Readiness, she argued, is threefold: workforce readiness (people, clearances, surge capacity), business readiness (the ability to contract and decide at speed), and capability readiness (spares, tooling, local suppliers). If it cannot be sustained, it is not really a capability. Morris argued for reversing the traditional mission–mass–manufacturing–margin logic. In a zero-warning world, margin must come first because it sustains industry at all. Profits fund investment; investment builds factories; factories generate combat mass. The proliferation of FPV drones in Ukraine emerged from industrial actors making practical, profitable decisions at scale, not from mission-first procurement doctrine. Australia’s distinctive advantage is the current influx of primes from the United States, United Kingdom, Europe, South Korea and Japan seeking global production capacity. Seen through a margin-first lens, this is a strategic asset that can embed Australian industry inside global supply chains before crisis arrives. The alliance dimension threaded through Colonel James Landreth’s remarks as USINDOPACOM’s liaison to HQJOC and through Bronk’s munitions warning. The U.S.–Australia alliance is an asymmetric advantage adversaries cannot replicate, built over a century and manifested in deeply integrated operations, logistics and intelligence. Australia as theatre provides distributed logistics that mitigates tyranny of distance, and posture initiatives. from Marine Rotational Force Darwin to enhanced bomber rotations and Talisman Sabre, translate geography into operational reality. But as Justin Bronk underscored, the comfortable assumption that the United States can always act as “arsenal of last resort” has eroded, as even close allies such as Estonia and Finland now discover in delayed deliveries and public caveats. For Australia, Bronk’s guidance could not have been clearer: the munitions available on day one of conflict are effectively the munitions available for the duration. Buy as many as you can, as fast as you can. Advantage as Active Work Taken together, the 2026 Williams Foundation seminar portrayed a country with genuine strategic advantages that require constant work to exploit and can be rapidly eroded by complacency, underinvestment or institutional slowness. Geography is a fact but not a strategy. Partnerships are a foundation but demand maintenance. Recapitalised forces are a starting point that must be organised and operated to deliver integrated combat power at the moment of decision. Across domains, the outlines of an answer emerged. Geographically, dispersal, distributed operations and agile combat employment convert continental depth into resilience. The human dimension benefits from sustained investment in a tier-one workforce capable of extraordinary performance when circumstances demand. Technically, spiral upgrades, autonomous systems like Ghost Bat and integrated space architectures extend reach without exhausting scarce human capital. Industrially, a margin-first logic and integration into global supply chains build sovereign capability before crisis. In intelligence and space, disciplined foundational work and allied-by-design architectures turn data into decision advantage and fragility into resilience. Over all of this hangs Pezzullo’s challenge: the clock is wrong, and someone must say so. “Fight Tonight” is not a metaphor. It is a standard against which Australian readiness must now be honestly measured. Also published in Second Line of Defense

Brian Weston 'On Target: Who was Richard Williams?' in Australian Defence Business Review, March-April 2019 p. 82 After several mutually supportive years with Australian Aviation , the On Target column, written on behalf of the Sir Richard Williams Foundation, is now to be published in the Australian Defence Business Review . As background, the Sir Richard Williams Foundation is an independent research organisation whose purpose is to promote the development and effective implementation of national security and defence policies, as they impact on Australia’s ability to generate air power appropriate to Australia’s unique geopolitical environment and values. The Foundation aims to strengthen Australia’s national security by advocating the need for forward-looking policies which take full advantage of the potential for air power to shape and influence regional security and by promoting constructive debate regarding the implementation of such policies. The Foundation is pleased to take the opportunity offered by the Australian Defence Business Review. An appropriate topic for this first On Target column would be to outline who was Richard Williams, and why is there a foundation bearing his name. Richard Williams was born at Moonta Mines ‒ roughly halfway up the eastern coast of the Spencer Gulf in South Australia, on 3 August 1890. After enlisting in the Australian Military Forces, he was commissioned in 1911 and attended the first ‘war-flying’ course at the Central Flying School, Point Cook in 1914. Following the raising of the Australian Flying Corps (AFC) in 1915, Williams was posted as a Flight Commander in No 1 Squadron, AFC and accompanied the squadron to Egypt where the unit was to serve with the Royal Flying Corps (RFC). For the next two years Williams served with distinction and gallantry, rising to command No 1 Squadron, AFC. In June 1918, shortly after the merging of the RFC and the Royal Naval Air Service to form the Royal Air Force (RAF), Williams was appointed to command the 40th (Army) Wing, RAF; comprising No 1 Squadron, AFC and Nos 111, 144 and 145 Squadrons, RAF. To enable him to command the RAF wing, Williams ‒ already commissioned as a lieutenant colonel in the AFC ‒ was also commissioned into the RAF. At the end of World War I, after spending time in London investigating how Australia might follow Britain in establishing an independent air force, Williams returned to Australia where he was the driving force behind the merging of the aviation elements of the army and navy into the Australian Air Force, on 31 March, 1921. Soon after, the Australian Air Force become the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). Wing Commander Williams was appointed to head the RAAF and it fell to him to establish the new service, aided considerably by the gifting of a quantity of war surplus aircraft and equipment from Britain. For the next 17 years, apart for periods of absence to serve with the RAF, Williams fought tenaciously to keep the small independent Australian air service alive in an atmosphere of hostility and severe financial stringency. Inevitably, during those years, Williams made some powerful enemies, especially in 1929 and 1932, when he convinced government not to abolish the RAAF as had been proposed. Subsequently, Williams went on to lay the foundation on which the RAAF, in World War II, built to a mighty air force of almost 175,000 personnel. Richard Williams never got the opportunity to command the RAAF in war as following Prime Minister Menzies decision, in 1939, to appoint Englishmen as the chiefs of the three Australian services ‒ a decision Menzies justified on the basis no Australian officer had leadership experience of a service in war. Williams was duly despatched to London and then to Washington to see out World War II. Williams autobiography bluntly records Williams view on this: “Menzies himself was facing a task beyond his experience but he was not calling for an Englishman to solve it”. But after the war, Williams was not done with Australian aviation as, following his retirement from the RAAF in September 1946, he assumed the appointment of Director General of Civil Aviation and led the department until 1955. As all Australian aviators know, our country is a nation made for aviation – both military and civil. But who was to build the essential, widespread national aviation support infrastructure on which Australia’s civil aviation could prosper? Certainly, Australia’s infant civil aviation operators could not. It was a task beyond them but one the Department of Civil Aviation undertook, under Williams leadership. Sir Richard Williams is the greatest figure in Australian military aviation history and someone who stands tall in the pantheon of great Australians. His autobiography, These are Facts, The Autobiography of Sir Richard Williams, KBE, CB, DSO, written in 1977, is a must-read for any Australian aviator with an interest in the history and development of Australian aviation. Brian Weston is a Board Member of the Williams Foundation and On Target is published as a regular column in the Australian Defence Business Review. Download pdf

