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Information Warfare

Information Warfare is Integrated Warfare

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By Corey Grey

When the USS Carney (DDG-64) downed the opening salvos of Houthi land-attack cruise missiles and drones over the Red Sea in October, the Pentagon hailed the feat as a “demonstration of the integrated air and missile defense architecture.” It was much more than that. Long before Carney’s medium-range Standard Missile-2s (SM-2s) erupted from their launch cells, Information Warfare (IW) capabilities provided crucial combat support to neutralize the inbound threats, enabling these shots with critical IW equipment, intelligence, internal communications, and electronic support. In short, naval IW—with the exception of launching the SM-2s— ensured critical strategic objectives. This event, and many others like it, demonstrates the underappreciated depth of IW for the current and future fight.

As the military grapples with recruiting shortfalls, the IW community has a compelling story to counter: integrated warfighting. This narrative, epitomized by Carney and other units’ recent successes, covers efforts across a diverse range of specialties that are too often seen in isolation: meteorology/oceanography, cryptology, intelligence, communications, space, and cyber operations. As important as the success of these individual elements are for the U.S. Navy, the real impact relies on the full integration of information forces and capabilities through improved recruiting, training and career paths integration, as underscored by the recent Department of Defense Strategy for Operations in the Information Environment (SOIE).

With this in mind, the U.S. Navy should take concrete steps to further promote an integrated warfighting ethos which better incorporates all elements of the IW community, starting from initial officer training to senior level carrier strike group operations. By defining what it means to be an integrated information warfighter rather than just being an Intelligence Specialist, Cryptologist, Meteorologist, or Information Professional, the IW community will better educate, train, and most importantly, recruit the next generation of IW personnel. Equally important is the need to enhance retention. To further maintain the impressive cadre of IW personnel in service, the Navy should improve its career opportunities with better advanced training and cross-detailing availability. In the aftermath of these changes, IW will be better positioned to dominate the information environment and enable mission success.

Shared Identity

The Navy’s IW community currently boasts favorable recruiting but should do more to meet the growing demand from supported operational forces. Vice Admiral Kelly Aeschbach, Naval Information Forces commander, recently confessed that “our biggest challenge right now is facing demand. We are needed everywhere, and I cannot produce enough information warfare capacity and capability to disrupt it everywhere that we would like to have it, and so that remains a real pressing challenge for me: how we prioritize where we put our talent and ensure that we have it in the most impactful place.”

Better recruiting starts with stronger, more compelling messaging. Aviators join to fly, submariners join to drive boats, surface warfare officers to drive ships, but there is less consistency in why each IW officer volunteers for service. Future IW candidates require a holistic message that knits together the disparate range of specialties that encompass the community.

The Navy’s maritime sister service provides a clear model for messaging, encapsulated in five simple words: Every Marine is a Rifleman. This iconic phrase is based on the foundational infantry skills every Marine receives, regardless of their specialty, and the expectation that every Marine can serve in the capacity of a rifleman if called upon to do so. This narrative and ethos is so effective that last year, without any substantial increase in compensation or incentives, the Marine Corps exceeded its recruitment goals while the other services experienced shortfalls not seen in decades. Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Smith said it best: “Your bonus is that you get to call yourself a Marine.”

Sadly, the IW community lacks the clarity of the Marine Corps model. Instead, the community prescribes to an identity built around specialization. Personnel share the title of Information Warfighter, which encompasses seven officer designators and eight enlisted ratings, but the same personnel are only expected to master their own specific capability. Case in point, Congress recently compelled the Navy to produce a new maritime cyber warfare officer designator and cyber warfare technician rating due to a lack of specialization by Cryptologic Warfare Officers and Cryptologic Technicians. This change stands as criticism to the IW community as a whole as it raises questions towards their unified identity. Cyber operations cannot exist without Signals Intelligence (SIGINT) yet the Navy decided to separate the integrated IW capacity under two officer designators (1810, for SIGINT, and 1880, for Cyber Operations). Officers who joined the Navy to perform cyberspace and SIGINT functions should not have to laterally transfer to a new community to ensure they can continue to deliver and lead cyber operations. The capriciousness of this shift only leads to frustration and difficulties in recruiting and retaining talent.

Overall, the true lesson from all this is not the need to create more IW communities, but instead the need to produce a capable warfighter that can understand and provide full IW effects to the operational commander regardless of designator. Many will look to the Information Warfare Commander (IWC) position, both afloat and at maritime operation centers ashore, as the model for this vision, but how does the U.S. Navy assure future and present IW professionals that they will be properly trained to support or even become this commander?

Solutions for Integration

Although the Information Warfare Commander (IWC) for amphibious readiness groups and carrier strike groups drives the Navy towards a more integrated IW force, there is no consolidated career pipeline to properly prepare a rising officer to leverage all IW capabilities. Moreover, if that commander has done well to master his or her specialty, it comes at the opportunity cost of lesser competence in commanding an integrated force. More training is needed to ensure junior IW professionals feel competent, confident, and motivated to stay in the Navy through this milestone. Lengthening and strengthening courses that all IW officers can attend, such as the Information Warfare Officer Basic Course and Information Warfare Officer Intermediate Course, would better develop and refine how every IW specialty supports the fight while also fostering an integrated warfighting ethos, starting from the officer corps and spreading to the enlisted ratings. These trainings should highlight integrated IW operations for air, surface, sub-surface, naval special warfare, amphibious readiness group, and carrier strike group operations while leveraging evolving initiatives such as live, virtual, and constructive training. IW leaders would then be well postured to motivate and further develop the diverse cadres within the larger community.

