Some Observations about Network-Enabled Over-the-Horizon Attacks

Norman Friedman’s 2009 book Network Centric Warfare is one of the principal influences upon my thinking about 21^st Century maritime combat. It is a seminal recounting of the evolution of modern maritime warfare systems, the ‘systems of systems’ they fit in to, and the doctrines developed for employing them. It also serves as a core reference for researchers seeking to discover the fine (declassified) technical and operational details of the Cold War competition between U.S. and Soviet maritime ‘battle networks.’

One of Friedman’s most interesting observations in the book pertains to network-enabled attacks, especially from ‘over-the-horizon.’ A ship targeted using remote surveillance sensors, for example, might not realize it had been targeted until it detected inbound weapons. Friedman notes that the multi-source Soviet Ocean Surveillance System (SOSS) couldn’t enable true surprise attacks because Soviet anti-ship missile doctrine was predicated on the use of ‘pathfinder’ and ‘tattletale’ scouts for visual confirmation and classification of targets. Detection of these scouts by U.S. Navy or NATO battleforces (or theater/national surveillance systems) would provide the defenders warning that Soviet anti-ship missile platforms were nearby or that a raid was inbound. (Pg. 217-239)

In contrast, the U.S. Navy of the late 1970s and early 1980s sought to use its Ocean Surveillance Information System (OSIS) network of signals intelligence sensors and fusion centers to provide targeting cues to Tomahawk Anti-Ship Missile (TASM)-armed submarines via an effort dubbed Outlaw Shark. Since its advent a decade earlier, OSIS had been used to detect, classify, and develop “track histories” for Soviet ships in support of Navy operational-level planning. The experimental Outlaw Shark targeting capability stemmed from using OSIS’s track histories to dead-reckon Soviet ships’ geolocations at future times, then transmitting those cues to patrolling submarines. Unlike SOSS, though, OSIS did not use active surveillance or reconnaissance sensors to supplement its passive ones. As a result, Outlaw Shark targeting would have been unavailable if Soviet ships maintained disciplined Emissions Control (EMCON). (Pg. 206-209)

In the event of exploitable Soviet EMCON indiscipline, however, Friedman observes that Outlaw Shark targeting would in theory have denied a Soviet surface force any warning of an impending U.S. anti-ship attack. This is because the OSIS-TASM tandem’s lack of a scout meant that there would have been no discernable U.S. Navy ‘behavior’ to tip Soviet ships off that they had been targeted. Friedman concludes with the thought that even if a TASM attack had landed no blows, it nevertheless might have disrupted a Soviet surface force’s plans or driven it to take rash actions that could have been exploited offensively or defensively by other U.S. or NATO forces. (Pg. 210)

The obvious limitations of relying almost entirely upon non-real-time signals intelligence for over-the-horizon targeting contributed greatly to the Navy shelving its TASM ambitions during the early 1980s. The Navy’s own mid-to-late Cold War countertargeting doctrine and tactics made great use of EMCON and deceptive emissions against SOSS, so there was no fundamental reason why the Soviets could not have returned the favor against OSIS. Moreover, TASM employment depended upon a Soviet ship maintaining roughly the same course and speed it was on at time of an OSIS-generated targeting cue. If the targeted Soviet ship maneuvered such that it would not be within the TASM’s preset ‘search basket’ at the anticipated time, then the TASM would miss. Nor could Navy shooters have been sure that the TASM would have locked on to a valid and desirable Soviet ship vice a lesser Soviet ship, a Soviet decoy ship, or even a non-combatant third-party’s ship.

Friedman’s point remains, though: a network-enabled attack that results in a physical miss could nevertheless theoretically produce significant tactically-exploitable psychological effects. This concept has long been used to forestall attacks by newly-detected nearby hostile submarines, even when the submarine’s precise position is not known. An anti-submarine weapon launched towards the submarine’s vicinity at minimum complicates the latter’s tactical situation and potentially forces it into a reactive and defensive posture. This can buy time for more effective anti-submarine measures including better-aimed attacks.