Dr Alan Stephens 'On Target: Richard Williams and the Defence of Australia' July-August 2019 This column written for the ADBR July/August 2019 an edition that was not published The two previous “ On Target ” articles have outlined the unsurpassed contribution made to Australian air power by Sir Richard Williams. This article continues that story by describing Williams’ strategy for defending Australia. The ultimate consequence was that, when Japan launched the war in the Pacific in December 1941, Australia was dangerously unprepared and vulnerable. Yet had one-quarter of naval expenditure been invested in next-generation technology, Australia might have fielded some 500 strike/reconnaissance aircraft armed with bombs and torpedoes.. In 1923 Williams went to England to attend the British Army staff course and then the RAF course, stopping-over on his way home for further study in Canada and the United States. On resuming command of the RAAF in February 1925 he was deeply disturbed by the government’s lack of interest in air power. Williams immediately began drafting a concept of operations, and by May had completed a “Memorandum Regarding the Air Defence of Australia”. “Memorandum” was something of an understatement because the document contained sixty-eight pages and a great deal of detail, analysing such issues as Australia’s strategic setting, Japan’s war economy, a proposed RAAF force structure, technical and personnel matters, logistics, costs, local aircraft production, and training. The lack of support for the Air Force was, Williams argued, inconsistent with modern theories of warfare, which postulated that the aeroplane would decide future conflicts. Drawing on the inherent qualities of air power, he pointed to his service’s unique ability to “pass over defences, armies and fleets and penetrate into those portions of a country and attack [targets] which previously have been immune”. While geography and the modest range of existing aircraft made the European strategy of bombing an enemy’s homeland impracticable for Australia, air power could still provide the key to national security by controlling the sea lines of communication. Williams suggested that the main justification for maintaining an army and navy was to prevent an enemy from occupying Australia, yet that was an outlook which more than any other demanded the use of aircraft. Command of the sea was a prerequisite for an invasion. Given Australia’s defensive challenge of immense distance, small population and limited infrastructure, the other two services could never be expected to provide the necessary level of security against invasion (a judgment which was implicitly acknowledged in the so-called Singapore strategy, under which Australia relied on the British Royal Navy to defend it). Aircraft, with their speed, range, and reconnaissance and striking power, were the obvious solution. It was also reasonable to assume, Williams continued, that no enemy could expect to secure a lodgement in Australia without first establishing air superiority, and fighter aircraft were the best means of defence against air attack. Williams identified five roles for the RAAF: air superiority (which would be limited to specific locations, such as overhead an invasion area); army cooperation; navy cooperation; long-distance reconnaissance over land and sea; and attacks against enemy targets on land and sea. There was no prevarication about which country might threaten Australia. In calculating the number of aircraft the RAAF needed, Williams based his figures on Japan’s military capabilities. Taking into account training, operational reserves, and the wide dispersion of the vital areas which might have to be defended, Williams proposed a force structure of thirty squadrons and 324 aircraft. Special emphasis was placed on the attack force, which he described as the component most relevant to Australia’s needs. Because aircraft were able to strike harder, faster, and at greater distances than any other weapon system for the same cost, a well-equipped and well-trained strike force would attack the enemy at sea “long before he reaches the coast”. But institutional biases and faith-based thinking could not, like battleships, easily be made to change direction, and Williams’ plan was ignored by the government. During the inter-war years, the RAN received about 60 per cent of all defence appropriations, the Army about 30 per cent, and the RAAF 10 per cent. Despite that financial largesse, the RAN amounted to little more than an auxiliary squadron of the RN, with no capability to defend Australia without major reinforcement. The ultimate consequence was that, when Japan launched the war in the Pacific in December 1941, Australia was dangerously unprepared and vulnerable. Yet had one-quarter of naval expenditure been invested in next-generation technology, Australia might have fielded some 500 strike/reconnaissance aircraft armed with bombs and torpedos. Almost fifty years later, in arguably what was the most significant Defence White Paper ever published, The Defence of Australia 1987, the superseding importance of protecting Australia by controlling the maritime approaches to our north and north-west was formally endorsed. This was, in effect, yet another acknowledgement of Richard Williams’ extraordinary legacy. Dr Alan Stephens is a Research fellow of the Williams Foundation and a visiting fellow at UNSW Canberra. On Target is published as a regular column in the Australian Defence Business Review. Download pdf

Brian Weston 'The Birth of an Australian Air Force – Part 2' Australian Defence Business Review – May/June 2019 p 82 The On Target column in the previous edition of ADBR ‒ written on behalf of the Sir Richard Williams Foundation ‒ provided a brief outline of the man who is regarded as the person responsible for not only establishing an Australian Air Force, but also establishing a sufficient and robust foundation on which the service could later expand into a credible Australian Air Force. This column will expand on the huge task Richard Williams faced when the Australian Air Force was established on 31 March, 1921 ‒ the prefix Royal being added in August 1921. The genesis for the establishment of independent air services lay in the rapid advances in military aviation during World War I, accompanied by much theorising about how military aviation might be used in future conflicts to provide alternative strategies to the stagnant and attritional industrial-scale trench warfare of World War I. But there was no consensus in this debate about the future strategies, roles and organisation of military aviation, with claim and counter-claim vigorously prosecuted; with navies and armies generally showing little enthusiasm, indeed often outright hostility, for the concept of independent air forces. Britain, with massive personnel losses in World War I, was at the forefront of the development of new concepts for air operations with a view to finding new ways of winning future conflicts, without suffering the huge human losses incurred in World War I. In a