Beyond better messaging and training is the need for increased cross-detailing, that is, assigning an officer from one IW discipline into a billet normally filled by another. The aim of this process is to ensure greater exposure and integration as IW officers broaden their experiences serving in capacities that are not traditionally aligned with their core skills. However, the IW force is not fully exposed or integrated because few leadership positions at the O-4 to O-6 levels are available for cross-detailing. These few billets are highly selective; consequently, most IW officers will never work outside their designator. The largest pool of IW officers, namely junior officers, are thus unaware of the full breadth and scope of the IW community due to a lack of experience and exposure. One especially important key to retaining talented people is to provide broader career opportunities, especially when they are most impressionable and likely to decide whether to stay in the Navy or leave for industry.

In a time when IW officers are filling senior roles once thought exclusive to unrestricted line officers, such as chief of staff, maritime operations center directors, and IWC, the question stands how they have not fully integrated within their own community. It is inconsistent to think that an Intelligence Officer can serve as the Commanding Officer of the largest Navy Information Operations Command (traditionally a Cryptologic Warfare Command) but a cryptologist cannot serve as a numbered fleet N2/N39. The same can be said for a number of other IW billets at every level. Certainly there are some positions that are best served by specific designators but this should be the exception and not the rule. The lack of cross-detailing creates identity challenges that degrade both community effectiveness and retention.

More deliberate solutions for integration, such as consolidating new accession IW officers under one broad designator and then having them select specific community tracks later in their careers, similar to the Navy’s Human Resource Officer community, should also be considered. Officer candidates would be presented with the full IW portfolio and then have the opportunity to select and support any of the various disciplines. After a set number of years being exposed to the broader community, the officer would then select a designator track from one of the IW disciplines. This could be implemented via a competency based selection process as determined from additional qualification designations (AQDs), type of assignments completed, and personal preference. The framework would enable deliberate career development, preparing officers to better succeed in more challenging IW assignments while also offering greater exposure and integration to succeed in senior level Information Warfare Commander positions.

Five Simple Words

With these solutions and more in this vein, operational commanders will be able to look to a fully pinned IW professional and receive an authoritative voice in navigating throughout the entire IW domain. This expectation should not be reserved for the select few who serve as IWC but for each individual who belongs to the IW community. IW is a compilation of many specialties in one vast domain and each sailor must be able to understand their place within it. As each member of a ship’s crew understands his or her place in maintaining a warship afloat, so must all IW professionals as they sail through the information environment.

The generalist versus specialist argument is not novel, yet these assertions go beyond that. The Navy must refit the individual IW operator’s identity towards integrated domain operations. Attracting and retaining qualified talent to meet the heavy IW demand necessitates a full commitment towards greater interconnectedness. Fourteen years have passed since the establishment of the IW community and while progress has been made, great strides still need to be achieved towards full synthesis. Without a comprehensive approach that meaningfully gets to how the IW community better integrates – from messaging, to training, to detailing. It is questionable whether the Navy will indeed be capable of recruiting and retaining forces for the many and varied challenges along the horizon. More must be done and a good place to start is by putting the community’s initiatives and visions into five simple words – “Information Warfare is Integrated Warfare.”

Lieutenant Corey Grey is a cryptologic warfare officer, qualified in information warfare and submarines. He holds a master’s degree from the Naval War College in defense and strategic studies with an Asia-Pacific concentration. He is assigned as the cryptologic resource coordinator on the staff of Commander, Submarine Group Seven.

Featured Image: PACIFIC OCEAN (Aug. 25, 2023) Operations Specialist 2nd Class Itzel Ramirez identifies surface contacts in the combat information center of the Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer USS Paul Hamilton (DDG 60) in the Pacific Ocean, Aug. 25, 2023. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Elliot Schaudt)

History

What We Can Learn from the Rickover Papers

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By Claude Berube, PhD

With nearly a dozen biographies, countless articles, and word-of-mouth stories, Admiral Hyman G. Rickover may be the most written- or talked-about flag officer in US naval history. Can we still learn anything about the man, what he did, or why he did it? Beginning in the 1950s, many authors and publishers approached Rickover about a biography or autobiography – Simon & Schuster, Harper & Row, Naval Institute Press, etc. He rejected them all, wryly noting that “autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful. A man who gives a good account of himself is probably lying, since life when viewed from the inside is simply a series of defeats.” Dr. Francis Duncan, a historian working for Atomic Energy Commission, eventually wrote two authorized biographies based on more than a decade with Rickover, as recorded in copious notes. Duncan also had the advantage of having access to the most substantive collection of Rickover papers. Rickover was a master of shaping his image; consequently, an authorized, contracted biography with Duncan offered the best opportunity for him to manage that story.

Historian Barbara Tuchman wrote that historians should use primary sources only because secondary sources have already been pre-selected and that one should read two or three versions of any episode to account for bias. Such is the case with every Rickover biography. When in 1983 a columnist from The Washington Post asked Rickover to write a biography, the Admiral explained that he had already compiled volumes of his thoughts and reflections on various subjects over the years and that he did not want to condense them into a book. However, he did allow that perhaps someone else may decide to do that someday. That was what Duncan had access to and is now finally available to researchers.

Retained in Rickover’s Arlington condominium until his second wife Eleonore’s passing in 2021, the collection was bequeathed by her to the US Naval Academy. They were then catalogued and made available in the Nimitz Library’s Special Collections and Archives. Rickover’s papers include personal correspondence, memoranda from meetings with journalists, congressmen, admirals, and presidents, as well as transcripts of telephone conversations and the famed interviews with applicants of the nuclear program. This totals approximately 250 archival boxes, arguably one of the largest collections of any U.S. naval officer.

Perhaps the most insightful and significant papers are the daily letters to and from his first wife Ruth in the decade leading up to the Second World War. This is the real education of Hyman G. Rickover – researchers will learn how he shaped himself and, more importantly, how he was influenced by Ruth.

Researchers will find plenty on the recommendations and behind-the-scenes decision-making of major programs throughout the Cold War, all thanks to Rickover who left such incredibly detailed records. The papers will confirm the mythology and stories about Rickover all these years; but it will also surprise many people. There are other aspects to the man and the officer.

