Tehran’s goal is to impose persistent economic and political costs until Washington concludes that continuing the war is not worth it. To achieve that, Iran is exploiting a gap in U.S. Air Force doctrine — the distinction between air superiority and air denial, and between the blue skies and the air littoral. So far, it is working.

Air superiority — the control that permits operations at a “given time and place without prohibitive interference from air and missile threats” — is what the United States has achieved over southern and western Iran and is now working to extend eastward. That control allows large-scale strikes and freedom of maneuver at medium and high altitudes. As Gen. Dan Caine, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, noted on Tuesday, “Given the increase in air superiority, we’ve successfully started to conduct the first overland B-52 missions.”

By that measure, the campaign has been a success. But the strait is still closed.

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Air superiority is meant to assure freedom of action not just in the air, but across all domains for the entire joint force.

Air Force Doctrine Publication 3-0 is explicit on this point: air superiority “prevents enemy air and missile threats from effectively interfering with operations of friendly air, land, maritime, space, cyberspace, and special operations forces.” That includes the Navy’s ability to escort commercial vessels through the Strait of Hormuz.

By that measure, the United States does not have air superiority where it counts.

Iran’s drone and missile campaign has already forced American forces back. In 2003, the bulk of U.S. combat and support aircraft operated from forward positions in Kuwait, Qatar and Saudi Arabia while carriers patrolled the Persian Gulf. Today, carriers increasingly operate from the Red and Arabian Seas while land-based airpower has shifted toward bases farther from the strait, leaving U.S. forces positioned for the high-altitude fight over Iran, not the persistent-close-in coverage the strait requires to keep shipping lanes open under continuous drone and missile threat.

Iran’s strategy of air denial is why.

Air denial is a strategy of contesting control of the air without achieving air superiority outright. It leverages the advantages of large numbers of low-cost and mobile systems employed in a distributed way to keep the air domain too dangerous, too costly and too uncertain for joint forces to operate. Critically, the barriers to achieving air denial are considerably lower than those required to gain and sustain air superiority, yet it can impose disproportionate costs.

In the Strait of Hormuz, Iran is putting this strategy into practice. Tehran is exploiting the air littoral above the strait, employing drones and missiles capable of reaching oil tankers and naval vessels in minutes. Iran has struck more than 20 commercial vessels in and around the strait since the war began, killing at least seven sailors. This action has effectively halted traffic through the strait, except for a handful of ships that Iran has let pass — in many cases, for a hefty fee. The U.S. Navy has reportedly declined requests from the shipping industry for military escorts, citing the ongoing threat.

Iran’s strategy appears to be working. Gas prices have risen a dollar a gallon in a month, U.S. stock markets have entered correction territory, and the White House is under growing pressure to wind down the conflict. Iran planned for exactly this.

Tehran built this playbook, funded it, and watched it succeed. The lessons come straight from the Red Sea, where Houthi proxies used cheap, distributed drones and missiles to impose costs that more than 800 U.S. airstrikes between 2024 and 2025 could not eliminate. Now, Iran is running the same playbook over the Strait of Hormuz.

The United States has no ready answer. Achieving and maintaining air superiority in the air littoral above the strait demands the very layered defense capabilities in which the Pentagon has systematically underinvested: large numbers of low-cost, attritable systems to continuously attack launch locations and dispersed manufacturing; mobile air defenses rapidly and persistently deployable near threatened waterways; low cost persistent airborne platforms capable of detecting and destroying waves of drones; and interceptors capable of sustaining high engagement rates without exhausting inventories.

These are precisely the capabilities decades of procurement choices never built at scale, in favor of the small number of exquisite platforms that have performed so well in the blue skies above Tehran. The gap is not an accident. It is the result of choices. The Strait of Hormuz is one of their consequences.

Addressing this gap requires building low-cost, attritable systems at scale to contest and control the air littoral — not in small numbers as an afterthought, after the high-end aircraft are bought and paid for, but as a core mission — which inevitably means scaling back legacy platforms. The window to absorb that lesson is open now, while the cost is measured in closed shipping lanes and rising gas prices.

Maximilian K. Bremer is a nonresident fellow with the Reimagining US Grand Strategy Program at the Stimson Center and head of Mission Engineering and Strategy for Atropos Group.

Kelly A. Grieco is a senior fellow with the Reimagining US Grand Strategy Program at the Stimson Center and adjunct professor in the Center for Security Studies at Georgetown University.

It is an early glimpse of a broader problem that many organizations would prefer not to acknowledge: As AI is rushed into critical systems, it is introducing new failure modes faster than they can understand or control them.

For defense organizations increasingly integrating AI into mission-critical systems, the implications are far more consequential.

When organizations pause to consider these risks at all, they often reach for a familiar reassurance: there will be a “human in the loop.” The idea is that even if the system is complex or unreliable, a person will catch mistakes before they matter.

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This reassurance is dangerously misleading. A “human in the loop” whose sole function is to approve a machine’s actions is not a safeguard but a design failure. Attention wanes because nobody can concentrate on a job that is mostly doing nothing, and over time the operator’s skills atrophy to the point that they cannot meaningfully supervise the system. What remains is the appearance of oversight rather than the reality.

In military contexts, this kind of degraded human involvement is not just inefficient but operationally dangerous.

This pattern is not new. Engineers have seen it before, most famously in the Therac-25, a radiation therapy machine introduced in 1982. It combined the functions of two predecessor systems in a smaller, more convenient package, and its improved automation made it faster and easier to operate. Safety was “guaranteed” by the presence of a human operator who had to confirm actions – in effect, a “human in the loop.”

The system failed anyway. Patients began developing severe radiation burns. Hospitals dismissed the possibility of machine error, and the manufacturer insisted overdoses were impossible. Only after sustained investigation was it discovered that the machine contained multiple safety-critical software flaws. By then, six overdose accidents had occurred, three of them fatal.

The deeper problem was not just faulty code but faulty design. The machine frequently halted with poorly explained error messages, requiring operators to “press P to proceed” to continue treatment. Because these errors were common and rarely meaningful, operators became habituated to restarting the system dozens or hundreds of times a day. When real malfunctions occurred, the act of “operator confirmation” had already lost its meaning. In one case, an operator restarted the machine multiple times, unknowingly delivering repeated overdoses. The presence of a human operator did not prevent the failure; it normalized it.

Today, we are repeating this mistake. Computer scientists are rushing to incorporate poorly understood AI systems into safety-critical environments, and when concerns are raised they are often waved away with the same phrase: there will be a human in the loop. This assumption is now appearing in discussions of defense systems, from decision support to autonomous operations.

People will argue that AI is fundamentally different, and in one sense they are right. We have never before deployed systems whose behavior is explicitly probabilistic and nondeterministic in high-stakes environments. In defense contexts, where uncertainty compounds quickly and errors can cascade across systems, this is especially concerning. But AI is also not different in the ways that matter most. It is still software, embedded in larger systems composed of people, processes, and machines. It cannot act in the real world without that surrounding system, and those systems fail in ways that are already well understood. Engineers and operators have spent decades studying how complex, tightly coupled systems behave under pressure.

What we are seeing now is not a new class of failure but a familiar one, accelerated. The software industry is once again demonstrating an inability to learn from its own history. That would be unfortunate if we were only talking about Spotify recommendation algorithms. It becomes dangerous when these same patterns are introduced into the systems that organizations — and nations — depend on.

Recent Pentagon leaks suggest that AI systems may already be influencing where bombs land. In such environments, the illusion of human oversight is worse than no oversight at all. It creates confidence without control.

If we spend the next decade hiding unsafe systems behind the fig leaf of the “human in the loop,” the consequences will not be theoretical.

Mikey Dickerson was the founding administrator of the U.S. Digital Service and is a crisis engineer at Layer Aleph. He is a co-author of the forthcoming book Crisis Engineering.

The global price of oil continues to skyrocket as Iran’s missiles and drones hit vital infrastructure in Arab Gulf states. Billion-dollar American radar systems have also been targeted and destroyed across the Middle East by Iran, seemingly degrading U.S. defenses.

U.S. military presence near Iran includes dozens of locations and tens of thousands of troops in harm’s way. This raises the question: If a missile is launched from Iran toward a U.S. military base in the region, how do service members know in time to stay safe?

The United States and its allies have built a layered system to watch the skies day and night. This system uses satellites in space, radar on the ground, ships at sea and aircraft in the air. It also depends on well-trained military members from U.S. Space Command who make quick decisions with the data. As a former U.S. Air Force officer and now aerospace and national security law professor at the University of Mississippi, I’ve studied the vast network of alliances and systems that make this happen.

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Together, these tools form a missile defense network that can spot danger early and give warnings. The fastest way to spot a missile is from space. U.S. satellites, like the U.S. Space Force’s Space-Based Infrared System, circle high above Earth. These billion-dollar satellites, the crown jewels of missile defense, can spot the bright heat from a missile launch almost instantly.

When a missile is fired, it creates a strong enough heat signal to be seen in space. The satellites detect this heat using sensitive, infrared sensors and send an alert within seconds. This early warning is critical. It gives the military on the ground or at sea time to get defense systems ready.

The warning signal from space is then received on the ground by systems known as the U.S. Space Force’s Joint Tactical Ground Stations. The signal is sent from space using secure satellite communications, received by these ground stations and then quickly distributed to other parts of the missile defense network.

Radar to detect and track missiles

But satellites cannot do everything to detect and track missiles. They need help from systems on Earth. After a missile is launched, ground-based radars take over from the initial satellite signal. Radars work by sending out radio waves. When those waves hit an object, like a missile, they bounce back. The radar then uses that information to track where the object is and where it is going throughout its flight.

The U.S. uses both short and long-range radars together. One powerful, long-range radar is the AN/FPS-132 Upgraded Early Warning Radar. It can see missiles from over 3,000 miles (4,828 kilometers) away and track them as they travel. Another key system is the U.S. Army’s AN/TPY-2 Surveillance Transportable Radar. This radar has a range of almost 2,000 miles (3,219 kilometers) and looks more closely at the missile to provide more information about the threat. TPY-2 systems typically sit right next to weapons systems that will destroy the missile to ensure the timely relay of tracking data.

In sum, satellites spot the launch and radars follow the missile through the sky until defense systems destroy it.

However, Iranian forces recently struck both a TPY-2 in Jordan and a FPS-132 in Qatar. These systems are expensive and difficult to quickly replace. This has required the U.S. to move an additional TPY-2 from Korea to place it in the Middle East.

U.S. missile defense tracking was certainly degraded by losing these resources, but other radars are still part of the network. For example, the U.S. Space Force operates another FPS-132 in the U.K., which could potentially provide radar support to the Middle East.

In addition to ground and space-based sensors, U.S. Navy ships carry powerful radar systems as part of their Aegis Combat System, known as the AN/SPY-1, which can provide up to 200 miles (322 kilometers) of coverage. Ships can sail closer to areas where threats may come from and help fill gaps that land-based radars cannot cover.

U.S. Air Force aircraft also play a big role. Planes like the E-3 Sentry can watch large areas using radar from the sky. Drones such as the MQ-9 Reaper can stay in the air for long periods and track activity below with radar and sensors. These moving sensors help the system stay flexible. If one area needs more coverage or is degraded, ships and aircraft can move there to fill in.

Why drones are harder to catch

Drones require a different set of tracking tools and have proven more difficult to destroy than missiles from Iran. The legacy systems are simply better suited to missiles than new drone technology. To detect drones, the U.S. typically uses several tools: radar; radio signal tracking, which can pick up control signals; and cameras and other sensors, which can see drones directly.

Missiles are fast and hot, which makes them easier to detect with the current systems. Iranian drones, such as the Shahed system, are different. Their heat signature is often minimal due to using gas-powered engines not easily detected by infrared sensors. Without this heat signature, that initial warning cue is delayed, making it difficult for radar to know what to track.

Drones are usually smaller and fly low to the ground, making them hard to see on radar. They can be hidden by buildings or tough to distinguish from birds and other objects. Some are made of materials that do not show up well on radar, such as fiberglass and plastic. Others move slowly, which can make them harder to notice or stand out.

Many of Iran’s drones do not show up on radio signal detection systems because they cannot be remotely controlled. These drones are programmed with GPS coordinates and navigate themselves to a target.

Multiple methods

No single method works all the time to defend against drone attacks. Instead, these tools work together to find and track drones. The U.S. and its allies continue to improve their systems to catch both missiles and drones. For example, the U.S. is in discussions to buy acoustics sensors from Ukraine, which can hear drones coming when they cannot be seen using other methods.

New sensors, better software and faster communication will all help strengthen defenses. The goal is simple: Detect threats earlier, respond faster and hit the target faster.

Aaron Brynildson is a law instructor at the University of Mississippi.

The fires gap

The Army’s current self-propelled workhorse, the M109A7 Paladin, requires the crew to halt, emplace, fire and displace on a timeline measured in minutes — time that modern counter-battery systems are designed to exploit. Stryker Brigade Combat Teams face an even more acute problem: Their organic M777A2 towed howitzer cannot match the Stryker’s 60-mph road speed, and its displacement time after firing — up to 7.5 minutes with an 11-man crew — is a death sentence in a counter-battery environment. HIMARS sidesteps this problem by firing precision munitions from brief, mobile engagements, but at $150,000 per GMLRS rocket, sustained suppressive fire is prohibitively expensive. The Army needs a survivable howitzer that fills the gap between Paladin’s emplaced methodology and HIMARS’ precision strikes.

What makes the RCH 155 different

The RCH 155 is the world’s only turreted howitzer capable of firing accurately while in motion. Its unmanned Artillery Gun Module — derived from Germany’s PzH 2000 and mounted on a Boxer 8x8 chassis — uses a high-precision inertial navigation system to continuously track vehicle position and barrel orientation, firing at the computed moment of alignment. A gun crew can receive a digital fire mission, drive to a release point, fire and continue moving without ever presenting a stationary target.

Even from a static position, the numbers are stark. The RCH 155 can receive a mission, lay the gun and fire its first round in under 20 seconds. It can be back in motion in under 10 seconds after firing. KNDS comparison data tells the operational story directly: A battery of 24 M109 Paladins with 144 soldiers takes over 180 seconds to complete a 216-round fire-for-effect mission. A battery of 12 RCH 155s with 24 soldiers completes the same mission in 140 seconds — with half the systems and 83% fewer soldiers at the gun line. The RCH 155 also achieves a burst rate of nine rounds per minute versus the M109’s six, with a fully automated loading system that eliminates the need for a manual loader handling 95-pound projectiles.

Key capability advantages

Multiple Rounds Simultaneous Impact (MRSI): The RCH 155 can fire up to five rounds at different charges and elevation angles, with all projectiles arriving on target within a two-second window — replicating the concentrated effect of a HIMARS salvo at a fraction of the cost per mission.