watershed decision, Britain decided to establish an independent air force by merging the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) and the Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) on 1 April 1918, to form the Royal Air Force (RAF) ‒ seven months before World War I concluded. Australia, tied into the British Empire and with the experience of raising the Australian Flying Corps (AFC) in 1915 and of its subsequent employment with the RFC in the Middle East and the Western Front, soon gained experience with the employment of military aviation in war. AFC personnel also witnessed the establishment of the RAF as the world’s first independent air service, as well as understanding the reasons why the RAF was established. The debate about the future of Australian military aviation was decided by the Australian Government on 9 September, 1920 when, speaking in the House of Representatives, the Prime Minister, Mr Hughes said: “It may be confidently expected that aviation and those scientific methods of warfare which developed so rapidly during the war, and which, particularly during the latter period of the conflict, were resorted to so freely, may develop still further. No doubt that development will completely revolutionise warfare and let us hope that it will make war impossible… The air, that new element which man has now conquered, is but the sea in another form and it is on the sea and in the air that we shall have to look for our defence…” We believe too that in the air we may hope to create a force which will be of incomparable service in defending us from an enemy. The Government therefore are placing on the estimates a sufficient sum for the building up of an efficient air force. It is proposed to afford such inducements as are hoped will encourage manufacturers to make engines and aeroplanes in this country and the Government will not hesitate to give a very substantial bonus for that purpose.” To give effect to the government decision, the Air Board was constituted on 9 November, 1920 to provide for the governance of the new air force. It comprised four members: First Air Member ‒ Director of Operations and Intelligence Second Air Member ‒ Director of Personnel and Training Third Air Member ‒ Director of Equipment Fourth Air Member ‒ Finance Member Wing Commander Richard Williams was appointed as First Air Member although his position was not as a chief, but as a ‘first among equals’. The task for Williams, and the Air Board he chaired, was immense. There was no legislative governance framework unlike the Navy and Army, to which the Naval Defence Act and Defence Act applied. Then there was the matter of the gifting, by Britain, to the new fledging air force, of 128 aircraft ‒ indeed, the new air force had more aircraft than personnel ‒ including spare parts, engines, motor transport, tenders, motorcycles, tools, ammunition, bombs, cameras, wireless equipment, etc. For which, there was no process to receive, receipt and account for the gift equipment, nor to store and maintain the equipment. A not insubstantial task for the new Air Board led by Wing Commander Richard Williams, then of 30 years of age. The fact that he did succeed is why he is held in such high regard today. Brian Weston is a Board Member of the Williams Foundation and On Target is published as a regular column in the Australian Defence Business Review. Download pdf here

Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance - Paper #12 By Dr Robbin Laird The contemporary Indo-Pacific security environment presents a fundamental challenge to traditional alliance structures: how can middle powers maintain strategic autonomy while deepening military cooperation with major power partners? This dilemma is particularly acute for Australia, which faces the competing imperatives of economic integration with China, security dependence on the United States, and growing regional leadership responsibilities. The intersection of these pressures reveals broader tensions about the future of alliance partnerships in an era of major power competition. During my trip to Australia in September 2025, I discussed the dynamics of Australian defence and alliance issues with my colleague Stephan Frühling from the Australian National University. The Erosion of Alliance Certainties The comfortable assumptions of the post-Cold War era are dissolving. Australia’s traditional model of alliance partnership, providing ‘joint facilities’ and political support in exchange for American security guarantees, is proving inadequate for contemporary challenges. As Stephan Frühling observes, “despite the progress made since 2020, U.S.-Australia force posture cooperation remains limited by the lack of alliance institutionalization and political agreement, especially domestically in Australia, on its aims and objectives.” This institutional gap reflects a deeper problem: alliance cooperation is proceeding faster than political consensus. Recent force posture initiatives, including submarine rotational deployments, bomber base upgrades, and combined logistics enterprises, represent significant operational progress. However, as Frühling notes, “there is no sign that this will bring U.S. and Australian national defence postures into closer alignment.” The disconnect between tactical cooperation and strategic integration reveals fundamental tensions in contemporary alliance management. The experiences of Ukraine and Israel, where American support came with significant operational constraints and political interference, have reinforced Australian concerns about maintaining decision-making autonomy in potential conflicts. As one Australian strategic analyst observed to me, “we can’t rule out the possibility that we might actually have to conduct some operations, major operations, to deter and demonstrate capability to deter even China, but also cause enormous damage to the baddies if the United States decides it’s going to sit on its hands.” This stark assessment reflects growing recognition that the reliability of any single patron, even the United States, cannot be taken for granted in an era of domestic political volatility and competing global priorities. The challenge lies not in abandoning alliance relationships but in restructuring them to account for new realities. The Strategic Independence Imperative Australia’s response to this challenge involves moving from alliance dependence toward what can be characterized as strategic independence or developing sufficient autonomous capability to deter aggression while maintaining productive partnerships. This transformation requires abandoning traditional military thinking focused on capital ships and large platforms in favour of what Australian analysts call “high-leverage capabilities.” With a population of 25 million and constrained defence budgets, Australia cannot compete through numerical superiority. Instead, it must invest in systems that can “stop even a major aggressor in its tracks” through technological sophistication. The recently announced $1.7 billion investment in Ghost Shark autonomous underwater vehicles exemplifies this approach. Unlike traditional submarine programs that deliver small numbers of expensive platforms over decades, the Ghost Shark program is designed for rapid scaling and continuous technological evolution. This modular, rapidly deployable approach creates multiple, simultaneous threats that complicate adversary decision-making while avoiding catastrophic loss scenarios associated with traditional platform-centric strategies. The difference between deploying 15 Ghost Shark systems versus 180 represents a qualitative shift in deterrent capability that potential adversaries must factor into their planning. However, strategic independence requires more than advanced weapons systems. It demands industrial capacity to sustain those systems independently