It therefore might be reasonable to use some longer-ranged weapons to “shock” an opponent’s forces along the lines Friedman outlines, even if the weapons’ hit probabilities are not high, if it is deemed likely that the targeted forces will react in ways that friendly forces armed with more plentiful and producible weapons could exploit. For example, an opponent’s force might light off its air defense radars upon detecting the attacker’s weapons’ own homing radars. Or perhaps the opponent’s units might distinguish themselves from non-combatant vehicles/aircraft/ships in the battlespace by virtue of their maneuvers once they detect inbound weapons. Either reaction might provide the attacker with definitive localization and classification of the opponent’s platforms, which in turn could be used to provide more accurate targeting support for follow-on attacks. Depending on the circumstances, expenditure of a few advanced weapons to ‘flush’ an opponent’s forces in these ways might be well worth it even if none hit.

But would doing so really be the best use of such weapons in most cases? We must bear in mind the advanced ordnance inventory management dilemma: higher-capability (and especially longer-range) guided weapons expended during a conflict likely will not be replaced in the attacker’s arsenal in a timely manner unless they are readily and affordably wartime-producible. Nor will weapons launched from surface ships’ or submarines’ launchers be quickly reloadable, as these platforms will have to retire from the contested zone and expend several days of transit time cycling through a rearward base for rearmament. The force-level operational tempo effects of this cycle time will not be insignificant. A compelling argument can be made that advanced weapons should be husbanded for attacks in which higher-confidence targeting is available…unless of course the responsible commander assesses that the situation at hand justifies firing based on lower-confidence targeting.

There is another option, however. Instead of expending irreplaceable advanced weapons, a network-enabled attacker might instead use decoy weapons that simulate actual weapons’ trajectories, behaviors, and emissions in order to psychologically jar an opponent’s forces or otherwise entice them to react in exploitable ways. This would be especially useful when the attacker‘s confidence in his targeting picture is fairly low. SCATHE MEAN comes to mind in this respect. This is probably more practical for aircraft and their deep munitions inventories in aircraft carriers or at land bases. Still, it might be worth exploring how a small number of decoy weapons sprinkled within a Surface Action Group or amongst some submarines might trade operationally and tactically against using those launcher spots for actual weapons.

As for the defender, there are four principal ways to immunize against (but not decisively counter) the use of actual or decoy weapons for network-enabled ‘shock or disrupt’ attacks:

• Distribute multi-phenomenology sensors within a defense’s outer layers in order to detect and discriminate decoy platforms or weapons at the earliest opportunity. The sensors must be able to communicate with their operators using means that are highly resistant to detection and exploitation by the attacker.

• Institute routine, realistic, and robust training regimes that condition crews psychologically and tactically for sudden shocks such as inbound weapons “out of nowhere” or deception. This might also lead to development of tactics or operating concepts in which some or all of the defender’s units gain the ability to maintain restrictive emissions, maneuvering, and firing discipline even when an adversary’s inbound weapons are detected unless certain criteria are met.

• Field deep (and properly positioned) defensive ordnance inventories. Note that this ordnance does not just include guns and missiles, but also electronic warfare systems and techniques.

• Embrace tactical flexibility and seize the tactical initiative, or in other words take actions that make it far harder for an adversary to attack first. A force’s possession of preplanned branching actions that cover scenarios in which it is prematurely localized or detected by an adversary can help greatly in this regard.

Friedman’s observations regarding the psychological angles of network-enabled targeting are subtle as they require thinking about how the technological aspects of a tactical scenario might interplay with its human aspects. We tend to fixate on the former and overlook the latter. That’s an intellectual habit we’re going to need to break if we’re going to restore the capacity and conditioning we possessed just a quarter century ago for fighting a great power adversary’s networked forces.

The views expressed herein are solely those of the author and are presented in his personal capacity. They do not reflect the official positions of Systems Planning and Analysis, and to the author’s knowledge do not reflect the policies or positions of the U.S. Department of Defense, any U.S. armed service, or any other U.S. Government agency.

Combined Arms Support to Submarine Operations

Last month in the conclusion to my series examining the Jeune École, I noted that Germany’s use of submarines in the Atlantic for theater denial and Guerre de Course during the two World Wars—while incredibly costly to the Allies in terms of blood and treasure—ultimately failed in large part because German surface combatants and land-based aircraft could not seriously offset Allied anti-submarine efforts.