Ammunition efficiency: By operating closer to the forward edge of the battle area without survivability risk, the RCH 155 dramatically improves accuracy. Against a 200x200m target at 7 kilometers, a conventional howitzer requires 516 rounds; the RCH 155 needs 216. At 11 kilometers, the gap is 727 rounds versus 353 — a saving of roughly 235 rounds per mission that cascades through the entire logistics chain.

Extended range: Firing V-LAP munitions, the RCH 155 reaches 54 kilometers versus the M109A7’s 40 kilometers with Excalibur. With the Vulcano guided round, range extends to 70 kilometers, approaching HIMARS GMLRS range.

Crew survivability: The Boxer chassis protects the two-man crew against 14.5mm rounds and 10-kilogram anti-tank mines. Because the Artillery Gun Module is unmanned and remotely operated, soldiers are separated from the ammunition and firing mechanism by armored vehicle structure — a survivability multiplier no current Western self-propelled howitzer offers.

A howitzer battery that fights like HIMARS

Six RCH 155s, each operating from its own hide site and receiving digitally transmitted fire missions, can coordinate MRSI timings so that all rounds arrive simultaneously. From the target’s perspective, the effect is indistinguishable from a HIMARS salvo. From the counter-battery perspective, six independently moving guns each presenting a fleeting radar return are nearly impossible to suppress — precisely how HIMARS batteries fight. Unlike HIMARS, however, the howitzer battery can sustain fires over time without exhausting an expensive rocket pod in a single volley.

Current status and US interest

The RCH 155 is not developmental — it is proven, fielded and combat-tested. Ukraine is operating 54 systems against one of the world’s most sophisticated counter-battery environments. Britain selected it as its Mobile Fires Platform in April 2024. Germany has structured its procurement framework for up to 500 vehicles, with approximately 360 slots available for allied nations at German contract pricing through a government-to-government arrangement.

The bottom line

The RCH 155 does not replace HIMARS — it complements it. HIMARS engages high-value targets at standoff with precision munitions. The RCH 155 takes over the intermediate-range fires fight: sustained suppression, preparation fires and counter-battery harassment that would drain HIMARS ammunition at ruinous cost. Together, they form a fires system that is survivable, flexible and cost-effective across the full range of brigade-level missions. The era of the emplaced howitzer battery is ending. The Army should procure the RCH 155 in sufficient numbers for the SBCT formation and evaluate for the remainder of the Army.

Bill Koziar is a retired field artillery officer who served as the military analyst for the I Corps Stryker Warfighters’ Forum. In that capacity, he developed the initial Operational Needs Statement for Stryker-borne fires capabilities, which was approved by the chief of staff of the Army. He subsequently participated in the competitive shoot-off at Yuma Proving Ground that evaluated candidate systems against that requirement. His analysis draws on direct experience shaping Army fires modernization from the ground up — from operational requirements development through live-fire evaluation.

Armored vehicles are quickly spotted and destroyed with either drones or artillery. Soldiers on foot seldom fare any better. Negating the other side’s drone capabilities would be a tremendous advantage, but conventional air defense isn’t good enough.

Fortunately, the U.S. has developed a solution: 30mm chain guns — traditionally mounted on Apache attack helicopters — bolted to civilian pickup trucks and connected to a portable sensor called Mobile–Acquisition, Cueing and Effector, or M-ACE.

After detecting drones, the Northrop Grumman-made system calibrates programmable shells to detonate mid-air, meaning the system, which is cost-friendly compared to other solutions, can destroy quadcopters and dismantle swarms without hitting them directly.

Such an answer to some of the evolving drone challenges seems too good to be true, but its viability has been vetted in recent years.

Ukraine has already deployed M-ACE on the battlefield in small quantities, along with Australian “Slinger” systems, which use the same chain gun. Taiwan has also expressed interest in the system, iterations of which have recently been fielded by the U.S. Army and Marine Corps.

A key shortcoming with these systems, however, is driving nonmilitary vehicles in war zones. While the mounted gun may be able to stop drones, the vehicle’s crew would have effectively no protection from landmines, artillery or gunfire.

To make these counter-drone platforms truly effective, systems should be mounted on remotely operated vehicles. Enter the Tesla Cybertruck.

The Cybertruck’s usefulness for Ukraine cannot be unpacked without acknowledging its failure on the civilian market. Elon Musk promised hundreds of thousands of sales each year; Tesla fell short by 92% in 2025, barely selling 20,000 of the widely mocked pickups.

Consumers have a slew of reasons to avoid Cybertrucks. In addition to political controversy surrounding Tesla’s CEO, the truck’s design has been slammed for poor visibility, accelerator pedals that get stuck, warranties voided by car washes, dysfunctional windshield wipers and trunk doors that have gone viral for safety concerns.

Such issues, however, would be mostly irrelevant should the vehicle be used to aid the Ukrainian military.

Low demand, meanwhile, has left over 10,000 Cybertrucks sitting unsold in dealership lots. With Tesla modifying its “Gigafactory” in Austin to build a quarter-million units each year, Cybertrucks could, in theory, be delivered quickly to Ukraine — and in large quantities.

Availability isn’t the only factor that makes Tesla’s pickup a good choice. With systems like M-ACE limited by the vulnerability of crew members, Tesla could bypass the supervision requirement of the vehicle’s self-driving capability.

With remote operation, Cybertrucks on the battlefield would add a layer of safety other M-ACE-equipped pickups can’t provide. These vehicles are also easier to mass produce than any purpose-built unmanned ground vehicle rated to handle 30mm autocannons.

Today, two UGVs fit this role — the Estonian-made THeMIS and the U.S.-made Textron Ripsaw M5. Per-unit prices are not publicly available, but it’s safe to assume that these systems cost hundreds of thousands: THeMIS has sold for several million dollars, and the Ripsaw M5’s civilian variant has a starting price of $295,000.

If the Cybertruck is a viable substitute for these UGVs, an $80,000 price tag seems like a bargain. Beyond its availability and self-driving mode, the Cybertruck also offers the benefit of electrical power.

EVs have several logistical and functional advantages over fuel-powered trucks. The lack of moving parts and fuel requirements make them easier to maintain and cheaper to operate. They also create less noise and less heat, key for avoiding attention from Russian forces — especially those with thermal cameras.

A fleet of Cybertrucks equipped with chain guns and sensors to clear the skies of small drones could significantly affect the war and tilt certain battlefields in Ukraine’s favor.

Defanging enemy drones would, at worst, make the war effort more sustainable by reducing casualties and buying time for Europe to supplement Ukraine’s efforts.

More optimistically, these systems could give Ukraine’s ground forces more flexibility to move on drone-saturated front lines.

There’s no sign that an end to the war, or an improvement in Cybertruck sales, will come any time soon. Ukraine could be the best backup plan for Tesla’s misplaced investment.

Alex Lee is a recent graduate from Washington University in St. Louis, where he majored in political science and minored in writing.

Unlike in most oceans, the U.S. does not have territory in the Indian Ocean. Therefore, it relies on the U.K. to provide access to Diego Garcia, a centrally located base for military operations both westward to the Middle East and eastward to the Pacific. Mauritius, a small-state former British colony, has waged a longstanding diplomatic and legal campaign contesting the U.K.’s sovereignty over the Chagos Islands, which include Diego Garcia.

Some analyses have framed the debate in partisan terms, with former Trump adviser John Bolton criticizing the Biden administration’s position on the issue as “international law theology overriding legitimate U.S.-U.K. national security interests.”

However, this argument neglects to mention the bipartisan reality: Both the first Trump administration and the Biden administration in 2021 backed the U.K.’s sovereignty over the islands, rather than Mauritius’ claim, due to the importance of Diego Garcia. Importantly, no allied boots on the ground moved despite Mauritius’ successful legal campaign for the islands.

Fast forward to 2024, when the Biden administration announced support for the U.K.’s agreement with Mauritius which permits the use of Diego Garcia, and to 2025 and 2026 when the Trump administration twice endorsed it.

What, then, accounts for the change in the U.S. position? Real-world developments in international law changed the U.K.’s calculus. In a separate case, the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea resolved the maritime border dispute between Mauritius and Maldives in 2023, while its 2021 Special Chamber judgment recognized the “legal effect” of a non-binding 2019 advisory opinion by the International Court of Justice that the U.K. should vacate Chagos.

Simply put, the U.K. could ignore an advisory opinion, but not binding legal judgments. This was clear motivation for former Conservative Prime Minister Liz Truss who kickstarted discussions with Mauritius in 2022 when it became apparent the winds were changing for the U.K.’s position. Labour Prime Minister Starmer pointed to negative consequences for the U.K. at UN agencies such as electromagnetic spectrum management, while other examples concern overflight rights.

The China card has also been invoked by critics. The assumption that Mauritius could be cajoled by China’s influence indicates little understanding of the multidimensional ties between Mauritius and India, which holds deep threat perceptions of China — seen in border crises this decade resulting in fatalities. Not only are Indian officials involved in Mauritius’ national security establishment, the Indian Navy also conducts operations in Mauritius’ exclusive economic zone. While Mauritius will continue to have economic relations with China, as do most countries, India will ensure that its strategic place for Mauritius remains paramount.

For its part, India is designated as a Major Defense Partner by the United States, and both renewed their 10-year defense framework agreement in October 2025. Furthermore, the U.S. has excellent relations with Mauritius, which had even offered a 99-year lease directly to the U.S. for Diego Garcia.

Certainly, there are legitimate arguments against the Chagos agreement such as its cost and insufficient involvement by displaced Chagossians. There is also criticism that the U.K. should not worry about potential international legal consequences. Is it worth accepting them? If the treaty is not ratified, then such scenarios will be tested and critiques should be evaluated.

Regardless of what happens with the current agreement, Trump reinforced his support of it by stating he’ll secure Diego Garcia in the event of threats to the base. As articulated, his statement will have weight beyond his presidency, similar to the Carter Doctrine prohibiting external interference in accessing the Persian Gulf as a vital U.S. interest. However, misunderstanding legal issues and exaggerating Chinese influence in Mauritius obfuscate what is a clear national security priority — maintaining U.S. access to Diego Garcia for the next century.

The Starmer government’s information-sharing about the U.K.’s calculus has been poor, while misinformation abounds.

There have been many twists and turns over the years in this dispute, including a recent claim by Maldives to the Chagos, and President Trump’s differences with Prime Minister Starmer over Greenland and Iran.

Yet for current transparency and future accountability, what’s required is a better understanding of what will follow after finalizing the treaty — compared with inaction on the issue — and how it preserves U.S. national interests in Diego Garcia and more broadly, the dynamic Indian Ocean region.

Nilanthi Samaranayake is an Adjunct Fellow at the East-West Center in Washington. The views expressed are solely those of the author and not of any organization with which she is affiliated.

A January 2026 report by researchers from the Center for Strategic and International Studies indicates that this war has now claimed 325,000 Russian lives and 875,000 wounded (or missing). For context, roughly 15,000 Soviet military personnel were killed in the ten-year Afghan war.

How do economists place a value on fatalities and wounded people? We typically do so by using the value of a statistical life (VSL). Economists derive VSL estimates by analyzing everyday tradeoffs people make between income and small changes in their probability of death. For example, numerous studies have analyzed how much people are willing to pay in the product safety market (air bags and seat belts) for reductions in fatality risk. In other studies, researchers have analyzed the connection between labor market fatality rates and wages.

Decades of research by economists have found that Americans, on average, are willing to pay about $140 for every one per 100,000 reduction in fatality risk. This equates to a $14 million (in 2026 dollars) VSL. But that’s for Americans. What are the values for Russians?

VSL estimates across countries track directly with per capita income. For example, a 10% rise in income adjusts the VSL upward by 10%, with the opposite being the case for decreases. Russia’s per capita income is 18.3% that of the United States. This suggests that Russian lives should be valued at approximately $2.6 million. Therefore, the total loss from Russian military fatalities is: 325,000 x $2.6 million = $845 billion.

As for valuing the losses to 875,000 wounded Russians, economists apply similar methods to estimate injury valuations. The Department of Transportation recommends using a value of 10.5% of the VSL for “serious” injuries. That would translate to about $270,000 per wounded Russian. Therefore, the total loss from Russian wounded soldiers is: 875,000 x $270,000 = $236 billion.

Besides casualties, other direct Russian military costs include equipment losses and funding for military operations (such as fuel and munitions). MinFin, which reports official government statistics, documents the following Russian losses: 12,000 tanks, 24,000 armored fighting vehicles and 400 planes, among others. Total Russian equipment losses are estimated to be $125 billion.

In a December 2023 RAND report, researchers estimated Russian operational costs in Ukraine at $3.1 billion per month. Extrapolating this value over four years of war yields an estimate of $149 billion for Russian operating costs.

What is the war’s overall impact on Russia’s economy? Since the invasion, many economic headwinds have battered Russia. International sanctions and an exodus of 650,000 Russians moving abroad have exacerbated the economic difficulties. In addition, various international organizations have frozen $340 billion worth of financial assets. Furthermore, an October 2025 report from the World Bank documents serious pressures on the current Russian economy, including year-over-year inflation running at 9.5% and interest rates at 20%.

Given the amount of negative economic information, it is difficult for analysts to obtain a specific value on economic losses. To simplify matters, we focus on a July 2025 study by researchers from the University of California, Berkeley. That study uses pre- and post-invasion professional forecasts for GDP rates in the Russian Federation to approximate the economic impact of the war. Their estimates suggest post-invasion Russian GDP losses of $281 billion per year on average. Using these values yields a cumulative GDP loss of $1.124 trillion since the invasion.

Combining casualty figures, equipment and operational costs, and GDP losses indicates a total cost of approximately $2.5 trillion for the Russian Federation. To put that number in perspective, we note that it exceeds Russia’s $2.2 trillion GDP.

How do these costs compare to the benefits? We measure “benefits” as the land grab by Putin. Estimates based on data from the Institute for the Study of War show that Russia has gained approximately 28,000 square miles since the start of the war — a territory equivalent to about 10% of the size of Texas. Conquering a territory of this size has come at a cost of approximately $90 million per square mile in blood and treasure.

Of course, these costs, while borne by Russian society largely through conscription and lower living standards, are not borne in the same way by Putin himself. Napoleon, the inventor of modern conscription, was once told that a planned operation would cost too many men. He replied, “That is nothing. The women produce more of them than I can use.” Possibly Putin has a similar attitude.

David R. Henderson is a research fellow with Stanford University’s Hoover Institution. Ryan Sullivan is an associate professor of economics at the Naval Postgraduate School.