of vulnerable supply chains. The Ghost Shark program’s emphasis on domestic battery production illustrates this broader requirement. Producing sophisticated autonomous systems while importing all critical components from potentially hostile nations represents a fundamental strategic vulnerability. Deliberate Incrementalism as Strategic Framework Frühling proposes “deliberate incrementalism” as a framework for managing the tension between deepening cooperation and preserving autonomy. This approach acknowledges that alliance cooperation driven by “bottom-up, practical cooperation has a tendency to overstep political bounds, leading to tensions if such boundaries are then reestablished.” The solution involves carefully managed steps toward greater cooperation that respect political realities and sovereignty concerns. Frühling recommends that allies “try to say a little more each time” in their strategic dialogues, gradually building shared understanding without rushing toward comprehensive integration that may prove politically unsustainable. This approach requires several key elements: gradual development of shared strategic understanding without forcing perfect alignment; focus on overlapping operational needs rather than abstract strategic coordination; and development of graduated response mechanisms that provide decision-making flexibility during crises. For the U.S.-Australia relationship specifically, deliberate incrementalism means focusing on “areas that reflect overlapping national interests in operations closer to Australia, and on strengthening deterrence by facilitating horizontal rather than vertical escalation.” This acknowledges that Australia’s primary strategic concerns centre on its immediate region rather than broader global competition with China. The Economics of Strategic Independence Strategic independence cannot be divorced from economic considerations. The concept of “embedded logistics” offers a framework for addressing supply chain vulnerabilities while serving broader alliance interests. Rather than relying on expensive, vulnerable supply lines stretching from Hawaii to forward deployment areas, the United States could dramatically reduce Pacific logistics costs by supporting Australian industrial capacity development. This approach serves multiple strategic purposes. It reduces Australian dependence on any single supplier, including traditional allies whose domestic politics might disrupt supply relationships. It provides the foundation for supporting regional partners who lack sophisticated defence industries. Most importantly, it enables Australia to maintain military operations during extended periods when great power politics might limit access to traditional suppliers. The Chinese economic coercion playbook, demonstrated globally over the past decade, reinforces the importance of economic resilience. Australia’s experience of Chinese trade restrictions in 2020-2021 illustrates both the vulnerability and the potential for adaptation. Despite Chinese restrictions on coal, wine, and other exports, Australia’s economy proved more resilient than anticipated, finding alternative markets and strengthening partnerships with countries like India and Japan. Operational Integration Without Strategic Subordination Strategic independence does not mean strategic isolation. Australia’s future security depends on deepening operational integration with trusted partners while maintaining decision-making autonomy. The level of operational integration already achieved between Australian and American forces extends far beyond traditional alliance cooperation. Current systems integration means, as one Australian strategic analyst noted to me, “if you’ve got a sensor saying, here’s a PLA task group here, what’s the best asset for actually striking that in 15 minutes time, if it’s an Australian F-35 flight… it’s a joint thing.” This represents genuine operational integration where tactical decisions are made based on capability and positioning rather than national boundaries. Similar integration is developing with other regional partners. Australia’s expanding training relationships, from long-standing arrangements with Singapore to new partnerships with Germany, reflect a diversification strategy that reduces dependence on any single relationship while building interoperability across multiple partnerships. The key insight is that operational integration can coexist with strategic independence when partners maintain genuine capabilities rather than depending solely on a dominant ally’s systems. Australia’s ability to contribute meaningfully to integrated operations depends on having independent capabilities to contribute, not just political willingness to follow American leadership. Regional Leadership and Multi-Alignment Strategies Australia’s evolving strategic role extends beyond self-defence to regional leadership through capability sharing and operational cooperation. The expanding relationship with the Philippines illustrates this potential. Australia’s new treaty arrangements and joint exercises with Manila represent more than bilateral cooperation for they demonstrate how middle powers can create alternative security networks that complement rather than compete with traditional alliance structures. The autonomous systems focus provides particular opportunities for regional leadership. Maritime autonomous systems offer an ideal platform for sharing operational information and coordinating responses to grey-zone activities without requiring massive infrastructure investments associated with traditional military cooperation. Australia could position itself as a regional hub for autonomous systems development and deployment. This regional role serves broader strategic purposes by creating multiple decision-making centres that complicate adversary planning. Rather than focusing solely on potential American responses to regional aggression, potential adversaries must account for Australian capabilities, Philippine responses, Japanese actions, and other variables that cannot be controlled through bilateral pressure on Washington. The Challenge of Institutional Innovation The limitations of traditional alliance structures have encouraged institutional innovation. Frühling points to NATO’s Graduated Response Plans as a model for developing alliance-level operational planning that respects sovereignty concerns while building collective capabilities. These plans identify “what reinforcements might be necessary given the geographic and strategic situations in different parts of the alliance, the logistics of how they could be deployed, the political and military decision points and their timing.” For the U.S.