German U-boats were on their own in the Atlantic during the First World War because their surface combatant brethren could not break through the Royal Navy’s North Sea blockade in numbers. Granted, a handful of German large and medium surface combatants were forward deployed when the war broke out, and a few Germany-based medium surface combatants and armed auxiliaries managed to access the Atlantic at various points over the war’s course. All of these warships, though, operated as commerce-raiders either by design or by default—and few managed to operate for longer than a handful of months before being neutralized. Allied anti-submarine forces, whether operating independently or (after April 1917) as convoy escorts, therefore only had to contend with their prey

Nor did U-boats receive substantive support from the Kriegsmarine’s surface forces during the Second World War. If anything, Germany was at an even steeper surface order of battle deficit relative to the Royal Navy than had been the case two decades earlier. As a result, and with the exception of the April-June 1940 Norwegian campaign, the Kriegsmarine once again principally used its larger surface combatants for commerce-raiding. Although the Kriegsmarine’s surface threat to Britain’s lines of communication with the Americas was peacemeal and limited to 1939-1941, the threat it posed to the allies’ lines to the Soviet Union through the Norwegian Sea was more serious and lasted until 1943. One could make the case that the Kriegsmarine’s large surface combatants based in Norway supported U-boats in the case of convoy PQ-17, but that stemmed from the British Admiralty erroneously ordering the convoy’s ships to scatter to their fates in the belief that German surface raiders including the Tirpitz were approaching (they were not). In any case, the sad story of PQ-17 was not repeated.

The advent of theater-range aircraft during the interwar years, however, meant that U-boats did receive some combined arms support. Specialized Luftwaffe bombers were fielded to provide surveillance and reconnaissance support to Kriegsmarine surface and submarine units. These bombers also conducted anti-ship raids of their own. The Luftwaffe was able to iteratively increase its oceanic reach throughout the war, established a dedicated command for maritime operations in the northeastern Atlantic, and introduced radio-controlled anti-ship weapons that permitted standoff attacks. The first combat use of one of these weapons, in fact, caused the allies to temporarily halt offensive anti-submarine Surface Action Group (SAG) operations in the Bay of Biscay; this provided U-boats based on the French Atlantic coast with a temporary window of opportunity for safer transits to and from the open ocean.

And yet, the Luftwaffe never operated enough aircraft to pose a persistent threat to allied convoys or offensive anti-submarine SAGs. Moreover, the Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine never hammered out doctrine, communications protocols, or planning processes that could enable effective operational coordination. On-scene tactical coordination between aircraft and U-boats was sporadic; the occasional noteworthy successes that did occur did not translate into major campaign gains. Luftwaffe land-attack raids against major British ports, naval bases, and shipbuilding hubs to suppress convoy and SAG operations as well as new ship construction were sustained for only the first half of 1941, were largely ineffective in their operational purpose, and were ultimately discontinued. Most significantly, U-boats operating in the western and southern Atlantic were outside the Luftwaffe’s range—and thus were on their own.

The Soviet Union’s leading maritime strategist of the Cold War, Fleet Admiral Sergei Gorshkov, took note of all this. In his 1976 book The Sea Power of the State, Gorshkov observed that Germany’s Second World War U-boat operations ultimately failed to achieve their strategic objectives in part because they

“…did not have the support of other forces, notably, aircraft, which could have been an irreplaceable means of reconnaissance, to fulfill the tasks of destroying anti-submarine forces and also to act against the economy of the opponent, particularly his shipbuilding industry, and to inflict blows on cargo ships in the ocean.” (Pg 120)

Gorshkov then observed that while German U-boat operations were representative of the roles submarines should play in war, the Germans erred as

“Throughout the war not a single attempt was made to counter the anti-submarine forces of the Allies in an organized way from operating with total impunity.” (Pg 120-121)

Notwithstanding the irony that Soviet interests in the war were on the receiving end of the U-boat operations he lauded, Gorshkov appeared to be arguing that Soviet attack submarines should perform much the same roles in a notional conflict with the U.S. and NATO. He further seemed to argue that Soviet air forces should provide his submarines with the direct and indirect forms of support that he had outlined.

Whatever Gorshkov may have actually believed, his Navy’s planned use of submarines for barrier protection of the Soviet maritime periphery represented the polar opposite of what his book seemed to recommend. Part of this was due to the paramount Soviet military-strategic task of protecting the motherland from naval strikes, whether conventional or nuclear. Part of this was also due to Soviet leaders’ fears that their strategic nuclear reserve force—their SSBNs—might be subjected to wartime attrition via U.S. and NATO conventional offensive anti-submarine operations. If the U.S. and NATO could attain a superior ‘correlation of nuclear forces’ during the conventional fight, Soviet logic went, then the West would gain a major card to play in the bargaining over war termination. Soviet Naval Aviation, surface forces, and attack submarines were consequently tasked with preventing U.S. and NATO naval forces from attacking the SSBNs; comparatively few Soviet attack submarines were to be hurled at NATO’s trans-Atlantic lines of communication at the beginning of a war.