He received thousands of fan mail letters from home and abroad. He was as likely to get a note of thanks from a teacher in Chicago, a student in San Francisco, or a young adult in Ghana, as he would from a member of the Senate Armed Services Committee or president of a major corporation. He was recognizable – he was, for example, one of the few Navy admirals to grace the cover of Time magazine after World War Two and television talk shows sought him out because of his outspokenness and appeal to the broader public.

Rickover’s wide-ranging contacts and interests are reflected in his Rolodex. Contact cards for influential economists John Galbraith (top left) and Milton Friedman (top right) are shown with an entry for the 1981 film Das Boot (bottom).

Rickover succeeded by his intellect. He was driven by curiosity and learning what he did not know. He was a voracious reader even on his early ships and submarines trying to understand the world around him. Among those literally thousands of works were Michael Ossorgin’s Quiet Street, Captain Robert Scott’s letters on his voyage of discovery to the South Pole, Boris Pilnyak’s The Volga Falls to the Caspian Sea, Karl Marx’s Das Capital, and Adolph Hitler’s Mein Kampf. Readers may be surprised that Rickover, a Polish-Jewish emigre, would read this notorious work, however the answer may lie in the fact that Rickover read articles and books not to agree with them but to understand the ideas shaping the world both negatively and positively. Another factor may have been understanding his first wife Ruth’s country of origin better and communicating with her as he saw her as not an intellectual equal but his intellectual superior. Rickover, never one to do anything by halves, taught himself German in order to translate a book on U-Boat tactics.

He faced personal challenges. He was self-aware enough as a junior officer that he could admit to his young wife Ruth his sudden fits of depression and despair and being tormented by the “slough of despond.” He later admitted to his official biographer that he suffered from an inferiority complex. Perhaps these were simply part of what drove him to succeed and surpass his peers in some ways.

Admiral Rickover meets with President Kennedy. (Photo via JFK presidential library and museum)

Rickover held integrity as one of the highest character traits. He could not be compromised. During a meeting with his friend the British Lord Mountbatten, Rickover was offered a knighthood in exchange for an agreement on submarine information, resulting in Rickover returning to the dining room his face “pale with anger.” On their way home, he told his second wife Eleanore the story and concluded with, “Can you believe he didn’t know me any better than this – that I would fall for a knighthood?” True to Eleonore’s nature, she responded, “But I’ll always be a Lady.”

He challenged elitism everywhere – the Navy, large defense contractors, economic classes – likely because he had risen from a childhood of such poverty that his mother could only afford an orange once a year in Poland. He was acutely aware of his role and his destiny in the Navy, not simply as Hyman Rickover, but as someone who had arrived in the United States with nothing and whose religious background might have been an impediment at the time. As he told his biographer and preserved in countless notes made by Duncan, “My job, as I saw it, was to struggle through to the greatest accomplishment of which I was capable, ignoring, as far as possible, my Jewishness. This is not to say that I denied it. What I denied was the power it had to limit self-development, to force me to act humbly, rather than arrogantly, to suffer.”

No factor contributed more to enabling Rickover’s successful career than Congress. A student of history, he realized that the Royal Navy’s Admiral Sir Jackie Fisher made political connections as a young officer and, consequently, it was easier for him to make reforms, a discussion that occurred between Rickover and his friend Lord Mountbatten. He knew how to cultivate support among members – by giving them the information they asked for and having a reputation for efficiency. He was idolized and befriended by members of Congress. Over the course of four decades, he testified before congressional committees more than two hundred times – a record likely unsurpassed by any military officer or civilian.

Figure 1.
Figure 2.

Rickover spoke to them in hearings, and in personal conversations, in ways no other military officer could or would dare. He was honest, direct, and, yes, he could entertain them with his sharp wit even in a hearing that would never occur in the 21st century. They loved him for it. They respected his technical expertise, but they also expected and valued his candor. For some, he became their friend “Rick.” Rickover notes attending DC plays with Senator Scoop Jackson and their wives or dining at the home of House Appropriations Chairman Clarence Cannon who played the piano for him. Rickover’s influence, reputation, and relationships with senior congressional leaders was such that he would be called to answer off the record questions or when some members needed help. In one case, Congressman Charles Price wanted to see House Appropriations Chairman Cannon who was not seeing anyone. Price appealed to Rickover to intervene. Cannon, upon Rickover’s request, acceded and met with Price. And it was an intervention by Congress, not the Navy, which would promote him to flag rank.

In his early years as an admiral, the Navy brass and a Secretary of Defense tried to temper Rickover’s influence with Congress to no avail. As one admiral noted after a conference in Monterey of flag officers on the Rickover problem, “there isn’t a damn thing we can do to him or about him, because he’s got the Congress on his side, and we’d just better live with it.”

Most in the U.S. Navy’s submarine community have heard the stories of the famous Rickover interviews, where he would place the midshipmen in uncomfortable situations or berate them to determine how they could respond to adversity, but now aside from the experiences of those young midshipmen, we now have concrete evidence. Actual transcripts of many of those interviews exist in this collection. His reputation was cemented by the famed “interviews” of midshipmen applying – or in many cases told to apply – to the nuclear reactor program. Rickover required some candidates to have their parents or fiancées write letters on their behalf understanding why the midshipman would have to sacrifice time away from them (again, the letters of which are in this collection). Perhaps it was because the Navy had refused Rickover’s own request as a junior officer for a specific billet to accommodate Ruth in her career.

A partial transcript of an interview between Rickover and a nuclear power program candidate.

The interviews, as well as his speeches and memos, make it clear that though he was involved with and promoted technology, he placed a higher value on the humanities. As he questioned the midshipmen, he would discuss history, philosophy, religion, and management and not their technical skills. He writes that he can train anyone for the nuclear program but they had to be able to think and the humanities offered the best grounding for those future officers.