-Australia relationship, this might involve developing contingency plans that outline decision points and operational requirements without predetermining political responses. By identifying when and where decisions must be made, allies can build collective capabilities while preserving decision-making autonomy. However, institutional innovation must account for the reality that “the vast majority of Australian staff officers, defence planners, and public servants who must make myriad practical decisions that collectively shape Australian force posture and structure outcomes do so with less of an explicit policy framework on how Australia’s national objectives align with alliance cooperation than their predecessors had two decades ago.” This institutional gap reflects broader challenges facing middle powers: maintaining the bureaucratic and political capacity for independent strategic thinking while deepening operational ties with major power partners. The risk is that tactical cooperation proceeds faster than political consensus, potentially creating vulnerabilities or misunderstandings during crises. Managing Resource Asymmetries Middle powers face stark resource asymmetries when competing with major powers for influence. China has more than doubled its ballistic and cruise missile arsenal in recent years and possesses the world’s largest shipbuilding capacity. These disparities create fundamental constraints on middle power strategic options, particularly when attempting to balance relationships with competing major powers. However, resource limitations also create opportunities for middle powers to focus on areas where they possess comparative advantages. Rather than attempting comprehensive balancing strategies, countries like Australia can concentrate on specific domains such as technology standards, environmental governance, critical minerals, or regional stability mechanisms where their contributions carry disproportionate weight. Australia’s approach to critical minerals illustrates this strategy. By leveraging natural resource advantages while building processing and value-added capabilities, middle powers can maintain strategic relevance despite overall resource constraints. This requires patient investment in research and development capabilities but provides the foundation for genuine strategic autonomy. The Deterrent Effect of Uncertainty The deterrent effect of strategic independence capabilities depends not only on their technical performance but on adversary uncertainty about their capabilities and employment concepts. The psychological impact of facing an unknown number of sophisticated autonomous systems operating in contested waters may exceed their direct military effect. This uncertainty principle applies more broadly to strategic independence. Adversaries who could previously predict Australian responses based on American decision-making patterns now face genuine uncertainty about Australian capabilities and intentions. This uncertainty serves deterrent purposes regardless of the specific capabilities involved. The Pacific Island “fingerprinting” campaigns by Chinese forces illustrate the importance of distributed response capability. Australia’s ability to respond independently to such provocations, without requiring American approval or support, provides options for graduated responses that might be impossible within traditional alliance frameworks where every action requires extensive coordination. Implications for Alliance Architecture The Australian experience suggests several principles that may guide successful alliance evolution in an increasingly multipolar world. First, economic diversification remains crucial for maintaining strategic autonomy. Countries that become too dependent on single major power relationships risk losing freedom of manoeuvre during crises. Second, institutional flexibility proves more valuable than rigid alliance commitments. Middle powers benefit from arrangements that allow them to contribute to collective security without compromising their ability to make sovereign decisions about force deployment and strategic priorities. Third, regional focus and comparative advantage strategies offer more sustainable approaches than attempts at comprehensive great power balancing. Countries that identify specific domains where their contributions carry disproportionate weight can maintain influence despite resource constraints. The solution requires reframing alliance cooperation from patron-client relationships toward genuine strategic partnerships. This means American acceptance that capable allies will make independent decisions about capability employment, while Australian recognition that strategic independence requires genuine capability development rather than political posturing. Conclusion: The Future of Strategic Partnership Australia’s movement toward more strategic independence represents neither abandonment of alliance relationships nor pursuit of complete autonomy. Instead, it reflects adaptation to a strategic environment where traditional security guarantees are no longer sufficient for national survival. The goal is developing sufficient independent capability to deter aggression while maintaining the partnerships necessary for broader regional stability. This transition requires sustained political commitment to capability development, industrial investment, and regional engagement. It demands American acceptance that genuine partners exercise genuine autonomy in strategic decision-making. Most importantly, it requires recognition that strategic independence and alliance partnership can reinforce rather than contradict each other when properly structured. The stakes extend beyond Australian security to the broader question of whether democratic middle powers can maintain autonomy in an era of great power competition. Australia’s success or failure in developing genuine strategic independence while maintaining productive partnerships will influence similar efforts across the Indo-Pacific and beyond. The path forward involves deliberate incrementalism, carefully managed cooperation that builds collective capabilities while respecting sovereignty concerns and political realities. This approach acknowledges that the comfortable assumptions of the post-Cold War era offered the illusion of permanent security through alliance dependence. The emerging strategic environment demands the reality of security through capability and partnership. Australia’s challenge is managing this transition successfully while contributing to broader regional stability, a transition that is not only possible but essential for long-term security in an increasingly contested world. Also published in Defense.info

Fight Tonight: Combat Readiness at the Speed of Relevance - Paper #11 By Dr Robbin Laird The recent Williams Foundation seminar on military readiness did not really highlight or provide detailed perspectives on how uncrewed systems could empower the fight tonight force and help drive the ongoing operational re-design process which is becoming a key part of military readiness. Australia finds itself positioned to leverage this technological moment. With sophisticated defence systems, experienced operators, and strategic partnerships that provide access to cutting-edge uncrewed platforms, the country can build immediate capability while establishing the foundation for future autonomous operations. The challenge lies not in waiting for perfect technology, but in maximizing the substantial potential that exists within current systems. I have worked for a number of years on various autonomous and unmanned or uncrewed systems. And in so doing, I have talked for a number of years to Australian practitioners of the art in government, industry and the analytical community. Based on those conversations let me provide a supplement to the recent Williams Foundation Seminar on the “fight tonight” force. The Language Problem: Autonomy Versus Reality One of the most significant barriers to effective implementation of uncrewed systems lies in the misuse of language. Defence professionals routinely describe current systems as “autonomous” when they are anything but. This linguistic imprecision creates unrealistic expectations and diverts attention from what these systems can accomplish. True autonomy, as defined in military glossaries, refers to systems capable of sensing their environment, making independent decisions, and fulfilling commander’s intent without human intervention. On a five-level autonomy scale, where level one represents remotely piloted systems and level five represents full autonomy, current military systems operate predominantly at levels two and three. Consider the MQ-9 Reaper, often cited as an autonomous system. In reality, it features a traditional cockpit with throttle, stick, and pedals. It is fundamentally a piloted aircraft with some automated features. Even advanced systems like the MQ-4C Triton operate as a level two automated platforms, executing pre-programmed