It follows that offensive strategic anti-submarine warfare was one of the primary reasons the 1980s U.S. Maritime Strategy emphasized forward operations within the Soviet oceanic periphery. The strategy suggested that if U.S. carrier battleforces in the Norwegian Sea and Northwest Pacific could weather or outright defeat Soviet anti-carrier forces’ onslaught early in a war, then U.S. and allied anti-submarine forces might gain more operational freedom to interdict older Soviet SSBNs (or any Soviet SSNs for that matter) attempting to break out through forward geographic chokepoints into the ‘world ocean.’ Moreover, U.S. naval airpower could also be theoretically used to suppress Soviet surface and airborne anti-submarine forces protecting the newer Soviet SSBNs’ bastion patrol boxes. If these Soviet anti-submarine forces could be suppressed, then U.S. and NATO SSNs operating against the bastions (or conducting land-attack cruise missile strikes into the Soviet Union, if so ordered) would only face opposition from their acoustically-inferior Soviet counterparts. In essence, the 1980s Maritime Strategy redirected Gorshkov’s logic regarding combined arms support of submarine operations against his own fleet.

The late Cold War is not the only example of U.S. combined arms support of submarine operations. Again, as I noted in my Jeune École series’ finale, U.S. offensive submarine operations against Japanese sea lines of communication during the Second World War benefitted indirectly from the Imperial Japanese Navy’s myopic fixation on fleet-on-fleet operations:

The U.S. Navy fast carrier task force’s advance across the Pacific arguably provided increasing amounts of indirect combined arms support to their submariner brethren over time by occupying the attention of Japanese naval resources that theoretically could have been assigned to convoy defenses or submarine-hunting groups. Although the Imperial Japanese Navy showed little interest in protecting convoys from submarines during the war, an absence of the U.S. Navy carrier threat in the Central Pacific after 1942 might have provided room for reallocating some Japanese fleet assets to anti-submarine tasks as Japanese merchant vessel losses mounted.

So what might these history lessons mean for future U.S. Navy doctrine and operating concepts?

For starters, it’s important to keep in mind that a submarine’s combat “invisibility” has never been absolute. If a submarine torpedoes a ship, then the other side’s anti-submarine forces gain a “flaming datum” to orient their search. If a submarine launches a missile or raises a periscope/ESM mast for too long within the other side’s effective radar (or visual) coverage and is detected, then the other side's hunters know precisely where to start their cordon and redetection efforts—or place quick-response weapons in the water. A submarine may be able to scan or shoot far enough away from an opponent’s anti-submarine aircraft or surface combatants to be able to “break datum” before the hunters can react effectively, but it cannot count on that favorable scenario always being available. And the closer a submarine operates to an adversary’s coast, the denser the coverage by the adversary’s anti-submarine sensors (whether seabed-mounted sonar arrays, ship and aircraft-mounted sonars/radars, or fishermen’s eyes) and platforms will be. These assets might not be able to find or shoot at the submarine, but their presence might unnecessarily complicate its mission. In some situations it might even delay or prevent the submarine from completing that mission.

In a major modern war, U.S. SSNs and SSGNs would be tasked with land-attack strikes, special forces insertion/extraction, and intelligence/surveillance/reconnaissance collection within a contested zone’s inner reaches. The SSNs would additionally be tasked with forward anti-submarine and anti-surface operations. Just as was the case in the 1980s Maritime Strategy, our submarines might situationally benefit from some external help from other U.S. or allied forces in suppressing the adversary’s ability to conduct effective anti-submarine operations.

This help might take the form of aircraft performing anti-ship missile raids against enemy anti-submarine SAGs inside a contested zone. It might take the form of offensive sweeps by fighters against the adversary’s maritime patrol aircraft. The mere fact that adversary anti-submarine forces were attacked in a particular area in a particular way might induce the adversary to limit or cease operations in that area while it figures out how to adapt; this could be exploited to great effect by U.S. submarines even if the ‘pause’ only lasted for a few days.