Rickover gave and wrote hundreds of speeches. His first known speech was in 1931 on the topic of the World Court to the Portsmouth, New Hampshire Kiwanis Club. Later that decade he spoke to technical organizations. His speech to a wider audience, “The Importance of Education in the Advancement of our National Resources,” occurred in 1953. Soon after, he was frequently invited to speak to a variety of organizations domestically and internationally. Rickover’s speeches were a breadth of practical, philosophical, and governmental issues: “Thoughts on Man’s Purpose in Life,” “Competency Based Education,” “The Decline of the Individual,” “An Effective National Defense,” “The Meaning of a University,” “Liberty, Science & the Law,” and “A Humanistic Technology” are just a few. On average, he gave at least one speech monthly. Education would be his obsession – in addition to the nuclear navy which he saw as inextricably intertwined.

Retired Vice Admiral Hyman G. Rickover prepares to enter the nuclear-powered attack submarine USS Hyman G. Rickover (SSN 709) for a tour at the conclusion of the ship’s commissioning ceremony. (Photo via U.S. National Archives)

He could be curt, rude, and abusive to officer candidates for the nuclear power program, to the point where the Chief of Naval Operations gently asked him to reconsider his methods. On the other hand, the papers show he could engender such loyalty from his technical and administrative staff that many stayed with him throughout his tenure as he fathered the nuclear navy for three decades. The internal office memos written by Rickover to his staff or his sharp wit to Senators and Members of Congress during congressional hearings are insightful.

People are often more complex than perceptions. The papers clearly demonstrate that Rickover had an unexpected compassionate streak. He helped his staff when they needed to move to a new assignment and would loan them money to purchase a new home; he voraciously wrote get well notes to people he knew, especially if they were children of friends. All the money he made from speeches, articles and books was donated to charities such as orphanages, disabled children societies, CARE, etc. In Shanghai as the Japanese invade China, Rickover stopped to tend to the poor and dying on the streets. One letter is from a young boy named Hyman from California taunted at school for his name and was told by his mother that there was an admiral with the same name. Rickover responded to him, explained to him the history of the name, and gave him advice. In all of this collection, Rickover only signed “H.G. Rickover,” except in this case where his empathy led him to sign his name, “Hyman Rickover.”

These papers represent a new era for understanding Rickover, the Navy, and the nation. These papers should eventually be made public so that Rickover might be known on his own terms and uncensored, even decades after his death. There is more work to be done, and I hope some historians will explore those papers. There are dozens of books to be written and, perhaps someday, a full transcription of all these papers will be completed.

Claude Berube, PhD, is a history professor at the US Naval Academy and former director of the Naval Academy Museum. He and archivist Samuel Limneos edited a volume of a portion of the Rickover papers, Rickover Uncensored, published in October 2023.

Featured Image: Admiral Hyman Rickover. (Photo via Naval History and Heritage Command)

Ethics

What I Have Learned Teaching Ethics to Midshipmen

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By Bill Bray

For nearly three years now, I have taught “Ethics and Moral Reasoning for the Naval Leader” to sophomore midshipmen (“youngsters”) at the U.S. Naval Academy, my alma mater. This is a core requirement for all midshipmen and course instruction is a collaborative effort. One of five philosophers on staff teach ethical theory on Mondays, and in the remaining two classes of each week active-duty or retired officers teach case studies and foster seminar-style discussions.

What I often wonder—and am often asked—is if this formal ethics course at least correlates to better ethical behavior and decision-making by midshipmen and Naval Academy graduates in the fleet. That is the Academy’s stated reason for the course: to “prepare future officers for the difficult moral decisions that they will have to make during their careers.” Otherwise, it would be hard to justify the course as core. Anyone can memorize ethical concepts and become casually familiar with the thinking of some of the greatest ethicists, ancient and modern. Just doing that will make one better at trivia, but it will not make him or her a more ethical leader.

The age-old question of whether virtue can be taught needs no reexamination here. Socrates believed as much, which is good enough for me. The more direct question concerns this course and if it, and similar college-level courses taught elsewhere, does, in the aggregate, produce more ethical leaders. This is not a question that can be definitively answered, given the multitude of factors for which any long-term analysis would have to control, never mind the challenges of collecting valid data. In fact, academic attempts to determine the efficacy of ethical instruction have not been encouraging, although some recent studies have shown some positive effect.

Many valid questions cannot be proven to empirical satisfaction. This is one of them, and merely claiming the course at least cannot hurt is insufficient. It should give these future officers some knowledge about the philosophical tradition of ethics and moral reasoning they did not already have and inspire reflection on how they would navigate ethically fraught situations—those in which the right decision is not immediately clear and require leaders to slow down and deliberately consider all aspects of the situation.

History of the Course

Ethics and Moral Reasoning for the Naval Leader was put into the service academies’ core curriculums following the December 1992 electrical engineering cheating scandal at the Naval Academy by members of the Class of 1994. West Point and the Air Force Academy teach the course to seniors, closer to their commissioning. The Naval Academy teaches it to sophomores on the premise that it is better for them to consider this material before they enter junior year and commit to the minimum service obligation after graduation (referred to as “two-for-seven night”, meaning they have served two years as midshipmen and are committing to seven more years of service—two more as midshipmen and at least five as a commissioned officer).

The 1992 cheating scandal forced some collective introspection among both Navy and Naval Academy military and civilian leaders. After several investigations, all outlined in a January 1994 Naval Inspector General report, ultimately 133 midshipmen were implicated (about 15 percent of the class). Nearly 30 were expelled. It remains the worst cheating scandal since the Academy adopted its Honor Code in 1951. In addition to implementing the Ethics course, following the scandal the Academy revised the Honor Code. Of note, in 2021 the Naval Academy experienced another cheating scandal, this time in Physics, that implicated 105 midshipmen, all sophomores (approximately half were taking the Ethics course at the time they cheated on the Physics final in December 2021; the other half took the course in spring 2022). Twenty-eight were separated.