missions without making independent decisions. The emerging category of Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA), including Australia’s Ghost Bat, represents level three systems requiring external sensing and human oversight. The U.S. Air Force’s decision to call these “collaborative” rather than “autonomous” aircraft demonstrates a more honest assessment of current capabilities. This distinction matters because when defence professionals claim current systems are autonomous, they create dangerous misunderstandings. Policymakers and the public begin to believe that full autonomy has arrived, leading to unrealistic expectations and inappropriate deployment concepts. More critically, it diverts attention from developing practical applications for the technology which we actually possess. The China Challenge as Catalyst for Innovation If we look at the challenge posed by China we get an insight into a key competitor who is driving a way forward with uncrewed systems. China’s approach to uncrewed systems development provides valuable insights into practical applications while demonstrating the urgency of immediate adoption. Beijing has invested heavily in diverse uncrewed platforms, from sophisticated combat air vehicles to converted legacy aircraft equipped with remote control systems. This approach demonstrates how quantity, adaptability, and rapid deployment can create strategic advantage even without perfect autonomy. China’s strategy appears to embrace the philosophy of “good enough” technology deployed at scale rather than perfect systems deployed in small numbers. Their conversion of legacy fighters like the MiG-17 into uncrewed platforms creates substantial asymmetric capabilities using existing airframes and relatively simple automation packages. These platforms may lack sophistication but provide significant tactical options for saturating defences, conducting reconnaissance, or serving as decoys. More concerning is China’s development of hundreds of new uncrewed combat air vehicles designed from the ground up for automated operations. These platforms, while not fully autonomous, can conduct complex missions with minimal human oversight and pose significant challenges to traditional air defence concepts that assume human decision-making timelines. This reality presents Australia with both challenge and opportunity. While China may field large numbers of simpler uncrewed systems, Australia can leverage its technological sophistication and operator expertise to develop more effective employment concepts for advanced automated platforms. The key lies in rapid adoption and iterative improvement rather than waiting for perfect solutions. The Chinese model also illustrates how uncrewed systems can complement rather than replace traditional platforms. Instead of viewing future conflicts through the lens of platform-versus-platform comparisons, Australia can explore how automated systems enhance the effectiveness of existing capabilities like F-35s, Wedgetails, and maritime patrol aircraft. Australia’s advantage lies not in matching Chinese production numbers but in developing superior employment concepts that maximize the effectiveness of sophisticated automated systems. This requires getting current technology into operators’ hands quickly to build the experiential knowledge necessary for tactical innovation. Ghost Bat: A Platform of Immediate Potential At the seminar, the Chief of Air Force, Air Marshal Chappell underscored that Australia’s Ghost Bat program represents an exceptional opportunity to build practical experience with advanced uncrewed systems while contributing to current defence needs. Even in its initial ISR configuration, Ghost Bat offers multiple pathways to enhanced capability that can be exploited immediately rather than waiting for future weaponization. But beyond any initial considerations of the long-term future of such an aircraft, it should be noted that the platform’s sophisticated sensor suite and data processing capabilities position it perfectly for immediate integration with existing ISR networks. Paired with high-altitude platforms like the Triton, Ghost Bat could provide complementary low-altitude surveillance over critical maritime chokepoints, creating layered sensor coverage that significantly enhances situational awareness in contested areas. Integrated with Wedgetail early warning systems, Ghost Bat could extend sensor networks beyond traditional line-of-sight limitations and provide additional data correlation capabilities. This application would be particularly valuable in Australia’s maritime approaches, where the platform could investigate contacts detected by high-altitude sensors while crewed aircraft maintain safe standoff distances. The platform’s collaborative architecture also creates opportunities for innovative tactical applications. Multiple Ghost Bat aircraft could coordinate autonomous sensor sweeps, automatically sharing data and adjusting coverage patterns based on emerging intelligence requirements. This swarming approach to ISR could overwhelm adversary counter-surveillance efforts while providing unprecedented situational awareness. Ghost Bat’s modular design creates opportunities for adaptive employment that accelerate capability development. Rather than waiting for a single system to fulfill all requirements, Australia could explore specialized variants optimized for specific missions. Sophisticated ISR platforms could focus on complex surveillance tasks requiring advanced sensor fusion and data processing, while simpler “arsenal aircraft” could be designed specifically for missile carriage and engagement extension. This modular approach allows parallel advancement in multiple mission areas while building the operational foundation necessary for more advanced applications as technology matures. Each variant would contribute immediately to defence capability while providing lessons that inform future development. The weaponization timeline, rather than being viewed as a limitation, creates opportunities for innovative employment concepts. Current ISR-focused operations would build operator expertise in human-machine collaboration, develop tactics for contested environments, and identify integration opportunities with existing platforms. When weapons integration becomes available, operators would already possess the experiential foundation necessary for effective combat employment. Perhaps most importantly, Ghost Bat’s current configuration allows for immediate experimentation with multi-domain operations. The platform could coordinate with naval systems for maritime surveillance, support land forces through tactical reconnaissance, or enhance air operations through collaborative sensing. These applications would build the joint operational concepts necessary for future autonomous operations while delivering immediate capability enhancement. Learning from Real-World Innovation The conflict in Ukraine demonstrates how practical adoption drives effective uncrewed system employment far more effectively than theoretical development cycles. Ukrainian forces have successfully integrated multiple types of automated systems through rapid deployment, field modification, and continuous operator feedback. This experiential approach has produced remarkably effective tactical applications in timeframes measured in weeks and months rather than years and decades. One could argue that the Ukrainian model reveals several key insights applicable to Australian defence planning. First, operator experience drives innovation more effectively than engineering specification. Ukrainian forces have modified commercial drones, adapted software systems, and developed new tactical employment concepts based on immediate battlefield feedback. This rapid iteration cycle has produced solutions that no amount of peacetime analysis could