External forces might also provide submarines with deception and concealment support. This might consist of air or surface naval operations that have the primary or secondary purpose of distracting the adversary’s attention from a U.S. submarine’s operating area. Or perhaps air or surface forces might release submarine-simulating unmanned underwater systems at some standoff distance from the adversary’s coast; these decoys could then “swim” forward into designated areas to confuse or distract the adversary’s anti-submarine forces.

External support to forward submarine operations might additionally include surveillance and reconnaissance aircraft that report their surface pictures via interior lines of networking to a higher-echelon commander. The commander could then broadcast that information along with theater or national-level naval intelligence information “in the blind” for our submarines to receive and use for their purposes.

If authorized by U.S. political leadership, combined arms support to our submarines might even take the form of U.S. cruise missile strikes against the adversary’s naval and air bases supporting anti-submarine operations. As I’ve noted previously, it must be understood that a U.S. President’s decision-making on this question would be heavily—and perhaps decisively—affected by the escalatory precedents already set by the adversary (regardless of who that might be) in the conflict. 

These forms of external support would not be possible to all U.S. forward submarine operations due to asset availabilities. Nevertheless, air or surface operations could be sequenced or coordinated to support specifically prioritized submarine operations or operational periods.

The adversary’s ability to pose an excessively high threat to U.S./allied air or surface operations within a contested zone’s inner sections would also be a major limiting factor. Special assets such as very low observable aircraft might be needed to conduct attacks in support of submarine operations—or cue attacks by other forces armed with long-range weapons. These penetrating aircraft in turn might need to be supported via submarine-launched land-attack cruise missile strikes against an adversary’s wide-area air surveillance sensors or air defense systems. This is a great example of why mutual support between combat arms is so critical in modern warfare. Even so, it is quite likely that the further forward a submarine operates within a contested zone, the more likely external support (if any is possible) will be indirect.

None of this changes the fact that U.S. submarines will assuredly conduct high-risk independent operations deep within an adversary’s maritime periphery in a notional major war. That’s been a constant from the Second World War, through the Cold War, to today. U.S. direct and indirect support of submarine operations has also been a constant, whether it was inadvertent as in the Second World War or consciously planned for as in the 1980s Maritime Strategy. I’d argue that external combined arms support (as possible and relevant) can have much to offer our submarines in the present and future as well.

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I'll be on hiatus next week. I aim to resume posting the week of August 10th.

The views expressed herein are solely those of the author and are presented in his personal capacity. They do not reflect the official positions of Systems Planning and Analysis, and to the author’s knowledge do not reflect the policies or positions of the U.S. Department of Defense, any U.S. armed service, or any other U.S. Government agency.

The Use of Land-Based Air Defenses to Screen Sea Lines of Communication

I’ve written in the past about the use of land-based air defense systems for pressuring adversary air forces’ wartime ability to fly through a maritime chokepoint. Though these systems would not be able to ‘shut the door’ completely against a capable adversary, they could still help reduce the number of adversary aircraft on the margins that could break through the chokepoint in any given raid. This would be of considerable value to a U.S. campaign to protect the sea lines of communication to its East Asian allies in the event of a war with China, or in some scenarios to protect NATO sea lines of communication within the Eastern Mediterranean in a war with Russia. As John Stillion and Bryan Clark point out in their new CSBA study investigating historical competitions between opposing battle networks, actions that disrupt an adversary’s plans or prevent him from achieving his objectives often generate far greater strategic gains than is possible via a singular focus on attriting the adversary’s forces. The latter is often very important to achieving the former; it just isn’t necessarily the only or the most achievable means to that end.   

It is clear, then, that land-based air defenses can be of considerable indirect value to the screening of friendly shipping. But could they also contribute more directly in that mission? Could they be used to substitute in part for escort combatants? The story’s much more mixed on that front.

The first limiting factor is air search radar coverage. A traditional radar can generally only search within its line of sight. The Earth’s curvature affects this the most; for example, a radar mounted 100 feet above sea level will generally be blind to an aircraft 200 miles away that descends below roughly 17,400 feet. Land terrain along the radar’s line of sight only reduces the searchable volume further; this will constrain where a land-based radar can be placed if seaward coverage is desired. And all this assumes the aircraft’s radar cross section is large enough to allow for detection.

These factors can be overcome somewhat by using a distributed fire control network. In theory, an AEW aircraft that detected an adversary’s aircraft (or cruise missile) could transmit fire control-quality radar data to a friendly land-based air defense system. Should the AEW aircraft and the land-based system use highly directional line-of-sight communications to exchange this data, the adversary would find it extremely difficult to intercept let alone exploit the networking pathway.