While the 2021 scandal was disappointing, it did not receive the press coverage the 1994 scandal generated. Yet, it would be fair to ask how this could happen again, especially with midshipmen who were taking the Ethics course at the time. On the other hand, one of the biggest incongruities with the origin of the course and its stated goal (at least since I have taught it) is that it is not designed to prevent midshipmen from cheating on their exams. They should already know not to do this! While the course was borne of an academic cheating scandal, cheating is a clear right-vs.-wrong issue. As such, I do not think the 2021 Physics cheating scandal reflects directly on the course’s purpose or efficacy.

A better measure of the course would be how Naval Academy graduates since the late 1990s have fared in the complex and often ethical gray zones of military operations, particularly combat operations. To prepare midshipmen for the challenge of making the best ethical decisions in these situations, the course must assume midshipmen are not liars and cheaters. No such study exists, however, or probably could exist in the near future.

That leaves only the observations I and others who have taught the course can offer on how midshipmen perform in the course—how they receive and interact with the material, and what that may mean for their future as commissioned officers.

Course Structure

The course includes four blocks of instruction: Moral perception (two weeks), moral deliberation (five weeks), moral excellence (five weeks), and Just War Theory (three weeks). Moral perception concerns how to better recognize morally fraught situations, as they often are not clear initially. This section includes reading on how people from different cultures often view the same issue differently, as religion and culture shape moral perception differently.

During moral deliberation, midshipmen are instructed in a sequential process (roadmap) to navigate decision-making in morally complex situations, including those that include an ethical dilemma. They should consider the following factors in turn: moral constraints, consequences, character/virtue, and special obligations. They are introduced to, among other things, Immanuel Kant’s three formulations of the categorical imperative (moral laws or duties that bind all of us—the due respect, universalization, and mere means tests), common rationalization and socialization strategies people use to justify unethical behavior, Thomas Aquinas’ Doctrine of Double Effect to help determine if a decision with both good and bad consequences should be taken, the concepts of waiving and forfeiting rights, and justice and equity. Case studies include the Abu Ghraib prison scandal in Iraq, collateral damage estimations in bombing missions, and considerations of justice and equity in administering nonjudicial punishment.

Consequential reasoning is introduced next, with some cautionary reminders that even the best consequential outcomes cannot override clear moral constraints. Among the cases studied, the midshipmen read commentary on the mid-2000s U.S. debate surrounding the use of enhanced interrogation (torture) techniques on unlawful combatants (today’s midshipmen had barely been born yet). The special obligations discussion includes voluntary and involuntary special obligations and a reading on Constitutional ethics—what the oath really requires in terms of balancing one’s duty with personal views and beliefs. Critically, how an officer should resolve a conflict between his or her deeply held personal belief (conscience) if they find it in conflict with the requirement to follow a legal order.

Character and virtue deserve their own four-week block. When the scope of the 1992 cheating scandal became apparent, some contended the root of the problem rests with American society—it was producing less ethical midshipmen. This claim is unprovable, and always struck me as reactionary and a version of buck-passing. The bulk of this block focuses on how to cultivate virtue (for Aristotle virtue [excellence] involved knowledge and habit, with a heavy emphasis on habit—virtuous people repeatedly do virtuous things). The midshipmen are reminded that in considering how to make the best ethical decision in a difficult situation, they should think beyond just what is technically acceptable to how the decision will reflect on their character in the long term. How do they want to be remembered? No one thinks of virtue as a transactional or transitory trait. When we think of virtuous people to emulate, we do not think they are virtuous at certain times but not others, or in certain situations and not in others.

Just War Theory—what is commonly referred to now as the traditional theory—include the principles of Jus ad Bellum (justice of war) and Jus in Bello (justice in war). The history of U.S. warfare presents countless case studies for this section, both good and bad. This may seem rather elementary to a college philosophy major, but hardly any midshipmen were introduced to just war concepts in high school and moreover will be far more likely to put philosophical theory into professional practice.

Three Types of Ethics Students

In addition to being asked about the course, Naval Academy graduates from my generation (around my 1988 class) often ask my general impression of the midshipmen today. The question is often, though not always, freighted with generational bias, the implication being that today’s midshipmen are not as tough, not as patriotic, etc. I find no evidence of this, however. On the contrary, I find the quality as high as ever. These are some of the best and brightest young men and women the nation has to offer.

That said, while most of my students have been excellent as far as completing the coursework and writing good exams, they vary when it comes to what they bring to the class in terms of genuine interest and engagement. To broadly frame this variety, I can identify each student I have taught into one of three types: a cynic, a calculator, or a seeker.

Cynics comprise, thankfully, a small group, but I have had at least one in each section. Cynics believes the Ethics course is largely a waste of time. Ethical decision-making is mostly common sense, and midshipmen either have that or they do not. Cynics do the minimum amount of course reading and only superficially participate in class discussions. Cynics do not seem to appreciate the fact, demonstrated repeatedly in case studies, that good officers regularly fail to recognize ethical blind spots in making weighty decisions. They are convinced that will never be them.

Calculators form the next biggest group, although still slightly in the minority (again, thankfully). Calculators are transactional students—what do I need to do to get an A in this course? Calculators do more of the reading and participate more regularly in class discussions. But they tend to do so less out of a genuine interest in the material, and more in the interest of checking the boxes needed to get the highest grade possible. They want the discussion to give them the “right” answers to ethical dilemmas, so they can deliver them back on tests and papers. The process of working out the best decision in ethical gray areas is far less important than knowing what the right answer is. Calculators occasionally ask for their papers to be reviewed in draft form, to see if they are indeed “on the right track.” They prefer short, discrete exam questions to long essays that are scored heavily on how they apply what they have learned in thinking through the problem. They often give feedback that the course is graded too harshly. If they can get an A in an engineering class, there is no way they should get anything less in an Ethics course.