have predicted. Second, the most effective uncrewed systems often emerge from adapting existing platforms rather than developing new ones. Ukrainian forces have successfully weaponized commercial quadcopters, modified racing drones for reconnaissance, and converted civilian aircraft for military missions. This approach leverages existing technology while focusing innovation efforts on mission-specific adaptations. Third, effective employment often requires combining multiple simple systems rather than developing single complex platforms. Ukrainian operations frequently employ coordinated formations of different uncrewed systems, each optimized for specific tasks but working together to accomplish complex missions. This distributed approach proves more resilient and adaptable than single-platform solutions. The Ukrainian experience also demonstrates the importance of human-machine collaboration rather than complete automation. The most successful operations combine automated platforms with human decision-making, leveraging machine advantages in persistence and precision while retaining human advantages in creativity and adaptation. For Australia, this suggests accelerating Ghost Bat and other uncrewed system deployment to build operator expertise and identify practical applications. Early operational experience will drive innovation more effectively than theoretical analysis, while contributing to defence readiness throughout the development process. The Ukrainian model also suggests opportunities for rapid capability enhancement using existing platforms. Commercial systems could be adapted for military missions, existing crewed aircraft could be modified for uncrewed operations, and software systems could be rapidly modified based on operational feedback. This approach would build accelerated capability while providing the experiential foundation necessary for more advanced development. Beyond Platform-Centric Thinking My own work on maritime autonomous systems suggests that current uncrewed systems offer opportunities to enhance existing capabilities through mission-focused integration rather than platform replacement. This approach recognizes that the greatest immediate value lies not in developing new platforms but in amplifying the effectiveness of current systems through intelligent integration. The F-35’s advanced mission systems exemplify this potential. Through software modifications, these aircraft can coordinate seamlessly with uncrewed systems, creating collaborative networks that multiply effectiveness without requiring entirely new platforms. F-35s could serve as battle managers for uncrewed systems, providing targeting data, coordinating sensor coverage, and enabling distributed operations that complicate adversary response. Similarly, existing ISR platforms like Triton and Poseidon could be enhanced through integration with uncrewed systems that extend their sensor reach and provide additional data collection points. Triton aircraft could coordinate with lower-altitude uncrewed systems to create comprehensive maritime surveillance networks, while Poseidon aircraft could deploy and control specialized systems for underwater detection or electronic warfare. The key insight is that current platforms already possess the computational power, communication systems, and operator expertise necessary for uncrewed system integration. What’s required is focused software development and operational concept refinement rather than entirely new acquisition programs. These modifications can occur rapidly when approached as capability enhancement rather than platform replacement, delivering improved effectiveness on accelerated timelines while building toward more advanced future applications. The timeline advantages are substantial: software modifications can be implemented in months, operator training can be accomplished in weeks, and tactical concept development can occur through immediate experimentation. The SRG Model: Mission-Focused Excellence In my earlier discussions with RAAF officials involved with Ghost Bat, I argued that the Surveillance and Reconnaissance Group exemplifies the problem-solving approach that maximizes uncrewed system potential. SRG personnel focus on mission accomplishment using available tools rather than waiting for perfect platforms. This mindset makes them ideal candidates for pioneering uncrewed system employment concepts while providing a model for broader defence innovation. SRG’s approach centres on understanding mission requirements first and then adapting available technology to meet immediate needs. This methodology contrasts sharply with platform-centric thinking that defines ideal systems and then waits for their development. The SRG model prioritizes practical solutions that deliver capability while building experience for future advancement. This operator-focused approach ensures that system development remains grounded in practical operational requirements rather than theoretical specifications, increasing the likelihood of effective real-world employment. SRG personnel regularly adapt systems for missions beyond their original design parameters, developing innovative employment concepts through experimentation and iteration. The SRG experience with existing ISR platforms provides valuable insights for uncrewed system employment. Their success in coordinating multiple sensor platforms, correlating data from diverse sources, and adapting to dynamic intelligence requirements demonstrates the operational concepts necessary for effective uncrewed system integration. Perhaps most importantly, SRG personnel think in terms of network effects rather than individual platform capabilities. They understand how different systems can complement each other, how data sharing multiplies effectiveness, and how adaptive employment can create capabilities greater than the sum of individual parts. This network-centric thinking is essential for maximizing uncrewed system potential. The SRG model suggests how Australia can accelerate capability development across all domains. Rather than waiting for perfect systems, operators can begin experimenting with current technology to identify practical applications and develop innovative employment concepts. This experiential approach builds the institutional knowledge necessary for future advancement while delivering immediate capability enhancement. The model also demonstrates the importance of empowering operators to drive innovation rather than restricting development to acquisition specialists. SRG success comes from giving experienced operators the authority to experiment, adapt, and innovate based on operational requirements rather than bureaucratic constraints. An Adoption-First Strategy The path to maximizing uncrewed system potential lies through adoption-focused rather than acquisition-focused policies. This approach recognizes that current automated systems offer significant capability that can be enhanced through practical employment and continuous improvement. The strategy emphasizes getting technology into operators’ hands quickly rather than waiting for perfect solutions. Key principles include accepting current automation levels while developing employment concepts appropriate to existing capabilities, prioritizing rapid deployment to build operator experience, and embracing iterative improvement based on operational feedback. This approach leverages uncrewed systems’ inherent advantage: their ability to be modified rapidly through software updates and mission system changes. The adoption-focused strategy recognizes that uncrewed systems derive their greatest value from adaptability rather than initial perfection. Unlike traditional platforms that require extensive modification for capability changes, uncrewed systems can be reprogrammed, reconfigured, and redeployed for new missions in