Even so, this feeds into the second and far more impactful limiting factor: the interceptor missile range and engagement geometry. Pick any U.S. longer-range surface-to-air missile: its maximum advertised range is generally not too much more than 200 miles or so. But this does not reflect the missile’s actual effective range against a particular target aircraft (or cruise missile) in a given scenario. An engagement geometry involving an interceptor flyout that’s more-or-less tangential to the target’s trajectory would have a much shorter maximum effective range than one in which the intercept is nearly head-on. A geometry in which the interceptor would have to overtake the target would have an even shorter maximum effective range. Even if kinematically possible, engageability opportunity windows might be very short based on the interceptor’s flyout distance at a given geometry. The bottom line is that a land-based surface-to-air missile would not be able to directly screen naval forces or protected shipping in waters outside the missile’s engagement envelopes.   

In theory, then, a land-based air defense system might at best be able to help screen shipping in the terminal approaches to a friendly coast. An adversary probably would not hazard its maritime strike aircraft in these waters if segments of the defender’s sea lines of communication lay outside that coverage. In contrast, the adversary might be very willing to use missile-armed submarines inside these waters. A high-speed anti-ship cruise missile fired by a submarine at a target 60 miles or less away (consistent with an attack from the second convergence zone, if one is available) would be very difficult to intercept unless an air defense system was positioned fairly close to the threat missile’s trajectory. It’s hard to see how a land-based air defense system, even if supported by distributed fire control from an AEW aircraft, could make that kind of intercept.

We can therefore see that direct protection of shipping at sea would depend predominantly upon the screening forces interposed between an adversary’s raiders and their targets. Ideally there would be an outer layer consisting of aircraft and an inner layer consisting of escort combatants. If the waters being traversed by a convoy or other protected shipping were outside the effective range of land-based aircraft, carrier-based aircraft might be usable in their place. If carrier support was unavailable, then area air and anti-ship missile defense would entirely depend upon the availability of Aegis combatants. If there were insufficient Aegis combatants to provide this coverage, then the escorts and their charges would be on their own. 

The views expressed herein are solely those of the author and are presented in his personal capacity. They do not reflect the official positions of Systems Planning and Analysis, and to the author’s knowledge do not reflect the policies or positions of the U.S. Department of Defense, any U.S. armed service, or any other U.S. Government agency.

Potential Missions for Future PLA Unmanned Aerial Vehicles

I recently came across a 2013 Project 2049 Institute monograph detailing PLA efforts to research and develop UAV technologies. Ian Easton’s and Russell Hsiao’s report pieces together the PLA organizations, academic institutions, and industrial activities involved in Chinese UAV work; this is no small open source achievement. More importantly, though, it taps Chinese-language sources to outline concepts from each of the PLA’s services regarding potential future uses for UAVs. Many of these concepts unsurprisingly mirror a number of those under consideration by the U.S. armed services:

• Long-range autonomous strike
• “Wingman” duties for manned aircraft
• Localized communications relay
• Anti-ship scouting and targeting
• Ground combat scouting and targeting
• Wide-area surveillance

They make an additional key observation regarding the possibility that expanded PLA UAV capabilities might incentivize increased Chinese brinksmanship, and possibly the use of force, in a crisis:

“There could be a sense that because human pilot lives are not at stake, operators can push farther than they otherwise might. It is also not clear how nations would react to isolated UAV attacks in times of crisis, especially if these were blamed on mechanical or technical failure, or even on cyber hackers. In the future, PRC decision-makers might feel compelled to order “plausibly deniable” UAV attacks as a means of sending a political signal only to inadvertently wind up escalating tensions.” (Pg 13)

This dovetails closely to some of my own observations on unmanned systems and escalation management. The main difference is that whereas I proposed that an opponent’s unmanned scouts should be considered fair game for attacks during a crisis depending upon the circumstances at hand, it is entirely possible that an opponent might go further and use its unmanned vehicles to conduct limited attacks on traditional targets for coercive effect. The authors don’t argue that the PLA is considering use of UAVs for this kind of purpose, but they are correct that the PLA or any other UAV-operating military might.  The implications for crisis management deserve systematic examination through war-gaming.

Some of their most interesting but in no way surprising observations concern Chinese writings regarding the potential uses of UAVs to support anti-ship attacks. One such use proposed in the source writings is for UAVs to simulate inbound raiders, with the intent being to lure an opponent’s screening aircraft and surface combatants into wasting long-range anti-air missiles against these decoys. Other UAVs might perform electronic attacks against radars and communications systems. All this represents a longstanding and well-understood set of tactics. The requisite technical, tactical, and doctrinal countermeasures are similarly well-understood: multi-phenomenology outer-layer sensors that can classify contacts with high confidence, robust combat training to psychologically condition crews for the possibility of hostile deception, deep defensive ordnance inventories, and embracing tactical flexibility/seizing the tactical initiative. The only question is the defender’s will to invest in these kinds of countermeasures—both materially and culturally.

Easton and Hsiao also note that Chinese writers have proposed that some UAVs might perform direct ‘suicidal’ attacks against radars or warships (and in doing so fully blur the line between UAV and cruise missile). The Chinese sources additionally suggest that UAVs could replace manned aircraft as anti-ship missile-armed raiders, though I would argue this presumes the requisite artificial intelligence technologies for conducting attacks against ‘uncooperative’ targets in an ambiguous and dynamic tactical environment reach maturity.

Lastly, Easton and Hsiao’s sources suggest UAVs could serve as communications relay nodes that support anti-ship attacker—and perhaps in-flight missiles as well. For example, a scout UAV could conceivably provide targeting-quality cues to an over-the-horizon “shooter” via a relay UAV, and then provide periodic targeting data updates to the in-flight missiles thereafter. Or the relay UAV might enable direct communications between “shooters” within a given area. It might even enable direct coordination between in-flight missiles approaching on different axes. The use of highly-directional line-of-sight communications pathways or low probability of intercept transmission techniques would make this a particularly vexing threat. Clearly, naval battleforces will need means of detecting and classifying relay UAVs (not to mention scout UAVs) lurking in their vicinity.  

Easton and Hsiao observe that even though the sources they reviewed for their monograph wrote relatively little about using UAVs in the aforementioned ways for land-attack or ground warfare missions, there are no fundamental factors that prevent them from being extensible beyond the anti-ship mission. They’re absolutely correct on that point, and that’s something that all the U.S. armed services should be thinking about for the future.

--Updated 7/16/15 10:54PM EDT to fix first link in post--

The views expressed herein are solely those of the author and are presented in his personal capacity. They do not reflect the official positions of Systems Planning and Analysis, and to the author’s knowledge do not reflect the policies or positions of the U.S. Department of Defense, any U.S. armed service, or any other U.S. Government agency.

A Japanese View on Conventional Deterrence of China

Sugio Takahashi of the Japan Ministry of Defense’s National Institute for Defense Studies has published an excellent short monograph at the Project 2049 Institute on his government’s conventional deterrence policy evolution with respect to China over the past few years. His explanation of the subtle deterrence policy differences between the 2010 and 2013 National Defense Program Guidelines (Japan’s highest-level defense strategy document) is particularly interesting.

Takahashi notes that the 2010 document defined the Chinese threat as being the opportunistic use of primarily non-military tools of national power to gradually expand the maritime zones under Beijing’s de facto political control. This, he says, led Japan to develop a policy of “dynamic deterrence” that focused more on countering China’s use of low-end salami tactics as it deemed the risk of conventional aggression by the PLA was low. Under its dynamic deterrence policy, Japan sought to use persistent Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance (ISR) coverage of contested waters such as those surrounding the Senkakus to cue intercepts of Chinese “civilian” platforms by maritime law enforcement assets. Tailored military demonstrations of capabilities and readiness also figured into the policy. As he puts it: 

“…dynamic deterrence is intended to sensitize a challenger to the notion that they are always being watched, and that there are no physical gaps of defense posture, or “windows of opportunity,” for fait accompli or probing.” (Pg. 2)

While the 2013 Guidelines recognized the continuing problem of Chinese salami tactics, according to Takahashi it also recognized China’s increasingly-frequent deployment of maritime law enforcement—and sometimes PLA—assets near the Senkakus following Tokyo’s September 2012 purchase of the islands. As such, the 2013 Guidelines identified the emergence of escalation risks inherent to potential direct contacts between PLA and Japan Self-Defense Force assets in the East China. Maritime ISR still figured in heavily under the new Guidelines, but now had the task of enabling rapid responses by the Self-Defense Force to “deliberate or accidental escalation.” Conventional military considerations also rose in prominence, namely demonstrations of the Self-Defense Force’s ability to quickly and decisively conduct a circumstances-tailored response to any Chinese escalation along the spectrum of conventional conflict. This entailed deployments of Self-Defense Force units to forward positions as deemed situationally appropriate, plus the ability to quickly surge forces forward as required.

Takahashi asserts that the most immediate threat to Japanese interests remains China’s use of coast guard and other “paramilitary forces to challenge the East Asian maritime status quo. With respect to the South China Sea challenge, he correctly observes that:

“…since very few Southeast Asian countries currently have significant coast guard forces, there is a possibility that Southeast Asian countries will mobilize military forces to counter China’s paramilitary force. If that occurs, China can blame those countries as “escalating the situation” and further justify their mobilization of military forces. (Pg. 4)

This is exactly what happened to the Philippines in the 2012 Scarsborough Shoal incident.

Even more interestingly, he implies a Japanese government concern that if the U.S. were to publicly declare that China’s improvements of its nuclear second strike capabilities had led to a state of mutual nuclear vulnerability, it might encourage the Chinese to act more boldly in the conventional sphere. He refers to the stability-instability paradox, or rather the idea that the nuclear equilibrium made possible by a secure second strike capability in turn encourages adventurism at the conventional level.

While I understand Takahashi’s concern, it’s important to note that Cold War deterrence theorists did not believe the paradox was deterministic. As I noted in my SSQ article on conventional deterrence:

Glenn Snyder, an early articulator of the paradox, points out that the interplays between context, specific circumstances, and chance are the keys to its real-world application. In his view, a Soviet conventional offensive against NATO or Japan would have had vastly greater ramifications to US interests and prestige, and therefore more risk of unleashing inadvertent escalatory processes, than one against countries in which U.S. interests were peripheral. Robert Jervis agreed, noting that Schelling’s ill-controlled escalatory process meant nuclear equilibrium hardly created any margin of safety for major conventional provocations or wars.[1] Nevertheless, it is the defender’s inability to confidently know whether the stability-instability paradox will work for or against deterrence efforts at a given point in time that drives the need for a conventional hedging force capable of denying the opponent’s potential fait accompli attempts. (Pg. 154)

And Takahashi does a spectacular job outlining the qualities of such a hedging force. He states that:

“From the perspective of countering the A2/AD threat, however, putting more forces on the frontline would not be wise because these frontline forces could be neutralized or destroyed by Chinese A2/AD capabilities. A light presence on the frontline and a heavier stand-off strike force outside of A2/AD ranges would be better-suited for this environment.”(Pg. 6)

His observation on the need for two forward “echelons,” a “light” one consisting of lower campaign-value assets to fight on the “frontline,” and a “heavy” one consisting of higher campaign-value assets that fight from locations “over-the-horizon,” mirrors my own thinking on this issue. So does his subsequent observation that forward forces must be designed to be resilient against a Chinese conventional first strike, and thereby lower any Chinese incentives to conduct one in a crisis or limited conflict, let alone pursue a major conflict.

Takahashi raises the question of whether the best approach for structuring the “frontline” forces within a peacetime-contested zone is to employ tactical dispersal of lower-campaign value conventional forces in order to counter primarily military threats, employ primarily coast guard assets in order to counter salami tactic threats, or a mix of the two. I frankly believe a mix is the right way to go, with the non-military forces in the “area of contact” and the military forces latently backing them from a distance determined by the specifics of the situation. Takahashi is absolutely right that U.S. and Japanese leaders will need to work together to sketch out the “right capability portfolio and institutional division of labor,” not only between non-military and military forces but also the Japanese and U.S. contingents. His monograph provides a terrific starting point for that exact discussion.

The views expressed herein are solely those of the author and are presented in his personal capacity. They do not reflect the official positions of Systems Planning and Analysis, and to the author’s knowledge do not reflect the policies or positions of the U.S. Department of Defense, any U.S. armed service, or any other U.S. Government agency.

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[1] See 1. Glenn Snyder. Deterrence and Defense. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), 225-26; 2. Glenn Snyder, “The Balance of Power and the Balance of Terror,” in Balance of Power, ed. Paul Seabury (San Francisco: Chandler Publishing Co., 1965), 199; and 3. Robert Jervis. The Meaning of the Nuclear Revolution. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989), 21-22, 105.