Seekers are the best students, although they do not always get the best grade. They are less concerned with their grade-point average and class standing and far more with the immense leadership challenges they will face in just a few short years. They read well. They bring great energy and curiosity to the class discussions. They are not afraid to speak their minds on sensitive topics. They are humble before the awesome responsibility that awaits them. They appreciate that Ethics is not a science. There is rarely certainty. There is almost always complexity and ambiguity. They recognize their chosen profession will demand nothing less than their best judgment.

I have enjoyed the privilege of teaching and knowing all my students, but the seekers keep me coming back. I cannot wait to get to class to hear their thoughts on a reading assignment or a video shown in class. Their papers are not pro forma—they often read as if the student is bearing the burden of the choice herself. Seekers are reflective and thoughtful. Many are deeply faithful. All respect different viewpoints and backgrounds, religious and secular. Much more than wanting to avoid mistakes, seekers want to be better.

This three-tiered classification is hardly rigorous and certainly not set in cement. Some students display characteristics of a seeker and a calculator. Many will (hopefully) grow, and with maturity become seekers. Some will experience an ethical “close call” as a young officer and find in it an epiphany they take to heart in becoming seekers. Regardless of the journeys these midshipmen take, all will face difficult ethical choices as officers. Some will be of the life-and-death variety. Many will be immensely consequential, especially for those who choose to make the Navy or Marine Corps a career and ascend to command.

Whether better studies someday shed more light on the efficacy of ethics instruction, I believe the Naval Academy’s Ethics course reinforces the seekers and plants seeds for growth in the other students. Someday, in the crucible, these future officers will have to rely on their knowledge and character to make the best decision in an agonizing situation. When that moment comes, they are on their own.

Bill Bray is a retired Navy captain. He is an adjunct professor at the U.S. Naval Academy.

Featured Image: ANNAPOLIS, Md. (May 18, 2020) The United States Naval Academy holds the fourth swearing-in event for the Class of 2020. (U.S. Navy photo by Kenneth D. Aston Jr/Released)

Capability Analysis

Depth from Above: Reinventing Carrier ASW

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By Ben DiDonato

With the return of great power competition, the threat posed by hostile submarines has garnered renewed attention. Russia’s submarine fleet in particular has been regarded as a serious threat for decades and its latest SSNs are reportedly nearly as quiet as their American counterparts. Similarly, while China’s nuclear submarines have yet to reach this level, China’s access to Russian technology, rapid improvements in other areas, and capacity for mass production suggest it is likely to become a serious threat in the relatively near future. Furthermore, while SSNs are obviously the most serious threat due to their range and speed, diesel submarines cannot be overlooked, with many highly lethal designs widely distributed across the globe. In order to compete effectively against near-peer states armed with these submarines, the United States Navy must have the ability to find, track, and sink them.

As in the Cold War, anti-submarine warfare (ASW) is a challenging area of operations, requiring close cooperation between a wide variety of assets to win what would inevitably be a worldwide campaign. This problem was thoroughly studied and, at least in broad strokes, solved by the end of the Cold War, so this strategy provides a useful guide. That review immediately reveals a critical weakness in current American force structure. Submarines and maritime patrol aircraft are still available for independent hunting, surface combatants for close screening, and helicopters for prosecuting targets, but since the retirement of the S-3 Viking, the U.S. Navy has lacked an organic aircraft for initial detection of submarines approaching the aircraft carrier.

The current stopgap solution is pressing the land-based P-8 Poseidon into this role, but that is far from ideal. Tying P-8s to carriers largely squanders their capabilities, preventing the limited supply of these aircraft from doing their real job of patrolling broad stretches of ocean and protecting other ships. Furthermore, relying on land-based support imposes serious constraints on the carrier strike group, which must operate within range of the P-8 and would almost certainly suffer from periods of vulnerability.

This means the current lack of fixed-wing carrier-based ASW capability should be addressed to provide the required coverage without distracting the P-8 force. While there has been some discussion of reactivating the S-3 Viking to restore this capability, that can only ever be a stopgap measure due to the age of the airframes. A long-term solution is needed to restore fixed-wing ASW capability, and fiscal reality demands this solution be flexible and affordable. Rather than build a new dedicated ASW aircraft, it may be better to instead develop a series of ASW pods and a more flexible aircraft suitable for both ground attack and ASW since either type of store can be carried on the pylons with equal ease.

Podded ASW Systems

A minimum of four specialized systems are required to support fixed-wing ASW: a Magnetic Anomaly Detector (MAD), a sonobuoy dispenser, a sonobuoy receiver, and an air-droppable lightweight torpedo. The Mk 54 torpedo already meets the offensive needs on other aircraft, so it should not require substantial modification to fill this role. Similarly, a sonobuoy dispenser is such a simple system that it does not require explanation beyond pointing out that it would ideally come in a variety of sizes for different aircraft/pylons and have variants which incorporate a sonobuoy receiver to minimize pylon consumption.

Therefore, the only system which requires major development is the MAD pod. To enable normal aircraft operation, particularly safe takeoff and landing, this pod would almost certainly need to use a towed MAD rather than the more common boom-mounted system. This would allow the sensor to be trailed a sufficient distance behind the aircraft when needed and retracted when not in use.

Of course, this podded approach is also ideally suited to incorporating future systems as they become available. A wide variety of unmanned systems and new weapons are in development or have been proposed, and all of them could easily be integrated as additional pods. Whether new payloads for sonobuoy dispensers, a single large UAV/UUV on a pylon, some new cluster system, or a novel idea not yet conceived, stuffing it in a pod and hanging it from an existing aircraft will always be faster and cheaper than trying to cram it into an existing airframe, assuming that is even possible. Therefore, while this approach provides an easy path for incorporating future technologies, the four proven systems discussed above can be immediately developed into an effective ASW capability and should be the short-term priority.

In order to provide an affordable near-term capability and maximize long-term utility, both the MAD and sonobuoy pods should be compatible with the new MQ-25 Stingray UAV. In conjunction with the current MH-60R, this would provide a limited standoff detection, prosecution, and engagement capability to the carrier which could be further supplemented by F/A-18s carrying torpedoes, MAD pods, and additional sonobuoys to engage submarines if needed. While this combination is certainly suboptimal, especially considering the problems caused by using F/A-18s as tankers, the MQ-25 would truly come into its own as an ASW platform once the new fixed-wing aircraft proposed below enters service and can use it as a loyal wingman to greatly improve coverage or direct MQ-25 wolfpacks to aggressively prosecute contacts.

A Pod-Carrying Aircraft

Unfortunately, this pod-based approach to ASW is fundamentally incompatible with the S-3 airframe. It cannot carry the number and variety of pods or ground attack weapons required on its two underwing hardpoints, especially when we consider future podded systems. Although its weapons bays contain another four hardpoints, their internal placement would likely interfere with the operation of most pods. Remediating this deficiency by adding new pylons in a major refit is likely impractical due to interference from the under-wing engines. The integrated nature of the S-3’s ASW systems also prevents it from using much of its payload capacity for non-ASW missions. It is simply not possible to replace these fixed systems with ground attack or anti-ship weapons when using the aircraft in other roles, leaving it limited to only six weapons hardpoints for these missions.

Shifting to the budgetary side, integrated systems are generally more expensive to maintain and upgrade than podded systems. Furthermore, the Navy presumably lacks the resources to operate both integrated and podded systems, likely costing the carrier air wing the flexibility to task non-ASW aircraft with ASW missions. Budgetary pressures also make this alternate role critical because the S-3 probably would have survived the global war on terror if it doubled as a low-cost ground attack platform. Therefore, long-term use of the S-3 would be costly and inflexible, so a new solution is needed.

The obvious solution is a completely new aircraft. While this is certainly an option and would presumably produce an excellent aircraft with plenty of capacity, numerous pylons, and a low operating cost, there are two major problems with it. The first is that going through the full development and adoption cycle would take a very long time, likely more than could realistically be covered by a stopgap S-3 reactivation. The second is that major projects like this are politically challenging, with a serious risk of cancelation – assuming they get started at all. While it may be possible to overcome these issues, they are serious enough to merit an examination of alternative options.

The most obvious alternative is to adapt an existing carrier aircraft to take on the role. Within the current carrier air wing, there are two possible airframes, the E-2/C-2, and the V-22.

The E-2/C-2 would obviously make an excellent mono-mission platform since it is already configured to carry a large support crew. However, that same large crew would limit its payload and make risking it in other roles like ground attack unappealing. The only other role it could realistically take on is general airborne drone control, but this can already be performed by the E-2 and fighters so there seems to be little value here, especially since these aircraft can also relay drone datalinks to surface ships. While none of this detracts from an E-2/C-2 derivative’s ability to take on the mission, it does mean it fails to realize the additional flexibility promised by this podded approach, so a different platform is preferable.

The V-22, or more accurately the CMV-22B, may be a better candidate. The ability to transition to helicopter mode would be useful for prosecuting targets, and its unsuitability to ground attack is less of an issue since it is already a cargo aircraft, although the flipside of that is that is that there is less leeway to retask between these two missions than between ASW and ground attack. Unfortunately, payload integration may be an issue, both due to questions about retrofitting pylons on the rotating wing assembly and its more limited digital backbone, and overall external stores capacity would likely be limited after the necessary upgrades based on published payload and range figures. Therefore, while it is certainly worth performing a more detailed study to better understand the true costs, capabilities, and limitations of an ASW V-22 variant, it also seems suboptimal for this pod-based approach.

The final alternative is adapting a land-based aircraft for naval service. While there have certainly been serious problems adapting aircraft in the past, there have also been notable successes like the YF-17’s evolution into the F/A-18 family and the SH-60 family’s decent from the Army’s UH-60. Furthermore, the C-130 famously proved able to operate from the USS Forrestal without modification, and based on a recent interview with the pilot, the flying seems to have been fairly straightforward. While the C-130 itself is obviously too big for regular deck handling, this success strongly implies any aircraft designed to operate from short/rough airfields would be an excellent candidate for marinization, especially with a Super Hornet-style redesign.

There are too many aircraft to go through individually, but desired capabilities narrow the field to a smaller slate. The ideal aircraft would be small enough to operate from a carrier, have short/rough field capability, good payload, plenty of pylons, good fuel efficiency, low maintenance requirements, and excellent handling at low speed and altitude. While most aircraft cannot meet this challenging set of desires, there is one candidate suitable for adaptation into a pod-based multirole ASW aircraft. Not only does this aircraft meet all these desires, but it also has an exceptional ground attack record, proven flexibility in other roles like counter-Fast Attack Craft/Fast Inshore Attack Craft (counter-FAC/FIAC) and combat search and rescue support, and, most importantly, very strong political support to carry the program through budget battles. This aircraft is, of course, the A-10.

The SA-10D Seahog

With an A-10 variant identified as the best option for carrying ASW pods, considering both capability and timeline, we now turn our attention to a brief discussion of what that would look like. The most likely approach is a redesign comparable to the Hornet’s “upgrade” to the Super Hornet because that allows any necessary changes to be incorporated relatively easily. That said, the A-10’s unusually simple airframe may allow boneyard aircraft to be modified for service, even if only as prototypes or a wartime contingency, so that possibility will be discussed here as well. Of course, the program office is not obligated to pick just one option. They could develop both a modification package and a new-build design to improve the competition and provide maximum value to the taxpayer.

Since this aircraft will be largely optimized for affordably hauling underwing stores as a byproduct of this pod-based approach to ASW, that payload can be used in a variety of other roles beyond the obvious close air support. This could entail utility duties like backup tanking, combat support roles like standoff missile carrier, and majority Air Force missions like laying Quickstrike sea mines to further support the rest of the air wing, increase the carrier’s flexibility, and improve the lethality of the joint force.

One other intriguing advantage of using the A-10 as a baseline for the ASW pod carrier is that its short/rough field performance suggests it may be possible to fly it from smaller, simpler ships like amphibs, especially if thrust reversers are added. This would give the joint force the ability to rapidly build new ASW hunter-killer groups if needed and could give the Marines an alternate air support option for amphibious operations if desired. Similarly, this would allow commercial ships to be converted into useful escort carriers in wartime, freeing purpose-built carriers for frontline duties. Finally, this would open up the ability to fly from smaller dedicated aircraft carriers and, while it seems unlikely the United States would build any, a number of its allies operate CVLs and may be interested in acquiring these SA-10Ds to provide organic ASW capability and additional strike capacity to their own carriers.

From a programmatic standpoint, using a few minimally modified A-10A’s from the boneyard could serve to reduce risk and accelerate introduction by entering flight testing prior to delivery of the first full prototype, although this is obviously not required. Most usefully, up to three aircraft could be modified to add a second seat for the ASW systems operator and at least simulated electronics to demonstrate operational effectiveness and begin developing tactics and procedures for the fleet ahead of delivery. The other, less important, conversion would validate performance and carrier suitability by adding a new launch bar and a strengthened arresting hook to a single aircraft.

Naturally, the subject of airframe modification entices interest, so we will now move into a brief exploration of the most interesting changes and options, although basics like more modern engines will be omitted. That said, it is critical to bear in mind that this SA-10D concept is fully dependent on the previously discussed podded systems for ASW operations, so those systems are more important than anything discussed here even though this section will likely generate more discussion.

First and most importantly, the aircraft must have a second seat like the old YA-10B prototype. Modern computers should allow a single person to manage all the ASW equipment instead of the multiple operators required on the S-3, as well as direct any supporting drones, but there is no way the pilot would be able to handle that workload on top of flying the aircraft. It should also be noted that this second crewmember can be swapped for another specialist such as a forward air controller when required for the mission at hand, further improving the air wing’s flexibility. Therefore, whether this is a conversion of old airframes or a new build, a single seat is simply unworkable for the mission.

Closely related to this is electronics. To reduce development costs and streamline maintenance, it is strongly recommended that the F-35’s electronics be reused as close to wholesale as possible. The A-10’s simple airframe should make it relatively easy to integrate these systems, especially if it is a new-build variant, and the commonality would bring new capability and simplify future upgrades. Beyond providing a digital backbone to host the ASW systems, this would make the SA-10D a potent networked shooter by hauling large numbers of long-range missiles and seamlessly communicating with F-35Cs further forwards. This could be further exploited by a new-build aircraft which would likely be larger to further increase capacity and could add dedicated AIM-9X sidewinder rails to provide defensive fire against hostile aircraft.

Folding wings would not ordinarily merit separate discussion because it is obvious a new-build aircraft would include them and that the A-10’s straight wings will allow a dramatic width reduction, but the modification of existing airframes is unusual enough to merit special attention. Unlike most aircraft, the A-10 only carries fuel in its inner wing and is designed with very simple, robust structures with extensive left/right interchangeability. This means the A-10 is in the unusual situation of being able to easily accept folding wings in an upgrade, so modified boneyard aircraft are a feasible option even though they were never intended to operate from carriers.

Of course, any time the A-10 comes up, its gun is a major discussion point so it must be addressed here even if it is not relevant to ASW. Unfortunately, while the GAU-8 has given excellent service, it would almost certainly have to be abandoned for marinization in favor of the F-35’s 25mm GAU-22. While the resulting commonality would streamline shipboard logistics, this change is primarily driven by the fact that the GAU-8’s mounting forces the nose wheel off-center on the A-10, which is unacceptable for catapult launch and results in asymmetric turning circles which may complicate deck handling. One potential upside to this change is that it allows an increase in total stowed ammunition and possibly even the installation of a second gun if desired. This could extend the effective range of the weapon by firing enough explosive rounds to effectively saturate the larger dispersion area, potentially allowing the gun(s) to be effective in the counter-FAC/FIAC role from beyond the range of any man-portable air defense systems they may carry.

The A-10’s armor is similarly a regular point of discussion, although in this case there is no clear answer to be had. If old -A models were to be modified for this new role, it would likely prove more practical to simply leave the armor in place even if it is not particularly useful for the aircraft’s new role since it is integrated into the load-bearing structure. Of course, a new build would not face this restriction, so the armor would almost certainly be omitted to save weight. However, modern materials could allow some level of protection to be retained without much of a weight penalty if desired. Ultimately, the details would have to be worked out between the contractors and the program office, so a definitive answer cannot be given here.

One final exotic option for a new-build aircraft is to integrate a laser weapon to shoot down incoming missiles, or at least provide room for one to be added in the future. The technical risks and costs of this are obvious, but with laser weapons entering service and rapidly maturing, it should at least be considered.

Conclusion

As has been shown, the critical vulnerability left by the retirement of the S-3 can be rapidly and affordably filled to ensure the carrier’s survivability against submarines, and by extension its relevance in great power competition or war. A series of podded sensors would allow the MQ-25 and current aircraft to provide some ASW capacity, while a new SA-10D Seahog can be rapidly developed to fully fill the ASW gap using those podded systems and improve the flexibility of the carrier air wing.

Ben DiDonato is a volunteer member of the NRP-funded LMACC team lead by Dr. Shelley Gallup. He originally created what would become the armament for LMACC’s baseline Shrike variant in collaboration with the Naval Postgraduate School in a prior role as a contract engineer for Lockheed Martin Missiles and Fire Control. He has provided systems and mechanical engineering support to organizations across the defense industry from the U.S. Army Communications-Electronics Research, Development and Engineering Center (CERDEC) to Spirit Aerosystems, working on projects for all branches of the armed forces.

Featured Image: An air-to-air front view of three S-3A Viking aircraft from Air Anti-submarine Squadron 31 (VS-31) as they pass over the USS DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER (CVN-69) (Photo by PH3 Houser, via U.S. National Archives)