The views expressed here are those of the authors and do not reflect the official policy or position of the Department of Defense, the U.S. government or any other institution with which the authors are affiliated.

Two carrier strike groups are converging on the region. Fighter squadrons are flowing into bases from Jordan to Qatar, bridged across the Atlantic by aerial refueling. Submarines and destroyers armed with Tomahawk cruise missiles patrol nearby waters. Patriot and THAAD batteries have been rushed forward. B-2 stealth bombers stand ready in Missouri.

Now consider how long it has taken to assemble.

The buildup began in late January. The full force will not be in place until mid-March. This is six to seven weeks to assemble a force capable of imposing meaningful costs on Iran. The reason is simple: aircraft fly, but mass sails. When commanders needed more airpower, they drew on the joint force — two carrier air wings, surface ships, Army interceptors, and sixty-plus land-based strike aircraft sent to Jordan — proving that airpower is bigger than the Air Force.

US military assets flock to Middle East amid Iran standoff

Some analysts will see this surge as proof the United States needs a larger Air Force. They misdiagnose the problem. Airpower is not the same as the Air Force, and the pursuit of ever more exquisite aircraft has left the service less relevant to the airpower mission it claims to own. Air denial increasingly falls to the Army, electronic warfare to the Navy, and persistent strike capacity to ships and submarines.

Consider each service’s contribution. Air control remains the Air Force’s core mission — but it is increasingly a joint effort. In the event of Iranian retaliation, air control means air denial, defeating the ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, and long-range drones Iran is most likely to fire. That mission runs primarily through Army Patriot and THAAD batteries, backed by Navy destroyers. Air Force fighters play a supporting role, intercepting drones and slower missiles first, reducing the volume that surface-based interceptors must engage. That is not the offense-first, air-superiority mission the Air Force prizes. It is a layered defensive fight in which the Air Force is one layer among several — and not necessarily the most important one.

Electronic warfare (EW) tells a similar story. The most capable tactical EW platform in the joint inventory is the Navy’s EA-18G Growler. Six of them operate from Jordan alongside Air Force Wild Weasel F-16CJs armed with high-speed anti-radiation (HARM) missiles and Angry Kitten jamming pods. The F-35 still lacks a fully integrated anti-radiation missile like the AGM-88 HARM or its successor. If Washington strikes Iran, destroying Iranian radar sites depends on a Navy platform. Electronic warfare was once an Air Force strength. The Navy now leads its most critical element.

Exquisite platforms buy exquisite capability for a narrow target set. They do not buy persistence — and persistence is what strategically effective airpower requires. Punishment, as Thomas Schelling argued, depends on the credible threat of continuing pain. What compels an adversary is not a single devastating blow, but the belief that costs will keep coming. Denial aims to degrade capabilities and foreclose retaliation. Both require sustained presence over time, which in turn demands mass.

Washington should have learned this lesson from the last strike on Iran. After a long planning and buildup period, the single night of B-2 strikes last June damaged facilities Iran had spent years building. Months later, however, the United States is assembling its largest regional military force since 2003 to re-engage. The parallel to the no-fly zone over Iraq in the 1990s is hard to ignore: Episodic airpower, while tactically impressive, is strategically inconclusive. Strategic effects require sustained pressure, persistent presence, and continuous operations that force an adversary to make acute choices rather than simply absorb a blow and wait.

The gaps this buildup exposes are not in Air Force strike capabilities. They are in the Army’s ability to sustain air denial at scale, in the munition inventories required for persistence, and in the tanker fleet that keeps U.S. warplanes airborne. More B-21s and F-47s address none of these shortfalls. No procurement strategy centered on $700 million bombers or $300 million fighters can generate sustained presence at scale.

The Air Force does need more airpower—but not the kind it is buying. Persistent presence requires large numbers of lower-cost drones that can absorb losses, deep stockpiles of low-cost munitions that can sustain fires over time, and uncrewed aerial refuelers that can keep fighters and bombers over target areas. These are the capabilities that generate sustained effects at affordable cost—and they are consistently deprioritized in favor of the next exquisite crewed platform.

The deeper problem runs beneath procurement. Washington has long treated “airpower” and “Air Force” as synonymous. They are not. Air control — the ability to deny an adversary the use of the domain while preserving one’s own — is increasingly accomplished by Army interceptors, Navy strike platforms, drones, and munitions fired from ships and submarines. The Air Force’s preferred model — manned fighters striving for air superiority so manned bombers can reach their targets — has yet to demonstrate the scale and stamina needed to bring a conflict to an end.

Until budget priorities reflect that reality, the United States will keep buying the Air Force it prizes and underinvesting in the airpower it needs.

Maximilian K. Bremer is a nonresident fellow with the Reimagining US Grand Strategy Program at the Stimson Center and head of Mission Engineering and Strategy for Atropos Group.

Kelly A. Grieco is a senior fellow with the Reimagining US Grand Strategy Program at the Stimson Center and adjunct professor in the Center for Security Studies at Georgetown University.

Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has accelerated the return of high-intensity competition to the High North, a region that was perceived as a peripheral corner of global geopolitics for much of the post–Cold War era. As the United States and NATO Arctic allies hold intense debate about security throughout the region and begin to integrate drones for collective defense and deterrence, they face an uncomfortable reality: Russia is moving faster.

A growing gap has emerged between the alliance’s ambition to defend the High North and its ability to field Arctic-capable uncrewed systems at scale. The future of Arctic security will hinge not only on submarines, missiles, fighter jets and icebreakers, but on the capacity to deploy, sustain and counter uncrewed systems in extreme conditions and unprecedented numbers.

In this specific competition, Russia can leverage a significant edge. It fields the world’s largest industrial-scale drone ecosystem outside China and is institutionalizing combat lessons from Ukraine. Like Kyiv, Moscow has established a dedicated branch for uncrewed systems, expanded mass-training of drone operators, and is forming new drone units across the joint force, including within the Northern Fleet. It is also investing in Arctic-adapted platforms and command centers for long-range maritime drones. Annual production now exceeds 1.5 million units, with Western intelligence services expecting sharp increases driven by Chinese industrial support and sanctions evasion.

In the Arctic, Russia is likely to use drones as integrated force multipliers: enabling persistent ISR along Arctic littorals and the Northern Sea Route, cueing Bastion coastal defense systems, supporting anti-submarine and anti-surface operations and conducting long-range strikes with one-way attack drones alongside traditional missiles. These activities will be tightly coupled with aggressive cyber and electronic warfare to degrade allied sensing, targeting and command-and-control capabilities.

For NATO, uncrewed systems may matter more in the Arctic than in any other theater. Vast distances, sparse infrastructure and extreme weather constrain human presence and amplify gaps in domain awareness and response times. Traditional crewed platforms such as maritime patrol aircraft, submarines and ice-capable vessels remain essential but are limited in number and costly to sustain. Even with renewed investments, they cannot alone provide the persistent surveillance, logistics, and targeting required by NATO’s regional defense plans.

Drones help fill this gap. They can offer unmatched persistence, scalability, and flexibility at lower operational cost and risk to personnel, conducting a wide array of tasks, from reconnaissance and surveillance to logistic and resupply, casualty evacuation, mine and countermine operations, strike and more. In short, uncrewed systems are no longer niche enablers but indispensable elements for strengthening deterrence and defense in the Arctic.

Technology does not work in a vacuum

Procuring advanced platforms, however, does not automatically translate into usable capability. NATO faces structural challenges that limit its ability to exploit drones in the High North.

First, most systems are not designed for Arctic conditions. Extreme cold degrades batteries, icing affects propulsion and sensors, communications become unreliable, and corrosion accelerates wear. As a result, NATO suffers from a shortage of uncrewed systems certified for sustained cold-weather operations.

Second, infrastructure is sparse, complicating logistical support. Airfields, ports, and repair facilities are limited, while satellite coverage above 75°N is degraded and less reliable. Therefore, any robotization strategy must include adequate sustainment across the board. These challenges make reliance on autonomous features and GNSS-denied navigation essential, though the latter raises system complexity and costs.

Third, NATO’s problems are not only technical but also institutional and organizational. Doctrine, training, and innovation pathways have not kept pace with the rapid evolution of uncrewed technology and its military use.

Doctrine, personnel and other “unsexy” things

Despite recent updates, NATO doctrine still treats drones largely as supplements rather than as core elements of deterrence and defense. Commanders lack mature concepts for integrating uncrewed systems into multidomain operations against a drone-enabled adversary like Russia. The Arctic environment magnifies these gaps and demands greater efforts to develop shared approaches to human–machine teaming, standardized tactics, deployable sustainment, and counter-uncrewed systems operations.

Recent initiatives to support concept development, standardized training and operational experimentation are promising but insufficient.

Personnel challenges compound the problem. With many NATO allies struggling to recruit and retain people, the skilled operators, software specialists and specialized maintainers required for Arctic drone operations are in high demand but few in numbers.

Russia, by contrast, is rapidly expanding its training pipelines and embedding uncrewed expertise across its force structure. Autonomy can mitigate but not fully resolve the personnel problem. The human element and doctrine remain decisive to leverage the technological edge that uncrewed systems provide.

Innovation pathways across the alliance also remain slow and fragmented. While NATO experimentation initiatives are growing, they struggle to scale results. At the same time, private capital is beginning to play a larger role, with venture capital firms and European public–private mechanisms such as the European Defence Bank and European Investment Fund (EIF) increasingly backing uncrewed systems and AI startups.

However, as we explain in a recent report, harnessing this momentum will also require procurement reforms that favor speed, scale, and interoperability over risk-averse procurement programs and industrial protectionism.

A strategic imperative

For NATO as well as Arctic allies, the central question is whether they can absorb the institutional, organizational, and operational change required by large-scale robotization. The priorities are clear: field Arctic-ready uncrewed systems that are modular and interoperable by design; connect the battlespace through resilient command and control structures and high-bandwidth data pipelines; devise robust personnel and sustainment strategies and develop doctrinal tenets and concepts to effectively integrate uncrewed systems into the force structure and multidomain joint operations in an austere environment; and procure collectively and at scale, including through a mix of national and multilateral initiatives.

Without a strong demand signal for key platform categories such as tactical ISR drones, loitering munitions and uncrewed logistics vehicles, allies will continue paying premium prices for bespoke systems while Russia floods the region with battle-proven, mass-produced platforms.

These steps demand resources and urgency but also a solid understanding of what drones can and cannot do. Decision-makers need to move beyond the misleading quantity versus quality debate and focus on both elements, for uncrewed systems are neither silver bullets nor replacements for traditional lethality. Instead, their value lies in complementarity.

Effective Arctic defense requires a balanced high–low mix in which uncrewed systems extend and multiply the effectiveness of traditional forces rather than substitute for them.

Federico Borsari is a fellow with the Transatlantic Defense and Security program at the Center for European Policy Analysis (CEPA). He focuses on defense technology and military affairs.

Gordon B. “Skip” Davis Jr is a senior fellow with the Center for European Policy Analysis (CEPA), a retired U.S. Army major general, and former NATO deputy assistant secretary general for defense investment.

The latest rounds of nuclear talks between the U.S. and Iran are going well enough for now, according to the steady drip of public statements from the main parties involved.

“I think they want to make a deal,” said U.S. President Donald Trump on the eve of the latest round of discussions held in Geneva on Feb. 17, 2026. Iran’s foreign minister, Abbas Araghchi, noted progress over the “guiding principles” of the talks.

Such optimism was similarly on display during initial talks in Oman earlier in the month.

Negotiators push for more talks after US and Iran convene in Oman

But as someone who has researched nonproliferation and U.S. national security for two decades and was involved in State Department nuclear diplomacy, I know we have been here before.

Optimism also existed in spring 2025, during five rounds of indirect talks that preceded the United States bombing of Iran’s nuclear infrastructure as part of a broader Israeli attack. Pointedly, Iran noted in February that a climate of mistrust created by that attack hangs over the efforts for a negotiated deal now.

And underpinning any pessimism over a deal now is the fact that talks are taking place with a backdrop of U.S. military buildup in the Persian Gulf region and counteraction from Iran, including the closure of the Strait of Hormuz for a live-fire drill.

Red lines

But it is more than mistrust that will need to be overcome. The positions of both the U.S. government and Iran have ossified since May 8, 2018 — the date when the first Trump administration withdrew the United States from the Obama-era Iran nuclear deal.

Iran continues to be unwilling to even discuss its ballistic missile program. This is a red line for them.

Yet the United States continues to demand limits to Iran’s ballistic missiles and the ending of Iran’s support of proxy fighters in the region be included in the nuclear talks, in addition to having Iran fully abandon enriching uranium — including at the low civilian-use level agreed on under the 2015 nuclear deal.

The talks are taking place amid a wider trend toward the end of what can be called the “arms control era.” The expiration of New START — which until Feb. 5, 2026, limited both the size and status of U.S. and Russian nuclear weapons and maintained robust verification mechanisms — together with the increasing willingness to engage in military actions to achieve political goals heightens the challenges for diplomacy.

Military brinkmanship

So why the apparent public optimism from the U.S. government?

Trump believes that Iran is in a weaker position than during his first term, following the largely successful Israeli attacks on Iran’s regional proxies as well as on Iran itself. The strategic capabilities of Tehran’s two main sponsored groups, Hamas and Hezbollah, are clearly diminished as a result of Israeli action.

The U.S. may also still feel it has the upper hand following the June 2025 Operation Rising Lion, in which Iran’s nuclear infrastructure was attacked in response to an International Atomic Energy Agency’s report that Iran’s stockpile of near-weapons grade enriched uranium surged by over 50% in the spring.

The reopening of talks now also comes in the immediate aftermath of Iran’s bloody crackdown on anti-government protests, leaving thousands of protesters dead.

The USS Abraham Lincoln carrier group was deployed near Iranian waters in January as a signal to the protesters of U.S support. U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio has said that successful talks must include topics beyond Iran’s nuclear program, including the “treatment of (its) own people.”

Trump continues to consider military options against Iran, warning that “if they don’t make a deal, the consequences are very steep.”

Yet there is a danger that Washington may be overestimating its position.

While the United States maintains that Iranian nuclear sites were “obliterated” in the June attack, satellite imagery indicates that Iran is working to restore its nuclear program. And while Tehran’s proxies in Gaza and Lebanon are severely degraded, Iranian-supported militias in Iraq, including the Kataib Hezbollah, have renewed urgent preparations for war — potentially against the U.S. — and the Houthi rebels have threatened to withdraw from a ceasefire deal with the United States.

Moreover, Iran’s commitment to its ballistic missile program is stronger than ever before, with much of the infrastructure already rebuilt from Operation Rising Lion.

No returning to the 2015 deal

Iran maintains that the talks must be confined only to guarantees about the civilian purpose of its nuclear program, not its missile program, its support of regional proxy groups or its own human rights abuses.

And that is incompatible with the U.S.’s long-held position.

This disagreement ultimately prevented the U.S. and Iran from renewing the now-defunct 2015 political deal during the Biden administration. Signed by China, France, Germany, Russia, the U.K., the United States and Iran, the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) halted Iran’s development of nuclear technology and stockpiling of nuclear material in exchange for lifting multiple international economic sanctions placed on Iran. Ballistic missile technology and Iran’s proxy support for regional militias were not included in the original agreement due to Iran’s unwillingness to include those measures.

The parties to the Iran deal ultimately decided that a nuclear deal was better than the alternative of no deal at all.

There was a window for such a deal to be resumed in between the two Trump administrations. And the Biden administration publicly pledged to strengthen and renew the Obama-era nuclear deal in 2021.

But by then, Iran had significantly increased its nuclear technical capability during the four years that has passed since the JCPOA collapsed.

That increased the difficulty: Just to return to the previous deal would have required Iran to give up the new technical capability it had achieved for no new benefits.

The window closed in 2022 after Iran removed all of the International Atomic Energy Agency’s surveillance and monitoring under the deal and started enriching uranium to near weapons levels and stockpiling sufficient amounts for several nuclear weapons.

The IAEA, the U.N’s nuclear watchdog, currently maintains only normal safeguards Iran had agreed to before the JCPOA.

Even with the 2025 U.S. strikes, Iran currently has the ability to produce enough fissile material for a nuclear bomb within weeks to several months. This is up from over a year under the 2015 deal.

US and Iran talks today

Although most analysts doubt that Iran has developed the weaponization knowledge necessary to build a nuclear bomb — estimates vary from several months to about two years due to the lack of access to and evidence on Iran’s weaponization research — Iran’s technical advances reduce the value for the U.S. government of returning to the 2015 deal. Iran’s knowledge cannot be put back into Pandora’s box.

But talks do not necessarily need an end point — in the shape of a deal — for them to have purpose.

With the increased military brinkmanship, talks could help the U.S. and Iran step back from the edge, build trust and perhaps develop better political relations. Both sides would benefit from this stabilization: Iran economically, from being reintegrated into the international system, and the U.S. from a verifiable lengthening of the time it would take Iran to break out.

None of this is guaranteed.

When I worked in multilateral nuclear diplomacy for the U.S. State Department, we saw talks fail in 2009 regarding North Korea’s nuclear weapons program, after six years of on-and-off progress. The consequence of that failure is a more unstable East Asia and renewed interest by South Korea in developing nuclear weapons.

Unfortunately, the same dynamic appears here. The shape of a potential new deal is unclear. As time passes with no deal, both sides harden their negotiating starting points, making a deal less likely.

Military escalations may lead to a new willingness to compromise on the part of Iran or precipitate its decision to build nuclear weapons.

But even should the talks prove a failure, the effort to dampen the confrontational responses and heightening tensions would still be valuable in reducing the possibility of regional conflict.

Nina Srinivasan Rathbun is a professor of international relations at Munk School of Global Affairs & Public Policy, University of Toronto and USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences.

It does not, and forcing the issue actually weakens U.S. national security.

Much of this is tied to the proposed Golden Dome missile defense system, though specific details of the program have yet to fully emerge. House and Senate appropriators noted in the fiscal defense appropriations bill that “due to insufficient budgetary information, the House and Senate Defense Appropriations Subcommittees were unable to effectively assess resources available to specific program elements and to conduct oversight of planned programs and projects for fiscal year 2026 Golden Dome efforts in consideration of the final agreement,” even given that they “support the operational objectives of Golden Dome for national security.”

Additionally, Greenland is repeatedly mentioned in the Trump administration’s recent National Defense Strategy as a place where the U.S. needs guaranteed military access.

US military has a long history in Greenland, from WWII to Cold War

But based on the originating executive order released by the White House in January 2025 and the few related unclassified discussions, Golden Dome is intended to be a multilayered system that would protect the United States from all types of threats: ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, hypersonic weapons and even drones. It would be a system of systems that would incorporate many of the existing missile defense architecture’s elements, including the Ground-based Midcourse Defense (GMD) system, intended to defend against ICBMs. It is reported to entail four interceptor layers — three land based, one space based — plus 11 short-range missile defense batteries scattered across the U.S. And it would use various sensors, including one that has been part of the U.S. early-warning network for decades: the ground-based radar at the Space Force’s Pituffik Space Base in Greenland.

But let’s say that the U.S. decides it must expand the U.S. military footprint in Greenland in order to meet (as yet undefined) Golden Dome architecture plans. The terms of the 1951 agreement between the U.S. and Denmark are very flexible. It says that the U.S. has the right “to improve and generally to fit the area for military use” and “to construct, install, maintain, and operate facilities and equipment,” as well as having “the right of free access to and movement between the defense areas through Greenland” and “the right to exercise exclusive jurisdiction over those defense areas in Greenland.”

Precedence exists about how the U.S. and Denmark have dealt with changing missile defense priorities. When the George W. Bush administration wanted to upgrade its radar there, a request to the Danish parliament was unanimously approved in 2004. However, none of the reporting about Golden Dome indicates that new ground-based sensors would be created as part of it, with the focus instead on building space-based sensor networks.

What about placing interceptors in Greenland? Again, under the current military agreement, the U.S. could already do this. But even so, Greenland is not needed as a new interceptor site. The U.S. has 44 GMD interceptors fielded in Alaska and California, and the Missile Defense Agency has received funding to create a third basing site for GMD interceptors at Fort Drum, New York.

This accommodates any need for a more northern position without the requirement to have a site outside the United States. Plus, the number of fielded GMD interceptors has been 44 for over 20 years; these are expensive to build, operate and maintain, and MDA has been focused more on working on upgrades (and struggling to do so) than building out the supply. So it’s not like there is a waiting warehouse full of GMD interceptors. And the GMD system is the only system intended to defend against ICBMs.

Further, forcibly annexing Greenland does nothing to bolster U.S. national security — rather the opposite.

By menacing a NATO ally, the U.S. weakens a military alliance that has served us well for over seven decades. Space Force officials have repeatedly said that one of our strongest assets are our international partners and allies. This move kneecaps strategies put in place by the Space Force to utilize them, including its International Partnership Strategy released in July 2025. Chief of Space Operations Gen. Chance Saltzman said at the time, “Spacepower is the ultimate team sport. … Therefore, if the service is to achieve its mission to secure our nation’s interests in, from, and to space, then it absolutely must cultivate partnerships with partners upon whom it can depend on.”

Golden Dome is problematic for many reasons, including its astronomical cost, technical complexity and contribution to the weaponization of space. Don’t let it be used to justify the annexation of a NATO ally’s territory as well.

Victoria Samson is chief director of space security and stability for the Secure World Foundation where Krystal Azelton is senior director of program planning.

On Jan. 1, an order went into effect providing Russian companies with expanded income tax incentives for buying Russian unmanned aerial vehicles. For every ruble they spend on UAVs, those companies can deduct two rubles from their income taxes. On its face, it’s a pretty good deal, especially for those companies hoping to contribute to the state’s war machine.

But the reality, including what this means for Ukraine and the West, is more complicated.

Russia’s decade-plus domestic tech push shows that Russia can excel at software development but often fails miserably at hardware, yielding persistent efforts to steal Western technology components and growing dependence on buying Chinese ones. Even UAV-focused tax incentives are unlikely to fix that dynamic. At the same time, pushing Russian firms towards Russia’s UAV sector could help prop up those companies, supplying the cash to keep charging ahead. And it could ensure even fewer Russian firms can commercialize outside the security state’s reach —giving Moscow further leverage over technologies it can weaponize against the West.

Over the last decade, Russia has accelerated its push to promote a domestic technology sphere —one driving towards autarky and securitization. This mixed-success effort has sought to expel Western technology (seen as a foreign espionage threat) and build up Russia’s technology sectors. Since February 2022, Western sanctions have only catalyzed Russia’s technological isolation, both encouraging and forcing it to double down on domestic technology to mitigate its crumbling economy and keep fueling its war machine. This led to the creation of the high-tech tax incentive list in July 2023.

Enter this latest update to boost the Russian drone industry. It’s no secret that Russian UAVs have played a central role in the Putin regime’s full-scale, illegal war on Ukraine, and Ukraine’s defense against it, over the past four years. A January report from one of Latvia’s intelligence agencies estimated that drones are responsible for 70-80% of injuries and deaths on both sides of the war in Ukraine. Changes are rapid: Sam Bendett, a leading expert on Russian and Ukrainian UAVs, has assessed that Ukrainians and Russians are developing functionally distinct versions of UAVs and UAV defenses on innovation cycles ranging from two weeks to three months. Now, some battlefield UAVs are increasingly using AI models to chase and strike targets.

But where the components in Russia’s drones come from spells out precisely why Russia’s new policy may make little difference to Ukraine’s war effort and those in the West supporting it.

Not all Russian-used UAVs have entirely been, in components or design, Russian. The Kremlin’s security apparatus has smuggled countless microelectronics and other components from the West into the country’s military systems and machinery. Russia continues to buy more and more technology from China to funnel into its defense and technology base, including to support its UAVs. Even Russia’s most recent UAV battlefield innovations allegedly contain European, Chinese, and apparently US-made components — hardly symbols of Russian technological autonomy. Meanwhile, Iran remains a major global producer of attack UAVs and has played a significant role, both as a supplier and a teacher, in helping Russia bolster its drone manufacturing. Countries Russia could buy UAVs or UAV parts from, such as China and Turkey, have replicated Iran’s cheap, simple Shahed-136 design, too.

These trends are corroborated by a key lesson from Russia’s decade-plus domestic technology effort: Russia can excel in many ways at software development, such as building an alternative operating system to Microsoft Windows; however, it has failed time and time again, sometimes with embarrassing spectacle, to stand up domestic hardware manufacturing without significant informational or technological help from the outside. For the West, the tax incentive for UAV purchases may therefore be a better signal of the Kremlin’s intent — keep leveraging drones in all-out war on Ukraine — than of long-term self-sustainability. Hence, Ukraine, the European Union, and other players can keep putting pressure on Russia’s illicit procurement networks and on the other governments, including China and Iran, enabling its UAV innovations.

Simultaneously, the Russian government pushing Russian firms towards Russia’s UAV sector could help supply those companies with funds they will not get from, say, participating in the Western arms market or organically spreading into civilian marketplaces. Those additional revenues for large and small UAV developers alike could be meaningful, giving them the capital they need under early-day or stressful innovation cycles to keep retaining talent and (probably illicitly) acquiring the needed non-Russian tech. In response, the West may find itself trying to undercut Russian UAV efforts that hinge more on Russian domestic incentives further out of their reach. Limiting sales of Western UAV components to known Russian fronts, for example, is at least more in the power of Washington, London, Berlin, or Kyiv than trying to use sanctions and other tools to reach within Russia and shift internal market dynamics on wartime UAVs.

But perhaps the biggest strategic implication for the West may be the latest tightening of the Putin regime’s grip over technology in Russia. The Kremlin has spent decades continually bolstering its ability to capture and coerce domestic technology actors to do its bidding—or to at least stay in line. Especially since February 2022, however, it has become increasingly difficult for companies to seriously commercialize in Russia without turning to the military-industrial complex. That’s bad news for the West. Ventures whose capital needs are high up front are more likely to turn to the defense base for funding. Companies looking to sell internationally know they will need to not just bend the knee if asked but actively court Russian defense contracts.

And even though a tax incentive didn’t cause many Russian UAV firms to eagerly support the Putin regime’s slaughter in Ukraine, it certainly won’t encourage them to stop it.

Justin Sherman is the founder and CEO of Global Cyber Strategies, a DC research and advisory firm, an adjunct professor at Georgetown University, and the author of “Navigating Technology and National Security.”

The United States is seemingly moving toward a potential strike on Iran.

On Jan. 28, 2026, President Donald Trump sharply intensified his threats to the Islamic Republic, suggesting that if Tehran did not agree to a set of demands, he could mount an attack “with speed and violence.” To underline the threat, the Pentagon moved aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln — along with destroyers, bombers and fighter jets — to positions within striking distance of the country.

Foremost among the various demands the U.S. administration has put before Iran’s leader is a permanent end to the country’s uranium enrichment program. It has also called for limits to the development of ballistic missiles and a cutting off of Tehran’s support for proxy groups in the Middle East, including Hamas, Hezbollah and the Houthis.

Iran puts ‘fingers on trigger’ as US armada arrives in Middle East

Trump apparently sees in this moment an opportunity to squeeze an Iran weakened by a poor economy and massive protests that swept through the country in early January.

But as a scholar of Middle Eastern security politics and proliferation, I have concerns. Any U.S. military action now could have widespread unintended consequences later. And that includes the potential for accelerated global nuclear proliferation – regardless of whether the Iranian government is able to survive its current moment of crisis.

Iran’s threshold lesson

The fall of the Islamic Republic is far from certain, even if the U.S. uses military force. Iran is not a fragile state susceptible to quick collapse. With a population of 93 million and substantial state capacity, it has a layered coercive apparatus and security institutions built to survive crises. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, the regime’s military wing, is commonly estimated in the low-to-high hundreds of thousands, and it commands or can mobilize auxiliary forces.

After 47 years of rule, the Islamic Republic’s institutions are deeply embedded in Iranian society. Moreover, any change in leadership would not likely produce a clean slate. Secretary of State Marco Rubio acknowledged as much, telling lawmakers on Jan. 28 that there was “no simple answer” to what would happen if the government fell. “No one knows who would take over,” he said. The exiled opposition is fragmented, disconnected from domestic realities and lacks the organizational capacity to govern such a large and divided country.

And in this uncertainty lies the danger. Iran is a “threshold state” — a country with the technical capacity to produce nuclear weapons but that has not crossed the final line of production.

A destabilized threshold state poses three risks: loss of centralized command over nuclear material and scientists, incentives for factions to monetize or export expertise, and acceleration logic — actors racing to secure deterrence before collapse.

History offers warnings. The collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s produced near-misses and concern over the whereabouts of missing nuclear material. Meanwhile, the activities of the A.Q. Khan network, centered around the so-called father of Pakistan’s atomic program, proved that expertise travels – in Khan’s case to North Korea, Libya and Iran.

What strikes teach

Whether or not regime change might follow, any U.S. military action carries profound implications for global proliferation.

Iran’s status as a threshold state has been a choice of strategic restraint. But when, in June 2025, Israel and the U.S struck Iran’s nuclear facilities, that attack — and the latest Trump threats — sent a clear message that threshold status provides no reliable security.

The message to other nations with nuclear aspirations is stark and builds on a number of hard nonproliferation lessons over the past three decades. Libya abandoned its nuclear program in 2003 in exchange for normalized relations with the West. Yet just eight years later, NATO airstrikes in support of Libyan rebels led to the capture and killing of longtime strongman Moammar Gaddafi.

Ukraine relinquished its nuclear arsenal in 1994 for security assurances from Russia, the U.S. and Britain. Yet 20 years later, in 2014, Russia annexed Crimea, before launching an outright invasion in 2022.

Now we can add Iran to the list: The country exercised restraint at the threshold level, and yet it was attacked by U.S. bombs in 2025 and now faces a potential follow-up strike.

The lesson is not lost on Mehdi Mohammadi, a senior Iranian adviser. Speaking on state TV on Jan. 27, he said Washington’s demands “translate into disarming yourself so we could strike you when we want.”

If abandoning a nuclear program leads to regime change, relinquishing weapons results in invasion, and remaining at the threshold invites military strikes, the logic goes, then security is only truly achieved through the possession of nuclear weapons — and not by negotiating them away or halting development before completion.

If Iranian leadership survives any U.S. attack, they will, I believe, almost certainly double down on Iran’s weapons program.

IAEA credibility

U.S. military threats or strikes in the pursuit of destroying a nation’s nuclear program also undermine the international architecture designed to prevent proliferation.

The International Atomic Energy Agency was, until the earlier Israel and U.S. strikes, functioning as designed — detecting, flagging and verifying. Its monitoring of Iran was proof that the inspection regime worked.

Military strikes — or the credible threat of them — remove inspectors, disrupt monitoring continuity and signal that compliance does not guarantee safety.

If following the rules offers no protection, why follow the rules? At stake is the credibility of the IAEA and faith in the whole system of international diplomacy and monitoring to tamp down nuclear concerns.

The domino effect

Every nation weighing its nuclear options is watching to see how this latest standoff between the U.S. and Iran plays out.

Iran’s regional rival, Saudi Arabia, has made no secret of its own nuclear ambitions, with Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman publicly declaring that the kingdom would pursue nuclear weapons if Iran did.

Yet a U.S. strike on Iran would not reassure Washington’s Gulf allies. Rather, it could unsettle them. The June 2025 U.S. strikes on Iran were conducted to protect Israel, not Saudi Arabia or Iran. Gulf leaders may conclude that American military action flows to preferred partners, not necessarily to them. And if U.S. protection is selective rather than universal, a rational response could be to hedge independently.

Saudi Arabia’s deepening defense cooperation with nuclear power Pakistan, for example, represents a hedge against American unreliability and regional instability. The Gulf kingdom has invested heavily in Pakistani military capabilities and maintains what many analysts believe are understandings regarding Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal.

Turkey, meanwhile, has chafed under NATO’s nuclear arrangements and has periodically signaled interest in an independent capability. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan questioned in 2019 why Turkey should not possess nuclear weapons when others in the region do. An attack on Iran, particularly one that Turkey opposes, could well accelerate Turkish hedging and potentially trigger a serious indigenous weapons program.

And the nuclear cascade would not likely stop at the Middle East. South Korea and Japan have remained non-nuclear largely because of confidence in American extended deterrence. Regional proliferation and the risk of a destabilized Iran exporting its know-how, scientists and technology would raise questions in Seoul and Tokyo about whether American guarantees can be trusted.

An emerging counter-order?

Arab Gulf monarchies certainly understand these risks, which goes some way toward explaining why they have lobbied the Trump administration against military action against Iran — despite Tehran being a major antagonist to Gulf states’ desire to “de-risk” the region.

The American-led regional security architecture is already under strain. It risks fraying further if Gulf partners diversify their security ties and hedge against U.S. unpredictability.

As a result, the Trump administration’s threats and potential strikes against Iran may, conversely, result not in increased American influence, but in diminished relevance as the region divides into competing spheres of influence.

And perhaps most alarming of all, I fear that it could teach every aspiring nuclear state that security is attainable only through the possession of the bomb.

Farah N. Jan is a senior lecturer in international relations at the University of Pennsylvania.

This gap between tactical brilliance and strategic stalemate reveals the central flaw in the Pentagon’s new National Defense Strategy: America can project overwhelming force anywhere on Earth, but increasingly lacks the sustained presence to turn military victories into enduring outcomes.

The Jan. 24 National Defense Strategy, or NDS for short, confronts a hard reality: the United States cannot simultaneously deter China in the Taiwan Strait, defend the Panama Canal, guarantee European security, and extend nuclear deterrence over South Korea with current force levels.

The Pentagon’s answer is to prioritize homeland defense and Western Hemisphere dominance while maintaining First Island Chain denial and providing “critical but more limited” support to Europe and Korea.

The problem isn’t the diagnosis — it’s that the cure may be worse than the disease.

When priorities collide with physics

The math simply doesn’t work. Taiwan contingency planning alone would consume most available naval and air defense forces before accounting for Western Hemisphere or European commitments. Western Hemisphere defense requires separate force packages: airlift, amphibious platforms, intelligence systems, special operations units, and surface combatants. Current force levels were designed for sustained global commitments, not for simultaneous hemispheric dominance and Indo-Pacific denial while maintaining credible deterrence elsewhere.

The Venezuela operation proves this constraint. America demonstrated it can strike anywhere, but the strategic outcome remains unresolved precisely because the new strategy deprioritizes sustained commitments outside priority theaters.

But the force structure gap is only half the problem. The transition period while allies build capacity creates its own dangers.

The transition window problem

The strategy assumes NATO and South Korea can take “primary responsibility” for regional defense within acceptable timeframes. But Europe faces daunting barriers: aggregate debt at 90% of GDP limits defense spending increases, limited indigenous production of precision munitions and advanced air defense creates capability gaps, and untested casualty tolerance raises questions about political sustainability. This creates a 3-5-year vulnerability window. Europe cannot operate independently while U.S. support is reduced.

South Korea’s challenge is even more acute. The claim that Seoul can take “primary responsibility for deterring North Korea” with “critical but more limited U.S. support” assumes conventional superiority can replace a nuclear guarantee. It cannot. North Korea’s growing arsenal creates advantages in any escalation scenario that conventional forces cannot counter. “Critical but more limited” support undermines confidence in the fundamental question: Would Washington trade Los Angeles for Seoul? This ambiguity could prompt Seoul to reconsider its nuclear stance, triggering exactly the proliferation cascade nonproliferation policy seeks to prevent.

When strategy becomes personal

Perhaps most troubling, the NDS ties its framework explicitly to “President Trump’s vision,” mentioning him 47 times across 24 pages. Enduring strategies frame objectives around persistent national interests, not individual leadership. Containment — articulated in George Kennan’s “Long Telegram” and NSC-68, two pivotal documents of the early Cold War era —survived nearly 50 years across nine administrations because it addressed Soviet threats to American interests.

When strategy becomes synonymous with a single leader, it becomes vulnerable to reversal. If allies and adversaries believe this framework expires in 2029 or 2033, they adjust behavior accordingly: allies delay defense investments awaiting policy reversals; adversaries simply wait us out.

The adversary gets a vote

The strategy’s viability depends on adversaries accommodating American repositioning rather than exploiting vulnerabilities during the transition. History offers little comfort. Britain’s 1937 Imperial Defence White Paper articulated clear priorities, but this didn’t prevent Germany from exploiting the transition period before Allied rearmament.

By designating certain theaters as lower priorities during allied capacity-building, the NDS creates a 3-5-year window for adversaries to test resolve.

The 2026 NDS offers overdue strategic clarity in diagnosing resource constraints. But it fails to show how America bridges the gap between current commitments and future capabilities without creating exploitable vulnerabilities.

The Venezuela operation crystallizes the dilemma: overwhelming tactical capability without strategic staying power. Until the Pentagon shows how it protects allies during the transition — or candidly acknowledges the risks they must accept — this strategy raises more questions than it answers.

Strategy documents set intentions; adversary responses determine outcomes. On current evidence, significant gaps remain.

Richard Berry is a national security strategist who served as senior advisor to six U.S. Indo-Pacific Command and U.S. Special Operations Command (2010-2025).

Our president and secretary of war understand that wars are won before they are fought. The first battle of the next war began last April when President Trump and Secretary of War Pete Hegseth unleashed sweeping reforms to modernize our military. The Army heard that order loud and clear, and we’ve been battling complacency, calcification and decades of contorted decision-making ever since.

In September, Hegseth stated, “Standards must be uniform, gender-neutral, and high. If not, they’re not standards — they’re just suggestions, suggestions that get our sons and daughters killed.”

That has been the Army’s lodestar over the past year, but also since our founding, over 250 years ago: prepare our soldiers to dominate the battlefield, raise their quality of life while they’re home and remove any obstacles to achieving that goal. Giving our soldiers anything less, then sending them to war, is unconscionable.

Nearly a year later, we are proud to say that we have made substantial progress toward our goal of preparing soldiers to dominate on the battlefield.

Operationally, soldiers are innovating and driving change. Units like the 25th Infantry Division in Hawaii and the 101st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell are leveraging cutting-edge technologies, such as 3D printing, to create drones tailored to their missions.

The Army Software Factory is empowering soldiers to develop software solutions that enhance operational effectiveness. Transformation in Contact units are embedding engineers and coders directly into operational environments, closing the innovation loop and iterating quickly to ensure soldiers have the tools they need to succeed in dynamic and unpredictable battlespaces.

Institutionally, we’ve made fundamental acquisition reforms to take operator feedback and quickly deliver what soldiers need. Inspired by the president’s call for modernization and Secretary Hegseth’s mandate to eliminate inefficiency, we cut bureaucracy and delegated decision-making authority to Program Acquisition Executives, enabling them to move quickly and scale validated capabilities. FUZE, the Army’s venture funding model, identifies, seeds, tests and matures promising technologies.

Advanced manufacturing initiatives led by Army Materiel Command allow us to produce equipment organically, respond rapidly to demand and keep our force ready. These reforms ensure soldiers have access to the best tools and technologies to dominate the battlefield.

Culturally, we’ve promoted a mindset of lethality, innovation and uncompromising standards. Secretary Hegseth’s declaration that “standards must be uniform, gender-neutral and high” has guided our efforts to enforce rigorous training and empower leaders at every level.

Soldiers, from overseas deployments to basic training, are experimenting, learning and pushing lessons learned all the way to the Pentagon. Everywhere we go, soldiers report there is a tangible change — they can feel it in their formations — and it’s absolutely refreshing.

Soldiers make sacrifices for our nation, but their quality of life should not be one of them.

We are aggressively supporting Secretary Hegseth’s “Clean, Comfortable, Safe” mandate to improve living conditions in our barracks. Army-wide housing inspections are underway, and hundreds of millions of dollars have been allocated to address deficiencies.

Free barracks WiFi initiatives are expanding rapidly, starting with Fort Riley, to ensure soldiers stay connected.

In partnership with leaders like Robert Irvine, we are launching campus-style dining options that provide convenient, affordable and healthy meals, expanding to five installations this year. Improving soldiers’ quality of life is not just a moral obligation — it is essential to maintaining a ready and resilient force.

We’ve reduced barriers to these reforms, but we need help.

Within our Title 10 authorities, we aggressively tore down bureaucratic obstacles. We moved funding away from wasteful spending and obsolete programs and aligned it toward initiatives that benefit our soldiers — like FUZE, drones and the ISV.

We cut headquarters billets, introduced automation to increase output and moved more soldiers and leaders to fighting formations. Amid record-setting recruiting and retention numbers, we raised our standards for appearance, performance and conduct.

But to sustain this momentum, we need Congress to continue to support agile funding and modernization efforts. We need help moving away from legacy platforms and toward capabilities that meet the demands of modern warfare. Most importantly, we need the American people to advocate for change and support our soldiers.

Enabling our soldiers to fight, win and return home is in every American’s interest. It is incumbent that our efforts bolster the Army’s ability to remain the most lethal and capable fighting force in the world.

We made great headway in 2025 to prepare our soldiers, improve their quality of life and reduce barriers — but we have only scratched the surface. These changes will manifest, they will compound and our Army will be stronger than ever.

Our adversaries are relentless and will not hesitate to challenge our way of life. American soldiers stand ready to face that challenge, but they cannot do it alone. We must all ensure they are ready to fight, win and return home.

Daniel P. Driscoll became the 26th secretary of the U.S. Army on Feb. 25, 2025. A native of Boone, North Carolina, he oversees operations, modernization and resource allocation for nearly one million active, Guard and Reserve soldiers and more than 265,000 Army Civilians. He is a former Army officer who led a cavalry platoon of the 10th Mountain Division in combat in Iraq. He subsequently received a Juris Doctor from Yale Law School and became a business leader in the private sector.

Back then, the debate quickly died down. President Trump put a lot of pressure on the Europeans to raise defense spending, but he did not question America’s nuclear commitment to Europe. Moreover, most experts agreed that if the U.S. were indeed to disengage from European security, a model based on the British and French nuclear arsenals would be the most plausible “Plan B.”

Although such an arrangement would face numerous challenges, it still appears to be the most reasonable alternative in the event of the loss of the traditional Atlantic option. In particular, it would not encourage the emergence of new nuclear powers.

Alas, the debate about German nuclear weapons is back again. Fueled by transatlantic disagreements, most recently over Greenland, the idea of Germany acquiring its own nukes appears to have again gained salience. Proponents argue that thinking about a German bomb must no longer be a political taboo, since it is the logical consequence of a ruthless realpolitik assessment of the situation. But is it?

The demand for a German bomb is rarely put forward in clear terms. Apart from the bizarre proposal by a German expert that Germany should simply buy 1,000 nuclear warheads from the United States (which would result in the immediate end of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty), most German commentators remain vague. They refer to the new security situation, which, they argue, was obliging hard-nosed analysts to “think the unthinkable.”

Some maintain that the treaties in which Germany has committed itself to permanently renouncing weapons of mass destruction were created under conditions that no longer apply. Once these outdated legal obstacles were removed, acquiring the bomb would become mainly a question of financial resources and technical know-how. Consequently, like Japan and South Korea, proponents of the bomb argue that Germany should invest in “nuclear latency”, i.e. in maintaining the basic technologies necessary for a national nuclear weapons program.

However, Germany’s exit from nuclear power generation has left the country with very little “nuclear latency.” As the British and French experience shows, the financial costs of a national nuclear program would be staggering. The timeframe for developing a true nuclear option (which must also include command systems, including satellites, and delivery vehicles, such as missiles or submarines) will be 20 years or more, which would seem too long to deter a belligerent Russia.

And there is more. Proponents of a German bomb usually skirt around the question of what would happen if Poland, Italy, and other larger European countries followed Germany’s example and initiated their own nuclear programs. Even if Washington would drop any objections to allied countries acquiring nuclear weapons, a German bid for the bomb could trigger a political earthquake with unforeseeable consequences. If Berlin were to commit to a national nuclear weapons option, old resentments among Germany’s neighbors, which up until now have been contained, would resurface. The European Union might well fracture.

A Germany that withdraws from several major international treaties would cause more fear among many Europeans than Moscow’s nuclear weapons. And although the German public’s attitude toward nuclear weapons remains fickle, the idea of their country building its own bomb would hardly meet with widespread approval. Hence, whatever the reasoning for a German nuclear arsenal, no German government will go down that road. The disadvantages of such a step would far outweigh any tangible security gains.

Even if a German national nuclear option remains unrealistic, however, the debate holds an important lesson: The U.S. “nuclear umbrella” remains far more important than some analysts and politicians on both sides of the Atlantic dare to admit. It spares Europe a destructive debate on a nuclear-driven re-nationalization, and it spares the U.S. the prospect of having to deal with a multi-nuclear Europe.

Hence, both sides of the Atlantic should refrain from loose talk, be it about the diminishing credibility of the U.S. “nuclear umbrella” or about the desirability of new national nuclear options. Before starting to think about the “unthinkable”, one should first try the “thinkable” – and let Dracula rest in his coffin.

Michael Rühle worked for over 30 years in NATO’s International Staff, including as a speechwriter for six secretaries-general, as well as in policy planning, climate and energy security, and hybrid threats.

The new NATO expenditure targets are driven by a threat environment that is both severely challenging and dynamic, broadly speaking, and related to biological threats specifically. Russia is bending many norms in its war against Ukraine, including regular use of chemical agents that NATO nations now believe indicates a serious lack of restraint in their willingness to conduct illegal chemical and biological attacks.

Beyond looming Russian threats, artificial intelligence, robotics and other technologies are transforming the landscape of who is capable of developing and engineering biological weapons for a broader range of distinct purposes.

While it is clear that this threat environment will require concerted biodefense investments, active, ongoing discussions focus on what to count as core defense spending — the focus of NATO’s new target of 3.5% of GDP annually — and what should count as the non-military portion of societal resilience, for which NATO nations have pledged to spend 1.5% annually of GDP by 2035. This question has arisen in part because most countries have rarely (if ever) quantified their biodefense spending, and because many of the tools for addressing biological threats can be used for both military purposes and civilian functions. This includes resilience to pandemics and general emergency response.

As such, let’s focus on the 3.5% for core defense spending. Generally, this includes funds to man, train, equip and command military forces, or others, such as the coast guard or national police, when used for military purposes. It can also cover the stockpiling of equipment and supplies for wartime reserves, research and development for military purposes and common infrastructure, such as command-and-control networks and surveillance systems, along with personnel costs.

Military biodefense capabilities fall into this category in a clear-cut way.

Many NATO nations have laboratories operated by defense agencies that are central to detecting, characterizing and defending against biological threats (in addition to chemical weapons and other militarily significant threats). These include the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases in the United States, the Bundeswehr Institute of Microbiology in Germany, the Defence Science and Technology Laboratory in the United Kingdom and others.

These labs are essential for addressing biological weapons threats and deterring the development and use of prohibited biological weapons.

Likewise, investments in biological threat detection and characterization equipment, personal protective equipment and medical countermeasures for military forces fall squarely within the 3.5% as part of equipment and supplies under operations and maintenance. Because these types of items are often stockpiled, they are easily quantifiable. For example, the U.S. Strategic National Stockpile contains enough doses of smallpox vaccine for the adult population, and many nations subscribe to the 100 Days Mission goal of developing diagnostics and countermeasures for a newly emergent pathogen within 100 days. Such goals can be easily tailored for military requirements and what is needed to support them directly.

Similar to how NATO maintains situational awareness for space and cyber, a biodefense capability target should focus on ensuring that every NATO nation’s military base has biological threat detection and early warning assets in place, as soon as possible. Basic capacity should be cost-effective to set up. For example, wastewater sequencing and other approaches have scaled incredibly in recent years. For wastewater and environmental monitoring, as well as other early warning tools, the analytical approaches used to characterize pathogen threats are rapidly growing more powerful and cost effective.

The capability targets set by NATO in this space should also ratchet up over time. Examples could include plans to scale the number of sites with metagenomic sequencing-based early warning systems; and decreasing the time to detect and characterize a novel, engineered pathogen to hours rather than days.

Additionally, investments that aim at biological weapons attribution and verification of noncompliance by adversaries with the Biological Weapons Convention clearly apply to core defense and deterrence. Russia’s sustained, flagrant treaty violations need to be monitored and called out.

Yet another biodefense expenditure category is military training and exercises, for both responding to a biological weapons attack and preparing to maintain operational force readiness during outbreaks, even if the source of the causative pathogen has not yet been determined. Indeed, such exercises should also be used to incorporate evolving technological developments so capability targets can be refined to ensure NATO force readiness against biological threats. Exercises and related public affairs activities aimed at increasing awareness of biodefense efforts, both for deterrence and to pre-bunk information threats, are a crucial part of core defense spending.

This is not an exhaustive list, but it demonstrates that NATO countries have many clear starting points for detailing a full suite of biodefense capability targets and quantifying investments in those capabilities. This will help ensure that NATO meets core biological defense and deterrence needs effectively, in the face of rising biological threats.

Hon. Andy Weber is a senior fellow at the Council on Strategic Risks and previously served as assistant secretary of defense for nuclear, chemical and biological defense programs.

Christine Parthemore is the CEO of the Council on Strategic Risks and previously served at the Pentagon.

Nearly three months later, it is not clear what, if anything, has been done to advance the president’s intent.

His brief announcement nonetheless sent the arms control community into an apoplectic frenzy. Critics deem a resumption of testing unnecessary and certain to trigger a new arms race. Neither claim withstands scrutiny, but they have succeeded in diverting attention away from common sense arguments in favor of testing.

The claim that testing is unnecessary places great weight on the annual certification process in which the nuclear weapons laboratories attest to the “safety, reliability, and performance” of the arsenal.

Though informed by advanced computer simulations, the annual certifications ultimately reflect human judgments which, by their very nature, are susceptible to error. They do not provide proof that the weapons, some of which contain components nearly 50 years old, will function as intended. Only real-world testing can provide such certainty.

Yet the annual certifications are taken as gospel by the anti-test crowd. This is an odd way to think about any complex mechanical device — nuclear or otherwise — that involves thousands of component parts. Nobody would entrust their family’s safety to an emergency home generator that has been “certified” to work but not fully tested in over three decades.

The charge that a resumption of U.S. nuclear weapons testing would unleash another “arms race” is another false narrative.

U.S. State Department reports indicate Russia — and most likely China — have conducted low-yield nuclear explosive tests. Senior Russian officials have publicly admitted doing so.

Moscow and Beijing evidently believe testing is necessary to ensure the reliability of their own arsenals. And they have undertaken them in the absence of U.S. testing, which lays bare the fallacy of the action-reaction dynamic implied by the “arms race” metaphor.

Critics of nuclear testing often point out that the U.S. conducted just over one thousand tests — far more than China or Russia — prior to suspending the drills in 1992. However, they fail to add that only a fraction of those tests are relevant to assessing the health of today’s arsenal.

The world has changed dramatically — and clearly for the worse — since the U.S. last conducted an underground test.

The feel-good vibes that characterized U.S.-Russian relations in the immediate aftermath of the Cold War have long since dissipated. Multiple attempts to “reset” the relationship have since failed. Moscow has relentlessly modernized its nuclear arsenal, developing exotic weapons such as a transoceanic nuclear-armed torpedo, while pursuing its expansionist ambitions in Georgia, Syria, Ukraine and elsewhere.

It would be dangerous enough if the U.S. just had to face one powerful nuclear adversary, as it did during the Cold War, but this is no longer the case with the growth of Chinese military power.

For decades after China’s first hydrogen bomb test, Beijing appeared content to maintain a small number of nuclear weapons. Not anymore. China’s wide-ranging nuclear expansion is on a growth trajectory projected to rival America’s arsenal in less than a decade.

The president’s instincts are correct. The case for resuming nuclear weapons testing is stronger now than ever, given the deterioration of the security environment and the uncertainties inherent with assessing the health of an aging nuclear arsenal.

It is odd, indeed, to require every weapon in the U.S. arsenal be fully tested except for the nuclear weapons on which our ultimate deterrent rests.

Getting the U.S. ready to test after more than 30 years of not doing so is no small feat. The required infrastructure and technical know-how have atrophied. The nuclear labs need to proceed with a sense of urgency and develop plans. For its part, Congress must adequately fund their efforts and ensure resources are not siphoned away from other critical strategic modernization programs.

Even a limited resumption of testing will require extensive planning and preparation, including the construction of underground cavities to limit environmental impacts. Building such facilities from scratch will take time — which is all the more reason to begin now.

James H. Anderson and David J. Trachtenberg both formerly served as deputy and acting under secretaries of defense for policy during the first Trump Administration.

An image circulated over media the weekend of Jan. 3 and 4 was meant to convey dominance: Venezuela’s president, Nicolás Maduro, blindfolded and handcuffed aboard a U.S. naval vessel. Shortly after the operation that seized Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, President Donald Trump announced that the United States would now “run” Venezuela until a “safe, proper and judicious transition” could be arranged.

The Trump administration’s move is not an aberration; it reflects a broader trend in U.S. foreign policy I described here some six years ago as “America the Bully.”

Washington increasingly relies on coercion — military, economic and political — not only to deter adversaries but to compel compliance from weaker nations. This may deliver short-term obedience, but it is counterproductive as a strategy for building durable power, which depends on legitimacy and capacity. When coercion is applied to governance, it can harden resistance, narrow diplomatic options and transform local political failures into contests of national pride.

There is no dispute that Maduro’s dictatorship led to Venezuela’s catastrophic collapse. Under his rule, Venezuela’s economy imploded, democratic institutions were hollowed out, criminal networks fused with the state, and millions fled the country — many for the United States.

But removing a leader — even a brutal and incompetent one — is not the same as advancing a legitimate political order.

Nicolas Maduro on board the USS Iwo Jima. pic.twitter.com/omF2UpDJhA

— The White House (@WhiteHouse) January 3, 2026

Force doesn’t equal legitimacy

By declaring its intent to govern Venezuela, the United States is creating a governance trap of its own making — one in which external force is mistakenly treated as a substitute for domestic legitimacy.

I write as a scholar of international security, civil wars and U.S. foreign policy, and as author of “Dying by the Sword,” which examines why states repeatedly reach for military solutions, and why such interventions rarely produce durable peace.

The core finding of that research is straightforward: Force can topple rulers, but it cannot generate political authority.

When violence and what I have described elsewhere as “kinetic diplomacy” become a substitute for full spectrum action — which includes diplomacy, economics and what the late political scientist Joseph Nye called “soft power” — it tends to deepen instability rather than resolve it.

More force, less statecraft

The Venezuela episode reflects this broader shift in how the United States uses its power. My co-author Sidita Kushi and I document this by analyzing detailed data from the new Military Intervention Project. We show that since the end of the Cold War, the United States has sharply increased the frequency of military interventions while systematically underinvesting in diplomacy and other tools of statecraft.

One striking feature of the trends we uncover is that if Americans tended to justify excessive military intervention during the Cold War between 1945–1989 due to the perception that the Soviet Union was an existential threat, what we would expect is far fewer military interventions following the Soviet Union’s 1991 collapse. That has not happened.

Even more striking, the mission profile has changed. Interventions that once aimed at short-term stabilization now routinely expand into prolonged governance and security management, as they did in both Iraq after 2003 and Afghanistan after 2001.

This pattern is reinforced by institutional imbalance. In 2026, for every single dollar the United States invests in the diplomatic “scalpel” of the State Department to prevent conflict, it allocates $28 to the military “hammer” of the Department of Defense, effectively ensuring that force becomes a first rather than last resort.

“Kinetic diplomacy” — in the Venezuela case, regime change by force — becomes the default not because it is more effective, but because it is the only tool of statecraft immediately available. On Jan. 4, Trump told The Atlantic magazine that if Delcy Rodríguez, the acting leader of Venezuela, “doesn’t do what’s right, she is going to pay a very big price, probably bigger than Maduro.”

Lessons from Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya

The consequences of this imbalance are visible across the past quarter-century.

In Afghanistan, the U.S.-led attempt to engineer authority built on external force alone proved brittle by its very nature. The U.S. had invaded Afghanistan in 2001 to topple the Taliban regime, deemed responsible for the 9/11 terrorist attacks. But the subsequent two decades of foreign-backed state-building collapsed almost instantly once U.S. forces withdrew in 2021. No amount of reconstruction spending could compensate for the absence of a political order rooted in domestic consent.

Following the invasion by the U.S. and surrender of Iraq’s armed forces in 2003, both the U.S. Department of State and the Department of Defense proposed plans for Iraq’s transition to a stable democratic nation. President George W. Bush gave the nod to the Defense Department’s plan.

That plan, unlike the State Department’s, ignored key cultural, social and historical conditions. Instead, it proposed an approach that assumed a credible threat to use coercion, supplemented by private contractors, would prove sufficient to lead to a rapid and effective transition to a democratic Iraq. The United States became responsible not only for security, but also for electricity, water, jobs and political reconciliation — tasks no foreign power can perform without becoming, as the United States did, an object of resistance.

Libya demonstrated a different failure mode. There, intervention by a U.S.-backed NATO force in 2011 and removal of dictator Moammar Gadhafi and his regime were not followed by governance at all. The result was civil war, fragmentation, militia rule and a prolonged struggle over sovereignty and economic development that continues today.

The common thread across all three cases is hubris: the belief that American management — either limited or oppressive — could replace political legitimacy.

Venezuela’s infrastructure is already in ruins. If the United States assumes responsibility for governance, it will be blamed for every blackout, every food shortage and every bureaucratic failure. The liberator will quickly become the occupier.

Costs of ‘running’ a country

Taking on governance in Venezuela would also carry broader strategic costs, even if those costs are not the primary reason the strategy would fail.

A military attack followed by foreign administration is a combination that undermines the principles of sovereignty and nonintervention that underpin the international order the United States claims to support. It complicates alliance diplomacy by forcing partners to reconcile U.S. actions with the very rules they are trying to defend elsewhere.

The United States has historically been strongest when it anchored an open sphere built on collaboration with allies, shared rules and voluntary alignment. Launching a military operation and then assuming responsibility for governance shifts Washington toward a closed, coercive model of power — one that relies on force to establish authority and is prohibitively costly to sustain over time.

These signals are read not only in Berlin, London and Paris. They are watched closely in Taipei, Tokyo and Seoul — and just as carefully in Beijing and Moscow.

When the United States attacks a sovereign state and then claims the right to administer it, it weakens its ability to contest rival arguments that force alone, rather than legitimacy, determines political authority.

Beijing needs only to point to U.S. behavior to argue that great powers rule as they please where they can — an argument that can justify the takeover of Taiwan. Moscow, likewise, can cite such precedent to justify the use of force in its near abroad and not just in Ukraine.

This matters in practice, not theory. The more the United States normalizes unilateral governance, the easier it becomes for rivals to dismiss American appeals to sovereignty as selective and self-serving, and the more difficult it becomes for allies to justify their ties to the U.S.

That erosion of credibility does not produce dramatic rupture, but it steadily narrows the space for cooperation over time and the advancement of U.S. interests and capabilities.

Force is fast. Legitimacy is slow. But legitimacy is the only currency that buys durable peace and stability — both of which remain enduring U.S. interests.

If Washington governs by force in Venezuela, it will repeat the failures of Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya: Power can topple regimes, but it cannot create political authority. Outside rule invites resistance, not stability.

Monica Duffy Toft is a professor of International Politics and director of the Center for Strategic Studies, The Fletcher School, Tufts University.

For decades, American naval supremacy has been assumed. Today, that margin is narrowing.

Our adversaries are building vessels explicitly designed to contest our ability to project power, support allies and operate in the Western Pacific and beyond. Today, we are no longer the only Navy to have an aircraft carrier with electromagnetic catapults that enable heavier, long-range aircraft as well as future unmanned aerial vehicles.

Our adversaries are also sailing their ships far beyond their territorial waters, signaling a willingness to operate globally and challenge U.S. dominance on the world’s oceans.

CNO dishes on sailor wellbeing, US Navy success in era of competition

As our strategic competitors expand both capacity and reach, they are studying every move we make. Across the Indo-Pacific, their surveillance ships closely monitor our posture, logistics operations and multilateral exercises. They chart undersea routes, map chokepoints and track how we maneuver with allies and partners.

In this environment, deterrence is not achieved by rhetoric or presence alone. It requires credible, modern, combat-ready naval power.

That is why the U.S. Navy must stay ready, modernize rapidly and invest wisely — because the world is no longer defined by uncontested seas or predictable, slowly evolving threats.

We are driving toward an ambitious but essential readiness goal: By January 2027, 80% of our ships, submarines and aircraft will be combat-surge ready. Achieving this requires shorter maintenance cycles, increased spare-parts availability, improved training pipelines and targeted upgrades across the fleet.

Readiness is not a budget line — it is a promise to the American people that their Navy will never arrive late to a fight.

Modernization is more than keeping pace; it is about leap-ahead advantages that deter war and, if necessary, win decisively.

We are accelerating production of the Columbia-class ballistic-missile submarine, the bedrock of our nation’s nuclear deterrent. A recent $2.28 billion contract for five hulls underscores our commitment to sustaining this unmatched strategic capability for decades.

But the fleet of the future must be more than larger — it must be more intelligent, more resilient and more lethal. That requires a balanced mix of aircraft carriers, large and small surface combatants, submarines, unmanned systems and emerging technologies that can out-think, out-sense and out-fight any adversary at a time and place of our choosing.

The carrier — long the symbol of American sea power — remains indispensable. But its future lies in pairing the flight deck with a new generation of stealth aircraft, longer-range strike platforms, unmanned systems and advanced refueling concepts that extend reach and complicate an adversary’s calculus. The air wing of the future must be survivable, dispersed, networked and able to operate in highly contested environments.

Large surface combatants will provide resilient command-and-control, unmatched payload volume, abundant electrical power and sensor reach needed for high-end fights, while small surface combatants — nimble, lethal, affordable, easy to build — will provide distributed fires, deception, escort capability and maritime security in places where presence deters and absence invites risk.

The balance of these platforms is not a luxury — it is an operational necessity.

New technologies are reshaping the character of maritime warfare faster than at any time in our history. The Navy is moving decisively to stay ahead. Directed-energy weapons like HELIOS are already being tested on ships, but more powerful high-energy laser and microwave systems are an imperative to counter drone swarms, cruise missiles and fast inshore threats.

Unmanned systems will multiply the reach and lethality of our manned platforms. Through initiatives such as Replicator, medium and large unmanned surface vessels, autonomous ISR platforms and long-endurance undersea drones, the fleet is becoming more distributed, more adaptive and more unpredictable to any adversary.

These platforms will only realize their full potential through a modernized command-and-control architecture that fuses sensors, weapons and decision-tools into a unified operational picture.

That is why we are investing in resilient networks, artificial intelligence for decision support and battle-management systems that accelerate warfighters’ ability to find, fix and finish threats at machine speed while preserving human judgment where it matters most.

Even the most advanced fleet will fail without a strong industrial base, a skilled workforce and world-class sailors. We are expanding the Maritime Industrial Base Program to grow workforce capacity through advanced technical training in welding, CNC machining, additive manufacturing and nondestructive testing. The new Maritime Training Center now produces roughly 1,000 trained workers annually — talent that goes directly into our shipyards.

Until American yards fully recover from workforce shortages, supply chain fragility and lack of automation, we are exploring responsible cooperation with allied shipbuilders in places like South Korea and Japan to bridge near-term gaps in maintenance, repair and production. These partnerships create strategic depth today while buying time for U.S. shipyards to modernize and expand for tomorrow.

We must be ruthlessly honest about our readiness and relentlessly innovative in our solutions. America does not want a fair fight — we want a fleet so capable, so ready and so forward that the fight never begins.

Sea power has always been a reflection of national will. If we intend to remain the world’s preeminent maritime power, we must match our ambition with the resources, stability and strategic discipline required.

What we protect is greater than what we project. We protect freedom of movement, freedom of trade and freedom of thought. As we look beyond this 250th anniversary, we must recommit to maritime superiority with stable funding, accelerated shipbuilding and repair and a bold embrace of innovation — from machine learning to advanced ship design to new operational concepts.

As the 34th chief of naval operations, I clearly see the challenges ahead. I also recognize the immense promise of opportunity. A strong Navy does more than secure our shores; it preserves America’s future. Let us honor those who stood the watch before us by preparing the fleet that will sail long after us.

Sea power is America’s first line of defense — and our last great advantage. We are committed to preserving it.

Adm. Daryl Caudle, the 34th chief of naval operations, is a North Carolina native and 1985 graduate of North Carolina State University. Commissioned through Officer Candidate School, he went on to command multiple submarines and hold major operational and strategic leadership roles, including commander of U.S. Fleet Forces Command, Submarine Forces and Allied Submarine Command, as well as serving in key Joint Staff positions. His sea tours included assignments on several attack and ballistic-missile submarines, and his ashore roles ranged from nuclear training and cyberspace policy to senior staff leadership. Caudle was sworn in as CNO on Aug. 25, 2025.

By opposing NATO membership for Ukraine, the Trump administration has already expressed its doubts about the wisdom of NATO’s enlargement policy. However, other allies continue to adhere to NATO’s agreed-upon stance that the door remains open and Ukraine is on an “irreversible path” to membership.

This could turn into another transatlantic train wreck, but it doesn’t have to.

European allies should also recognize that NATO’s enlargement process has become counterproductive. Doubling NATO’s membership from 16 to 32 countries since the end of the Cold War is a resounding testimony for the undiminished attractiveness of a transatlantic defense framework. However, maintaining the enlargement process on autopilot risks squandering many of its past achievements.

NATO’s expansion, based primarily on the right of all European states to freely choose their alliances, was successful as long as the interests of key actors, including Russia, could be reasonably balanced. Consequently, in 1997, NATO agreed with Russia on key principles of their cooperation, even before officially inviting Poland, the Czech Republic, and Hungary to join the alliance. These three states were admitted to NATO in 1999, followed by seven more Central and Eastern European states, including the three Baltic republics, in 2004. Many observers saw the fact that Moscow remained calm as confirmation that Russia was beginning to accept NATO enlargement.

But Russia never really did. Even if the military dimensions of enlargement were rather “soft” — no major combat units or nuclear weapons were stationed in the new member states — the accession of numerous former Warsaw Pact countries and even former Soviet republics signified an enormous geopolitical power shift. Furthermore, since the West viewed NATO enlargement as an open-ended process with no clearly defined endpoint, Russia had to contemplate that its shrinking sphere of influence could be lost altogether.

NATO’s geopolitical sin occurred in 2008, when the allies declared that Ukraine and Georgia “will become members.” Although these invitations were extended without a specific timeframe for accession, the West had crossed “the brightest of all red lines” for Moscow, as William Burns, then U.S. ambassador to Russia, had warned. A year after Putin’s speech at the Munich Security Conference, in which he had complained that the West was ignoring Russian security concerns, NATO invited two states that Moscow regarded as part of its “zone of privileged interests.”

As Russia slipped further into authoritarianism and relations with the West continued to deteriorate, some observers argued that the alliance should only accept countries it could realistically defend. However, such a change in direction would have left several aspiring members stuck in a geopolitical no man’s land between NATO and Russia. It would also have given Russia a veto over decisions that were the alliance’s sole prerogative. Consequently, the West stuck to its narrative that NATO enlargement was a kind of post-Cold War family reunion – a moral duty that could not be questioned.

By continuing to insist that NATO’s door must remain open, the West is cornering itself. A deal with Russia to end its war against Ukraine would become impossible. Furthermore, given Russia’s recent belligerence, inviting countries that one is unable or unwilling to defend seems increasingly hazardous. It is true that denying Ukraine and other candidate countries the right to freely choose their alliances could be perceived as a betrayal. However, the West should not feel obliged to adhere to a policy that is now causing more problems than it solves. While NATO enlargement started out as a morally sound policy, new geopolitical realities now risk producing immoral results.

The tragedy of NATO expansion lies not in beginning it, but in never considering when and where it might end.

Michael Rühle worked for over 30 years in NATO’s International Staff, including as a speechwriter for six secretaries-general, as well as in policy planning, climate and energy security, and hybrid threats.

But some of the policies outlined in the new strategy may leave him with an entirely different legacy. He may become known as the president who allowed Russian President Vladimir Putin to miscalculate and start another major war in Europe.

It’s not too late for Trump to correct this potentially grave error.

The new strategy reaches back more than a century to assemble pieces of previous U.S. foreign policy approaches. It lists the Western Hemisphere as America’s top priority and creates a new Trump Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, much as Teddy Roosevelt’s interventionist Corollary did. It harkens back to William McKinley’s use of tariffs in the 1890s and the destructive Hawley-Smoot Tariff of 1930. It embraces the use of economic power much as William Howard Taft’s Dollar Diplomacy did.

There are elements of isolationism embedded in the strategy, as was the case with Senators Henry Cabot Lodge and William Borah after World War I. There are uncomfortable echos of the America First Committee run by Charles Lindbergh and Gerald Nye who lobbied against aid to Britain in its lonely fight against Nazi Germany. And it expands on Barack Obama’s “pivot to Asia,” which is listed as Trump’s second regional priority.

President Trump’s formula for global peace has some constructive elements. The strategy stresses peace through strength, much as Ronald Reagan did. It calls for strengthening America’s defense industrial base. It relies on economic sanctions and rewards as a main instrument of Trump’s peace efforts. Trump is willing to use personal diplomacy to stimulate peace talks. The strategy notes rightly that the United States is overstretched and that our allies need to do more. The strategy encourages our allies to meet their “Hague Commitment” to increase annual defense spending to 5% of GDP by 2035.

But there is a potentially fatal flaw in the strategy which needs to be corrected. It has created alarming doubts about America’s enduring commitment under NATO’s Article 5. While the strategy does say the US supports its allies “in preserving the freedom and security of Europe,” that is a climb down from the “attack on one is an attack on all” language in Article 5. It is a climb down from President Joe Biden’s formula that the U.S. will defend “every inch” of NATO territory.

Mind the gaps: Europe’s to-do list for defense without the US

Despite the strategies focus on sovereignty and respect, the document contains a broad attack on European leaders and institutions. It calls European economies “in decline” due to over-regulation. It has brought America’s culture wars officially to Europe, suggesting that some European countries are risking “civilizational erasure,” a reframing of the Great Replacement Theory of the American right wing.

The strategy calls for Europe rapidly to become the primary defender of Europe. Administration officials are suggesting a 2027 deadline, which is unrealistic. It will take years for Europe to replace America’s ability to supply battlefield enablers such as operational intelligence, strategic lift, air refueling, long range fires, and missile defenses. It will take even longer for Europe to adequately strengthen its independent nuclear deterrence. Getting the transition timing wrong could be fatal.

The strategy stresses military deterrence in Asia and justifies the effort by noting the vital commercial role of the South China Sea and Taiwan’s economic and strategic importance. It does not stress deterrence in Europe to the same degree and in fact criticizes Europeans for seeing Russia as an existential threat. It places Europe third in terms of regional priorities.

The new strategy further declares that America’s global predisposition is for non-intervention. This is perhaps comforting for some Latin American countries but not for Europeans who rely on American intervention to deter Russia.

And the strategy calls for an expeditious cessation of hostilities in Ukraine, for reestablishing strategic stability with Russia, and for the need to prevent unintended escalation. These may sound like noble goals, but they disregard Russia’s role as the aggressor and Putin’s opposition to a cease fire. The strategy goes so far as to blame European governments for having “unrealistic expectations” and for delaying the peace process.

The Ukraine part of the strategy must be seen in the context of Steve Witkoff’s 28-point peace plan, which essentially calls for Ukraine’s capitulation. We can be grateful to Secretary of State Marco Rubio for restructuring the peace plan so that it is somewhat acceptable to Kyiv. Putin has rejected the revised plan, and Trump’s next move is unclear. Europe is not really in the loop.

Taken together, Trump’s policies towards Europe have an isolationist flavor with lack of clarity about U.S. commitments. It undercuts deterrence. That could cause Putin to believe Europe is vulnerable and eventually to miscalculate. History is replete with such miscalculations.

The Kaiser in 1917 miscalculated the nature of American neutrality and its ability to mobilize quickly in response to unrestricted U-Boat warfare. Hitler miscalculated British long-term intentions in 1938 when Neville Chamberlain flew to Munich and traded the Sudetenland for “peace in our time.” Japan miscalculated in 1941 when it attacked Pearl Harbor in an effort to destroy America’s Pacific Fleet. Kim Il Sung and Stalin miscalculated U.S. intentions in 1950 when in a speech Dean Acheson left South Korea out of America’s defense perimeter. And Saddam Hussein miscalculated in 1990 when the State Department sent Ambassador April Glaspie to say that the U.S. did not want to interfere in intra-Arab issues.

Each of those miscalculations led to war.

Putin has already miscalculated the ease with which he could defeat Ukraine. He can miscalculate again.

The United States and Europe both need to take immediate steps to re-establish a credible deterrence. Trump should reemphasize America’s enduring defense commitment to NATO and avoid significant U.S. troop withdrawals from Europe.

He should treat Russia as the aggressor in Ukraine. Europe for its part should embrace the “burden sharing network” proposed by the strategy, accelerate movement towards meeting the 5% goal, and continue to supply Ukraine with need weapons. In the longer run, a new transatlantic compact may be needed to restructure roles, responsibilities, and missions within the alliance.

Hans Binnendijk is a distinguished fellow at the Atlantic Council. He was previously NSC senior director for Defense Policy and was a principal author of three national security strategies.

Editor’s note: This commentary was updated to correct the portrayal of a historical anecdote. It was then-British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain who flew to Munich and traded the Sudetenland for “peace in our time.”

Our national security today is just as dependent on a strong economy and capable workforce as it was in 1941. An economy that can build and innovate deters would-be adversaries from believing they can test us, and it enables us to sustain ourselves if they dare try.

Yet the COVID-19 pandemic and the Russia-Ukraine war have revealed fragility in our industrial base at the very time that China has substantially expanded its own industrial capacity, and, along with others, has used that capacity to advance its military goals. That is why this moment is so pivotal. Across administrations and political lines, efforts to modernize America’s industrial policy and ensure our national security have converged.

Building on this bipartisan momentum, the Atlantic Council has launched the ReForge Commission.

With a unique breadth of experience from commissioners across industry, government, private capital and academia, our goal is clear: Just as the “Arsenal of Democracy” transformed U.S. industry to help win World War II, ReForge seeks to deliver a blueprint for defense and commercial sector support to our national security at speed and scale, including mobilizing effectively during conflict if needed.

In the emerging “Arsenal of Freedom” era, the industrial backbone of national security extends far beyond defense primes. It includes critical minerals, advanced manufacturing, energy systems, logistics networks, software and the broader innovation ecosystem that powers the modern economy. Over the next 18 months, the commission will assess this broad industrial landscape and develop a practical roadmap to rebuild the capacity, resilience and deterrence America’s security demands.

This is not a simple question with simple answers. The commission will confront our nation’s serious sustainment inadequacies and take advantage of our extraordinary economic opportunities. We will be grounded in the needs of protracted warfare, multitheater operations and homeland resilience.

Our work will anchor on three core pillars.

First, the commission will make a realistic assessment of America’s most stressing security needs. We will take account of the significant evolution in the character of warfare, changing workforce needs and the critical infrastructure at home and abroad that must be operable for our security. Without a shared picture of demand, identifying bottlenecks and setting milestones is impossible.

Second, we will transform that demand signal into a modern industrial strategy that can start now and endure across generations. This strategy cannot rely only on temporary surges or episodic subsidies. It must build a software-driven, rapidly adaptable supply chain; expand advanced manufacturing; and continuously embed resilience into the economy.

Third, the commission will recommend incentives to pull innovation, production and talent into the national defense ecosystem before crises force our hand. No industrial strategy will work without the right incentive structures. Industry cannot build mobilization capacity without clear, consistent investment from government, and government cannot take advantage of America’s innovation potential if the commercial sector will not work with it. Likewise, capital will not flow into transformational manufacturing unless risk and reward are aligned, and workforces will not expand absent durable cause to do so.

Using these three pillars, the commission will advance its central objective: to build a defense and manufacturing base so undeniably capable of scaling, sustaining and rapidly upgrading production that would-be adversaries conclude they cannot exhaust us through protraction. Geopolitics are shifting daily, but the United States can strengthen its industrial and technological foundations today to adapt with speed and purpose.

Encouragingly, Congress and the Pentagon are taking action on sweeping reforms to acquisition laws and processes — important steps toward a more competitive, agile defense ecosystem. The commission will build on these efforts, developing a bipartisan plan that reaches beyond acquisition into industrial strategy, cross-sector alignment and the broader economic foundations of national resilience.

We will not measure our success in the production of a report, no matter how compelling. We have both written, and read, many reports. Rather, we will judge the commission’s effectiveness in the delivery of actionable recommendations — solutions capable of breaking the status quo and reshaping the defense-industrial ecosystem to meet the needs of the warfighter and secure the nation for the era ahead. We will listen to industry and government, map real bottlenecks and propose concrete ways to close them.

This work will not be easy, nor should it be. The stakes are too high to do anything less.

Kathleen Hicks is the 35th U.S. deputy secretary of defense and co-chair of the Atlantic Council’s ReForge Commission. Mac Thornberry is a former chairman of the House Armed Services Committee and a 26-year member of Congress representing Texas’s 13th District, and co-chair of the Atlantic Council’s ReForge Commission. The ReForge Commission is led by the Atlantic Council’s Scowcroft Center for Strategy and Security and its Forward Defense program.

The result is something once unthinkable: a serious national debate over whether South Korea needs its own nuclear weapons. This is no longer a fringe idea. It is a mainstream conversation crossing generational, elite and partisan lines.

But while the question is understandable, the answer still isn’t a South Korean bomb.

North Korea’s threat and America’s uncertainty

The core trigger for Seoul’s reassessment is Pyongyang’s rapid weapons development. North Korea now fields short-range ballistic missiles that are mobile, hard to detect and capable of evading missile defense. Kim Jong Un has openly embraced a doctrine that allows early nuclear use if the regime feels threatened. That raises the risk of miscalculation in any crisis.

At the same time, South Koreans increasingly doubt whether Washington would actually use nuclear weapons on their behalf if doing so invited retaliation on the U.S. homeland. No amount of official reassurance fully resolves that fear.

Given this strategic mix, South Koreans naturally ask: How long can we rely entirely on another country’s nuclear trigger?

Seoul’s current deterrence playbook has limits

South Korea’s conventional strategy — the so-called Three-Axis System — aims to counter North Korea without going nuclear. The Kill Chain concept focuses on preemptive strikes if an attack looks imminent. The Korea Air and Missile Defense system provides layered missile defense, while the Korea Massive Punishment and Retaliation system threatens devastating retaliation, including leadership decapitation, if North Korea attacks first.

These are strong components of deterrence, but none can fully solve the nuclear imbalance. Preemption depends on flawless intelligence. Missile defense can be overwhelmed by volume or advanced maneuvering systems. And threatening regime destruction risks triggering the rapid escalation Seoul hopes to avoid.

In other words, South Korea’s conventional posture is capable, but not invulnerable — which fuels the conversation about nuclear “insurance.”

South Korea is already close to the threshold

Technologically, Seoul could develop nuclear weapons relatively quickly. Its advanced nuclear industry and delivery systems give it what experts call “nuclear latency” — the ability to build a bomb quickly if it chooses.

But the legal and political constraints are heavy. The U.S.-Republic of Korea civil nuclear agreement prohibits South Korea from reprocessing or enriching. Washington is unlikely to allow changes, even for its closest allies. And the moment Seoul moves toward a bomb, it risks international isolation and severe economic fallout.

So the real issue isn’t capability — it’s cost.

Why the nuclear option remains a losing bet

Supporters of a South Korean bomb argue that only independent nuclear weapons can guarantee national survival. They also claim it would deter not only North Korea, but also China and Russia.

But there are three hard truths:

• It would fracture the U.S. alliance.
A South Korean bomb would trigger a crisis in the relationship with Washington — the same relationship that underpins all of Seoul’s military and economic security.
• The economic damage would be severe.
Sanctions, investor flight and probable Chinese retaliation would hit an export-driven South Korean economy with enormous force. The cost would dwarf the perceived security gain.
• It could trigger a regional arms race.
If South Korea goes nuclear, Japan may follow. Taiwan could feel pressure to do the same. A nuclear cascade in Northeast Asia is not stability — it’s volatility.

And crucially, nuclear weapons wouldn’t solve Seoul’s biggest practical vulnerability: the North’s massive conventional and chemical-biological forces. A bomb would change psychology more than reality.

The smarter path: Fix deterrence, not the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty.

Nuclear weapons deter existential threats, but they don’t prevent crises — and they certainly can’t guarantee peace. The core task for South Korea is making sure North Korea never believes it can win a quick, cheap war.

That requires tightening the existing alliance framework by addressing the following:

• More integrated planning with the U.S.
• Beefed-up intelligence and cyber capabilities
• Clearer extended-deterrence commitments
• Stronger societal resilience

Seoul also benefits from maintaining technological flexibility — enough capacity to remind adversaries that pushing South Korea too far could backfire, but without crossing the line into weaponization.

This dual approach strengthens deterrence without blowing up the alliance or the global non-proliferation system.

Bottom line

South Korea’s nuclear debate is no longer theoretical, and it shouldn’t be dismissed. North Korea’s arsenal is real, and U.S. politics are unpredictable. Seoul is right to reassess its options.

But developing nuclear weapons would impose catastrophic strategic and economic costs while solving few of the country’s actual defense problems.

The surest path to long-term security is not a South Korean bomb — it’s a stronger, clearer and more resilient U.S.-Republic of Korea alliance backed by credible conventional deterrence and smart hedging.

Zdeněk Rod serves as an assistant professor at the Department of Security Studies at CEVRO University in Prague. He is also the head of research at the CEVRO Center for Asia-Pacific Studies, in addition to an assistant professor at the Faculty of International Relations at the Prague University of Economics and Business.

Consider the following scenario. There’s a ransomware attack, enhanced by AI, which paralyses NHS systems — delaying medical care across the country.

Simultaneously, deepfake videos circulate online, spreading false information about the government’s response. At the same time, a foreign power quietly manipulates critical mineral markets to exert pressure on the economy.

The scenario is not just a theory. It is a situation waiting to be rehearsed. And research suggests an old tool called wargaming — an exercise or simulation of a threatening situation — provides the method to do exactly that. Researchers are indeed calling for a new research agenda for experimental design for such games, applied to modern scenarios.

In a world of compounding crises, the U.K. government has published its first-ever chronic risks analysis, delivering a stark warning. It says the threats of the 21st century are already here and they’re deeply interconnected.

From AI-driven cybercrime to biodiversity loss and demographic shifts, the report maps 26 chronic risks that are slowly eroding national security, economic resilience and social cohesion.

The analysis rightly calls for a broader response, urging collaboration across government, industry, academia and society at large.

If chronic risks are the century’s slow burns, then wargaming is the fire drill we haven’t run. In brief, wargaming is a centuries-old tool to explore “what if” scenarios by simulating real-world crises.

In a wargame, participants take on roles, usually in opposing teams, and make decisions in response to unfolding events. Depending on the scenario, participants are recruited to act in a way that would be characteristic for the military, government, industry or humanitarian organizations.

By revealing gaps, stress points and unexpected outcomes, wargaming helps decision-makers plan smarter and respond faster when the real thing hits. Ignoring these feedback loops risks turning slow moving challenges into sudden, systemic shocks.

Historically limited to traditional warfighting, it increasingly offers a way to stress-test systems against cascading threats, from resource scarcity driving geopolitical tensions to digital exclusion fueling misinformation.

Beyond war

Wargaming is still popular among organizations across the world. The Pentagon uses red team exercises to anticipate hybrid warfare. Red-teaming includes modeling of the adversary and attempting to predict their reasoning, planning and actions.

Nato’s “locked shields” exercises simulate cyberattacks on critical infrastructure. And the EU runs tabletops, exercises that help help stress-test defense capability development plans.

Developments in AI have recently been translated into gaming techniques. The Rand corporation has run wargames on issues from antimicrobial resistance to climate change.

Singapore has used wargaming to test urban development policies involving climate adaptation, transportation and population growth.

At a recent Rand Europe wargame examining the governance of AI in health care, players were asked to act as policymakers deciding whether to impose strict, moderate or minimal regulation on new AI tools such as automated transcription of doctor visits. They had to balance this with concerns about safety, privacy and equitable access.

The game illustrated how competing priorities, such as innovation speed versus regulatory oversight, shape real-world decisions. Despite the complexity of the topic, participants typically reached a consensus within minutes, revealing not only preferred policies but also the trade-offs that were revealed under pressure. The results of the game showed that regulation has to adapt to emerging risks, rather than be rigid.

Exercises like this demonstrate how wargaming can expose underlying assumptions and offer policymakers, practitioners and the public a structured way to debate difficult choices before or as they appear in the real world.

Depending on the scope of the game, you could choose to play one round or scenario, or extend it to more in-depth questions. The game results are the most relevant for those who will have to make such decisions, but it’s also very telling to provide them with pathways chosen by the public.

So what games should we be playing? The rapid evolution of crypto-based scams could be explored through a matrix game that includes financial regulators, banks and tech companies. A matrix game allows for a quick role-play of specific agendas with proposed actions judged by an expert facilitator. Participants would be divided into groups of criminals, law enforcement, industry and financial sector. They would then simulate a scenario where fraud spreads faster than enforcement can respond, revealing regulatory blind spots and communication failures.

In another exercise, policymakers could model how a terrorist group might weaponize AI-generated deepfakes. Participants from law enforcement, public health and social media platforms would need to determine how quickly they could identify and respond to the threat while maintaining public trust.

A third scenario could focus on geopolitical competition over critical minerals. A simulated trigger event involving European, Chinese and African actors would allow players to explore the impacts on trade policy, infrastructure security and diplomatic engagement.

These simulations would not predict the future, but would reveal how different people might behave when systems come under stress. Indeed, research into wargaming shows that while these tools aren’t perfect, they are extremely useful.

Wargaming offers a range of techniques suited to different risks. Matrix games allow multiple actors to make decisions in an evolving scenario. This makes them ideal for exploring uncertainty and conflicting interests. Red teaming helps organizations see their systems from the perspective of an adversary, exposing vulnerabilities that may go unnoticed in internal assessments. And tabletop exercises can help policymakers trace the second- and third-order effects of a crisis.

We conduct fire drills, flood drills and emergency alerts for physical disasters. It is time we have more opportunities to do the same for digital blackouts, deepfake terrorism and financial manipulation. These risks are not theoretical. They are already beginning to reshape our world — governments must take heed.

Reports like the chronic risks analysis are vital for naming and describing the dangers ahead. But they must be matched with tools that prepare us to navigate them. Wargaming gives us a chance to practice the future — to uncover the gaps in our systems, to rehearse our collective response and to build the resilience we will need in the years to come.

We might not be able to predict the future perfectly given the speed of change. But we can test the options for potential futures. Wargaming is how we start.

Natalia Zwarts is a research leader in wargaming at Rand Europe. Ondrej Palicka is a junior researcher at Rand Europe.