timeframes measured in weeks rather than years. The strategy also emphasizes parallel development streams that allow different organizations to pursue complementary approaches simultaneously. While traditional combat aviation units explore tactical employment concepts, ISR specialists can develop surveillance applications, logistics specialists can explore support missions, and joint practitioners can explore close air and tactical ISR support to the land force. This parallel approach accelerates overall progress while building expertise across multiple domains. Implementation requires institutional changes that empower operators to drive innovation rather than waiting for centralized acquisition decisions. Operators need the authority to experiment with systems, modify employment concepts, and adapt tactics based on immediate feedback. This operational empowerment accelerates innovation while ensuring that development remains grounded in practical requirements. The adoption-first strategy also recognizes the importance of accepting incremental progress rather than pursuing revolutionary breakthroughs. Each improvement in automation, each enhancement in human-machine collaboration, and each advancement in tactical employment contributes to overall capability development while building toward future autonomous potential. Building Toward 2040: The Journey Advantage Viewing full autonomy as a 2040 destination rather than a current requirement creates space for systematic capability building that delivers value throughout the development process. This journey perspective enables honest capability discussions that acknowledge current limitations while working systematically toward greater independence. It allows for realistic operational planning that leverages current strengths while building toward future potential. Each generation of systems can incorporate greater automated decision-making while maintaining appropriate human oversight, building operator expertise and institutional knowledge essential for eventual autonomous operations. The progression from level two to level three to level four automation provides natural development milestones that allow for systematic capability advancement. The journey approach also recognizes that autonomous systems will require different operational concepts, training programs, and institutional structures than current platforms. Building these foundations takes time, but the process can begin immediately using current technology. Operators can develop human-machine collaboration techniques, organizations can adapt command structures, and institutions can build the cultural familiarity necessary for autonomous operations. This progressive development approach offers several advantages over revolutionary transformation attempts. It allows for continuous learning and adaptation, reduces risk by enabling incremental testing and refinement, and maintains operational capability throughout the development process. Rather than waiting for autonomous breakthroughs, defence organizations can build systematically toward autonomous potential while leveraging current capabilities. The timeline also aligns with strategic planning horizons that account for evolving threats and technological development. Rather than rushing toward capabilities that may not be ready, Australia can build steadily toward autonomous potential while maximizing current opportunities. This approach ensures that investment in uncrewed systems delivers immediate returns while building toward future strategic advantage. The journey metaphor also enables more realistic resource allocation and capability planning. Rather than betting everything on autonomous breakthroughs, defence planners can invest systematically in automation advancement while maintaining current operational effectiveness. This balanced approach reduces risk while ensuring continuous capability improvement. Perhaps most importantly, the journey approach recognizes that autonomous operations will emerge from enhanced human-machine collaboration rather than human replacement. The most effective autonomous systems will leverage human creativity, adaptability, and judgment while automating routine tasks and providing superhuman persistence and precision. Building this collaborative foundation requires practical experience that can begin immediately with current technology. Conclusion: Seizing the Moment Australia stands at a unique moment in military technology development. Current uncrewed systems offer substantial capability that can enhance defence readiness immediately, while providing the foundation for more advanced autonomous operations in the future. The convergence of sophisticated platforms like Ghost Bat, proven automated systems like Triton and Reaper, and advanced integration capabilities in existing platforms creates unprecedented opportunities for capability multiplication. The key to success lies in practical adoption that gets systems into operators’ hands quickly and builds capability through experiential learning. This approach recognizes that the greatest advances in uncrewed system employment will come from operators who understand both the potential and limitations of current technology, rather than from theoretical analysis by acquisition specialists. The technology exists today to multiply Australia’s defence effectiveness through uncrewed system integration. Ghost Bat can begin contributing to ISR missions while building toward more advanced applications. Existing platforms can be enhanced through uncrewed system integration that leverages current computational power and communication systems. Operators can begin developing the expertise necessary for future autonomous operations while contributing to current defence needs. The opportunities extend across all domains of military operations. Maritime surveillance can be enhanced through coordinated networks of crewed and uncrewed platforms. Air operations can be multiplied through collaborative combat concepts that leverage both human creativity and machine persistence. Land operations can be supported through tactical reconnaissance and logistics applications that reduce risk to human personnel. Most importantly, Australia can leverage its technological sophistication and operator expertise to develop employment concepts that maximize the potential of current automated systems while building toward the autonomous future. The country’s tradition of military innovation, combined with access to advanced technology and experienced personnel, creates ideal conditions for pioneering effective uncrewed system employment. The strategic implications are substantial. While potential adversaries may focus on quantity over quality, Australia can demonstrate how sophisticated automation, innovative employment concepts, and superior human-machine collaboration can create decisive advantages. This approach plays to Australian strengths while building the foundation for future autonomous superiority. The choice facing Australian defence planners is not between current limitations and future perfection, but between seizing immediate opportunities and waiting for perfect solutions that may never arrive. Current uncrewed systems, properly employed, can enhance defence capability today while building the operational foundation necessary for an autonomous journey towards 2040. The path forward is clear: embrace the potential of current uncrewed systems, accelerate their practical adoption through operator-focused development programs, and build the operational foundation necessary for autonomous excellence. Australia’s defence advantage lies not in waiting for tomorrow’s technology, but in maximizing today’s opportunities while building systematically toward future potential. Also published in Defense.info For a video discussing this article, see the following: