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Middle East

The Silent Threat : Overlooked Radiological Risk in the Red Sea and the Strait of Hormuz

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By Dr. Abdek Mahamoud Abdi

Introduction

Following American and Israeli strikes that killed Iran’s Supreme Leader on 28 February 2026, Iran’s naval forces have frequently declared the Strait of Hormuz closed, laid mines, and issued warnings that they would target unauthorized vessels. A ceasefire agreement on 14 June lasted only a few weeks. By late July, American strikes on Iran occurred almost every night, and tanker traffic through Hormuz had fallen well below pre-war levels. The Hormuz crisis has extended beyond the Gulf. On 20 July, the Houthis announced a naval blockade against Saudi Arabia, and two days later claimed responsibility for strikes on Saudi tankers, the Encelia and the Layla, in the Red Sea. Experts had long warned about this scenario. The simultaneous pressure on both chokepoints has now become a reality.

However, the focus on the Red Sea and Bab-el-Mandeb Strait mainly concerns conventional threats, such as anti-ship ballistic missiles, one-way attack drones, and waterborne explosive devices used by Houthi forces. Yet a lesser-discussed risk exists, which is diverting commercial radioactive material for use in a Radiological Dispersal Device, or dirty bomb. The security challenges in the Red Sea and the Strait of Hormuz, including radioactive cargo transportation, established smuggling networks, and limited naval resources, hinder the effectiveness of current maritime security measures.

Radiological Risk in Maritime Transport

The International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) classifies radioactive sources into five categories based on the potential harm they could cause if left unshielded. Category 1 and 2 sources, elements such as cobalt-60 and cesium-137 used in cancer treatment and industrial irradiators, could kill someone within minutes to hours of exposure.

According to a U.S. Government Accountability Office analysis of Countering Weapons of Mass Destruction (CWMD) risk assessments, Category 3 sources, commonly found in industrial gauges and well-logging equipment, are actually more likely to end up in a dirty bomb than Category 1 or 2 material. Not because they’re more dangerous, but because there are so many of them in ordinary commercial use, and the security around them is lighter. By contrast, Category 4 and 5 sources don’t have enough activity to pose much of a threat, even if fully dispersed. So when people talk about dirty bomb risk, the conversation should focus on Category 3.

The key concern, therefore, is not access to weapons-grade material but the possible misuse of legitimately used radioactive sources. From a security perspective, the consequences of such an incident could extend well beyond radiation exposure, potentially causing public panic, temporary disruption of affected areas, major economic losses, and costly decontamination operations. This disruption would result not from direct casualties but from strict international regulations and frameworks that require the immediate quarantine of any area with elevated radiation levels. Consequently, an attack targeting critical regional transport nodes would weaponize public anxiety to effectively paralyze maritime operations, transforming localized contamination into an indefinite, multi-billion-dollar trade bottleneck.

These sources are transported legally through the Red Sea corridor, including radiography equipment, well-logging tools, and medical isotopes destined for hospitals and industrial facilities across East Africa and the Middle East. That ordinary traffic is exactly what creates the opportunity for smugglers.

In the Strait of Hormuz, Iran’s fast-attack vessels pose significant risks to maritime navigation. The ongoing conflict has escalated this threat into open hostilities, involving the placement of mines and direct attacks on tankers. In addition, Houthi attacks on commercial shipping in the Red Sea have created a parallel security challenge, forcing vessels to reroute and increasing pressure on maritime-security forces. The volatility of this environment makes the seizure of such radioactive materials a starkly real possibility.

Even if no party deliberately attempts to get these radioactive materials for a planned attack, a conventional missile or mine hitting a standard commercial vessel carrying legal Category 3 cargo could breach its containment hulls. This would spill radioactive material directly into open waters or vital harbor shipping lanes, creating localized environmental hazards and forcing immediate, long-term closures of strategic maritime routes due to contamination fears. These developments demonstrate how security pressures in the Gulf and the Horn of Africa can interact and compound vulnerabilities across interconnected maritime routes.

Potential Diversion Vulnerability and Consequences

Research into sanctions evasion has documented a so-called dark fleet of tankers, predominantly transporting Russian and Iranian oil and liquefied natural gas (LNG), that manipulate or deactivate their automatic identification system (AIS) transponders and follow irregular and complex ownership structures and routes to conceal their activity and destination details. Coupled with the dhow smuggling routes between Yemen and the Somali coast, monitored by UN authorities over several years as channels for arms delivery to Houthi forces, these networks could just as readily facilitate the movement of a stolen radioactive source as weapons. Although no such case has yet been identified, the conditions are conducive to this possibility. Oversight vulnerabilities and well-established smuggling routes abound, while coalition naval forces are stretched across two active fronts.

If a ship carrying legally declared Category 3 material were boarded, disabled, or hit, its cargo could vanish before anyone could establish a perimeter, especially since coast guards and coalition ships are already strained by the Hormuz crisis. Adding naval mines and loitering munitions in shallow, crowded waters raises the chances of a hull breach that could release radioactive cargo into a port or fishing area. This scenario directly aligns with Iran’s asymmetric maritime doctrine, which weaponizes key global shipping routes to compensate for its conventional military disadvantages. Tehran has explicitly demonstrated its intent to enforce total maritime leverage. Notably, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) Navy recently reiterated its complete and decisive control over the Strait of Hormuz, warning that any vessel operating outside its authorized routes would face catastrophic consequences.

The IAEA monitors incidents involving nuclear and radioactive materials through its Incident and Trafficking Database. In 2025, 34 member states reported 236 incidents, up from 147 the previous year. The IAEA notes that most of this increase is due to late reports of older incidents, not an actual rise in trafficking, which is an important distinction when assessing trends. Since its inception in 1993, the database has recorded over 4,600 incidents, including about 730 involving theft or attempted theft. Importantly, approximately 55 percent of these thefts occurred during transport rather than storage.

Regarding the Red Sea specifically, the genuine threat does not lie in the possibility of Houthi-affiliated groups attempting to develop nuclear weapons. Such an endeavor necessitates resources and expertise that no non-state actor in the region currently possesses. The credible threat involves Houthi-affiliated groups, or other criminal networks operating within the same domain or zone, gaining access to an unsecured Category 1 to 3 radioactive source via channels already used for trafficking other illicit items. While the integration of radiological materials into maritime weaponry by Houthi forces remains an unverified capability, the operational motive and territorial precedents within the Yemeni conflict zone are well-established. Security assessments have long flagged the vulnerability of Yemen’s domestic infrastructure. As early as 2010, international intelligence raised alarms regarding the lack of physical security at a centralized Yemeni radiological facility which housed significant quantities of industrial and medical isotopes. This vulnerability underscored a persistent fear that non-state actors could seize localized commercial sources to fashion a radiological dispersal device (RDD).

The integration of such materials into naval mines or drone payloads would represent a significant development, signifying a shift from traditional sea-denial weaponry to the deliberate use of radiological contamination. To date, publicly available information does not confirm that this has been achieved. While not yet realized, the threat remains an area of grave concern, and should thus be communicated and addressed accordingly.

A radiological dispersal device detonated at key logistic regional hubs such as Djibouti or Jeddah would likely not result in a substantial number of fatalities directly attributable to radiation exposure. However, Djibouti serves as the operational logistics hub for foreign naval coalitions protecting the Bab-el-Mandeb and operating in the Red Sea, while Jeddah represents Saudi Arabia’s primary economic gateway on the Red Sea. Targeting these mega-terminals allows asymmetric actors to simultaneously disrupt U.S. military support and operations in the region, and inflict severe regional pressure. Consequently, it could nonetheless compel operators to suspend terminal operations for an extended period due to decontamination procedures, incurring costs to shipping, insurance, and regional commerce amounting to billions.

Recommendations for Radiological Maritime Security

Maritime security in the region remains predominantly focused on intercepting missiles and drones. There is limited insight into the actual movement of radioactive materials. The following three measures could help improve the current response to the crisis:

Expand radiation detection capabilities to smaller and informal ports. The United States National Nuclear Security Administration’s Megaports Initiative currently equips major seaports, including several in the Middle East, with radiation portal monitors and trained personnel. Extending similar coverage, including mobile units, to secondary ports in the Red Sea and Gulf of Aden, as well as dhow landing sites, would address a significant gap.

Enhance due diligence concerning the logistics of radioactive sources. Shipping and logistics companies operating in higher-risk jurisdictions should verify the recipients of Category 1 to 3 materials. This should build upon the cradle-to-grave principle outlined in the IAEA Code of Conduct, with support from the IAEA’s Division of Nuclear Security and its physical protection advisory missions where applicable.

Incorporate radiological threat scenarios into existing crisis planning. The Combined Maritime Forces, via Combined Task Force 153 in coordination with Operation Prosperity Guardian (a U.S.-led multinational coalition established to protect merchant shipping and counter asymmetric attacks in the Red Sea) and EUNAVFOR Operation Aspides, should incorporate defensive scenarios involving a radiological dispersal device (dirty bomb) into their maritime frameworks and joint exercises with regional states such as Djibouti, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt. This proactive approach ensures the development of a response plan before an incident occurs

The Red Sea and the Strait of Hormuz can no longer be evaluated solely in terms of missile, drone, or cyber risks. This conflict has already demonstrated that disruptions at one strategic chokepoint can spread to others. The Houthi blockade against Saudi shipping, which occurred within weeks of the closure of the Strait of Hormuz, serves as evidence of this phenomenon. Diverting commercial radioactive materials would be a cost-effective and rational subsequent step within this pattern, even though such an action has not yet been undertaken.

For nations situated at this critical juncture, particularly Djibouti, Egypt and Saudi Arabia, developing a comprehensive radiological risk management framework is no longer a mere formality but an essential measure to ensure their national security and the continued operation of global maritime trade.

Dr. Abdek Mahamoud Abdi is an independent consultant in environmental and social safeguards, climate finance, blue economy and energy security, working across East Africa and the Middle East. He holds a Ph.D. in Global Engineering for Development, Environment and Society from the Tokyo Institute of Technology, with additional postgraduate certifications in nuclear safety, maritime environmental risk, and the blue economy.

Featured image: U.S. Marines and Sailors assigned to the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit transport a simulated casualty across the flight deck of the amphibious assault ship USS Boxer (LHD 4) during a chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear response drill while underway in the East China Sea, Oct. 5, 2024. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Luis Agostini)

Middle East

Stepping Stones to Security: Pacifying the Tunb Islands

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By Frank Bell

Introduction

Abu Musa, Greater Tunb, and Lesser Tunb occupy positions of strategic importance disproportionate to their size. Situated near the Strait of Hormuz, the three islands provide forward positions for surveillance, missiles, unmanned systems, and maritime interdiction. A territorial dispute dating back more than five decades has become part of the military architecture, and the ongoing war between the United States and Iran, surrounding one of the world’s most important maritime chokepoints.

This creates a problem separate from sovereignty. If forces operating from disputed territory threaten commercial navigation or neighboring states during an armed conflict, destroying those forces may solve the immediate tactical problem without solving the longer-term security problem. Weapons can be replaced. Abandoned positions can be reoccupied. Suppression can interrupt coercion without eliminating the geographic advantage that made it possible.

The United States should degrade Iran’s ability to defend and employ Abu Musa, Greater Tunb, and Lesser Tunb as military positions. Afterwards, an Arab-led coalition should temporarily administer and demilitarize the islands while U.S. military power remains available as an external deterrent. Such an arrangement could prevent the regeneration of Iranian maritime coercive capabilities without determining the islands’ ultimate sovereignty.

The purpose would be limited: pacify the islands without annexing them and create conditions under which responsibility for security in the Strait can pass to the regional states that depend upon it.

Geography, Sovereignty, and Militarization

The dispute over Abu Musa, Greater Tunb, and Lesser Tunb predates the establishment of the United Arab Emirates (UAE) in 1971. Before federation, the individual emirates conducted their territorial affairs under British protection. Sharjah claimed Abu Musa, while Ras al-Khaimah claimed Greater and Lesser Tunb. Sharjah became one of the six founding emirates of the UAE on December 2, 1971; Ras al-Khaimah joined the federation the following year. The UAE subsequently inherited and has maintained those territorial claims.1

The circumstances surrounding Iran’s assumption of control differed between Abu Musa and the Tunbs. As Britain prepared to end its treaty relationships with the Trucial States and withdraw its military presence from the Gulf, it sought settlements between Iran and the Arab rulers. Sharjah reached a last-minute memorandum of understanding with Iran concerning Abu Musa. Neither party surrendered its sovereignty claim, but the agreement permitted Iranian forces to occupy designated areas while Sharjah retained a presence on the island.2

No comparable agreement was reached over Greater and Lesser Tunb. On November 30, 1971, two days before the UAE was formally established, Iranian forces landed on the Tunbs after negotiations with Ras al-Khaimah failed. Armed resistance occurred on Greater Tunb and casualties resulted. Iran regarded the action as the restoration of Iranian sovereignty; the Arab side regarded it as a forcible seizure. Iran has controlled the islands since.3

The distinction remains important. Iran’s initial military presence on Abu Musa resulted from a negotiated arrangement that deliberately left sovereignty unresolved. Its control of Greater and Lesser Tunb followed military action without a comparable agreement with Ras al-Khaimah. Today, the UAE maintains the claims inherited through Sharjah and Ras al-Khaimah, while Iran claims sovereignty over all three islands.

Their contemporary strategic importance derives as much from geography as sovereignty. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) has used the islands as military positions within Iran’s wider defense network surrounding Hormuz.4 Independent reporting has documented IRGC garrisons and military infrastructure on the islands, while recent U.S. military operations identified coastal-defense systems and cruise-missile storage and launch facilities on Greater Tunb among targets associated with threats to commercial navigation.5

This does not mean every component of Iran’s maritime-denial network is deployed on every island. Their significance comes from their contribution to a wider system of surveillance, missiles, unmanned systems, air defense, and maritime forces extending along Iran’s southern coast and into the approaches to Hormuz.

The three islands are also not identical military positions. Abu Musa is the most significant from a civilian standpoint, with a resident population generally estimated at around 2,000 alongside Iranian military facilities. Greater Tunb has a much smaller civilian footprint and an Iranian military presence, while Lesser Tunb is effectively a military outpost. Reliable public estimates of the current strength of the Iranian garrisons on the islands are scarce.6

That uncertainty matters in considering military options. Removing an isolated and degraded garrison presents a very different problem from assaulting intact defensive positions. Operations involving Abu Musa would also have to account for its civilian population. Intelligence on surviving forces, civilians, and island defenses would therefore shape how pacification was attempted.

The islands are thus two things at once: disputed territory whose sovereignty remains unresolved and military terrain capable of affecting international navigation. A workable policy must address the latter without pretending to resolve the former.

From Suppression to Pacification

Military action can destroy a missile launcher, radar installation, or drone facility. It cannot determine what happens to the position afterward.

If military infrastructure on the islands were neutralized during a wider conflict and Iranian forces subsequently returned, the problem could regenerate. New systems could replace those destroyed. Surveillance could resume. Fortifications could be rebuilt.

The policy question therefore extends beyond whether the islands constitute legitimate military targets during a conflict. It is what security arrangement should follow their neutralization. Simply destroying military installations provides suppression. It does not necessarily provide security.

Pacification describes the desired condition, not a prescribed method of assault. An opposed amphibious seizure by the United States should not be the automatic next step after strikes against the islands. Once a garrison has been isolated and its military capabilities sufficiently degraded, surviving personnel could first be offered an opportunity to surrender. If they refused, continued isolation, additional strikes, a raid, or ultimately seizure would remain options depending upon conditions at the time.

The distinction is important because territorial possession is not the strategic objective; denial of renewed military use is. Coalition forces do not require the islands as bases for further operations. The requirement is to remove the IRGC military presence and infrastructure and prevent the islands from again becoming forward positions for maritime coercion.

Temporary administration offers a middle course between restoring the military status quo and using military victory to impose a territorial settlement. Military systems could be removed or destroyed, remilitarization prohibited and monitored, and competing sovereignty claims preserved for peaceful resolution.

The strategic benefit is not simply the destruction of weapons. It is denying the positions from which those weapons can repeatedly return.

This also gives the operation an endpoint. Once the IRGC military presence has been removed, the islands demilitarized, and safeguards against renewed military use established, direct American control would be unnecessary. The result would be narrower than conquest but more durable than suppression.

Legal and Diplomatic Obstacles

The proposal carries substantial legal and diplomatic risks.

Iran exercises effective control over the islands while the UAE maintains sovereignty claims. A military operation followed by an externally imposed administration could be interpreted as an attempt to alter territorial control through force rather than as a limited maritime-security measure.

Any temporary authority would need narrow limits. Participation could not confer sovereignty. Existing territorial claims would remain intact. The authority would be responsible for security, demilitarization, essential civil functions, and protection of civilian property and economic activity.

Regional governments may support the security objective while remaining wary of any mechanism that appears to transfer disputed territory through military action. Legitimacy will depend heavily on Arab state participation, preservation of the competing sovereignty claims, and a credible endpoint.

Without that endpoint, temporary administration risks becoming occupation by another name.

Who Governs the Islands?

Several administrative models are possible, but replacing Iranian military control with indefinite American administration would defeat the purpose of the proposal.

United Nations administration would offer formal international legitimacy but could prove politically difficult to establish. A broader multinational coalition would provide greater operational flexibility, yet an administration dominated by outside powers could gradually assume the characteristics of an open-ended foreign occupation.

An Arab-led regional coalition deserves greater consideration. Gulf states could provide the principal administrative and security presence following demilitarization, supported where useful by international observers and technical personnel. No participating state would exercise sovereignty through the coalition, and any forces deployed on the islands would remain limited to security, monitoring, and enforcement of demilitarization.

The UAE would necessarily have an important role because of its sovereignty claims, but participation should not itself constitute recognition of those claims. Involving other Arab states would help distinguish regional security administration from simply transferring disputed territory from one claimant to another.

The underlying principle is straightforward: security on the Arab side of the Gulf should increasingly become an Arab responsibility. American military power should support regional security institutions rather than substitute for them indefinitely. An Arab-led coalition administering the islands, supported by regional maritime forces and backed by American deterrence, would reflect that division of responsibility.

The United States would not need to administer or permanently garrison the islands. Its more useful role would remain outside them. American naval and air forces operating in the wider region could provide intelligence, surveillance, logistics, and credible deterrence against remilitarization without transforming the islands into permanent American bases.

An Iranian attempt to return personnel and military equipment would therefore become a problem of detecting and denying remilitarization, rather than necessarily defending the islands against a conventional counter-invasion.

The coalition would administer and monitor the islands. Regional states would increasingly secure the surrounding maritime environment. American military power would remain available as a strategic backstop.

This arrangement offers an alternative to abandoning the islands after destroying their military infrastructure or turning a limited security operation into an indefinite American occupation.

The Strait After Pacification

The consequences would extend beyond the islands.

The Strait of Hormuz is both a military operating environment and a commercial artery. Changes in its security posture affect naval calculations, shipping schedules, chartering decisions, insurance premiums, energy markets, and perceptions of regional risk.

Removing offensive military infrastructure from forward positions could reduce one source of uncertainty confronting commercial operators. Demilitarization would not eliminate the wider risks of conflict with Iran or guarantee unrestricted navigation. It could, however, reduce the ability to use the islands for surveillance, interdiction, or attacks against maritime traffic.

Greater regional responsibility for maritime security need not mean American disengagement. U.S. naval power, intelligence, logistics, and deterrence would remain important, but in support. American military action would create the conditions for an Arab-led regional security arrangement rather than becoming the arrangement itself.

The islands’ eventual disposition could also reshape the longer-term balance of maritime influence within Hormuz, particularly by limiting the ability of any single coastal state—or combination of states—to impose unilateral conditions upon commercial transit. Decisions made during a conflict could influence the maritime balance for decades afterward.

How Does It End?

The credibility of temporary administration depends upon a simple question: temporary until when?

An arbitrary deadline says little about whether the security problem has been resolved. Termination should instead be conditions-based.

Those conditions could include removal of offensive military infrastructure, a durable monitoring regime, limitations on future military deployments, sufficient regional capacity to maintain the security arrangement, and an accepted diplomatic or legal process through which sovereignty claims can proceed without threatening freedom of navigation.

Once those conditions are satisfied, the temporary authority should leave.

The aim is not permanent foreign control or indefinite demilitarization enforced by American troops. Temporary administration provides a bridge between military action and political settlement.

Conclusion

Abu Musa, Greater Tunb, and Lesser Tunb present a strategic problem that military strikes alone cannot resolve. Offensive systems can be destroyed and military forces removed, but neither action prevents strategically valuable positions from being rebuilt and used again.

Temporary administration offers one possible bridge between military necessity and political settlement. Properly structured, it would neither determine sovereignty nor require permanent American occupation. Its narrower purpose would be to deny renewed IRGC military use while shifting responsibility for the islands’ security toward regional states.

The larger principle extends beyond these islands. Military operations around strategic maritime chokepoints should be judged not only by whether they destroy an immediate threat, but by whether the security arrangement that follows prevents that threat from returning.

If cleared during military operations in support of its war against Iran, the Tunbs and Abu Musa should not become permanent American positions, nor should their ultimate ownership be decided by the United States.

The objective is to pacify the positions, secure the maritime approaches, transfer responsibility to a sustainable Arab-led regional security arrangement, and leave sovereignty to diplomacy.

In that sense, these small islands could become stepping stones—not toward occupation, but toward a more durable security order in the Strait of Hormuz.

Francis J. Bell is a graduate of Temple University’s Fox School of Business. He works as a private consultant with interests in strategy and international security. His writing focuses on maritime doctrine, deterrence, and emerging operational concepts.

References

1. United Arab Emirates, “Letter dated 23 October 2014 from the Permanent Representative of the United Arab Emirates to the United Nations addressed to the Secretary-General,” S/2014/759, October 24, 2014; United Arab Emirates, “Letter dated 14 March 2016 from the Permanent Representative of the United Arab Emirates to the United Nations addressed to the Secretary-General,” S/2016/245, March 16, 2016. The UAE communications maintain the claims to Abu Musa, Greater Tunb, and Lesser Tunb and describe the historical claims of Sharjah and Ras al-Khaimah.

2. U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1969–1976, vol. XXIV, Middle East Region and Arabian Peninsula, 1969–1972; Jordan, September 1970, documents concerning British negotiations over Abu Musa and the Tunbs; United Arab Emirates, “Letter dated 23 October 2014,” S/2014/759. The latter reproduces the 1971 Memorandum of Understanding concerning Abu Musa, which preserved the competing claims while providing for an Iranian military presence in designated areas. Contemporary U.S. diplomatic records show Britain pressing Sharjah and Ras al Khaimah to reach accommodations with Iran before British withdrawal.

3. U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1969–1976, vol. XXIV, documents concerning the Persian Gulf islands dispute, 1971; United Arab Emirates, “Letter dated 23 October 2014,” S/2014/759. Contemporary diplomatic records document the failure to obtain an agreement over the Tunbs and Britain’s inability to compel Ras al Khaimah to relinquish its claim.

4. Jon Gambrell, “3 Islands Help Control Access to the Strait of Hormuz. They’re in the Crosshairs of the Iran War,” Associated Press, July 16, 2026. Gambrell describes Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps garrisons and military infrastructure on the islands, including missiles, fast boats, and air-defense systems on Abu Musa and Greater Tunb and a military presence on Lesser Tunb.

5. U.S. Central Command Public Affairs, “CENTCOM Conducts Morning Round of Strikes Against Iran,” Defense Visual Information Distribution Service, July 15, 2026. CENTCOM reported using precision munitions against coastal-defense systems and cruise-missile storage and launch sites on Greater Tunb and stated that the strikes were intended to degrade Iran’s ability to attack commercial shipping in the Strait of Hormuz.

6. Gambrell, “3 Islands Help Control Access to the Strait of Hormuz.” Recent reporting describes Abu Musa as containing a village alongside a substantial IRGC base, Greater Tunb as possessing comparable Iranian military infrastructure, and Lesser Tunb as having only a military presence. Reliable open-source estimates of current garrison strength remain limited.

Featured image: Abu Musa, Greater Tunb, and Lesser Tunb and the surrounding maritime approaches. Author-generated illustration created using multiple geographic references. Not for navigation. (Courtesy of Frank Bell)

Asia-Pacific

The Insurance Trigger: Sovereign Guarantees and Commercial Lawfare as Deterrence Against a Chinese Quarantine of Taiwan

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By Meng Kit Tang

Markets Close Before Missiles Fire

Tanker traffic in the Persian Gulf fell from 138 transits to fewer than eight within days of insurers withdrawing war-risk coverage in 2026. No ships were seized nor missiles were fired. Rather, the market closed the water before any navy could. That episode clarifies the problem in the Taiwan Strait more starkly than any fleet comparison. A quarantine there need not begin with interdiction. It can begin with paperwork of how a change in risk is priced and who is willing to bear it.

The strategic implication is precise. The People’s Republic of China (PRC) does not need to win command of the sea to interrupt Taiwan’s trade. It needs to make insurers hesitate. Once coverage is restricted or withdrawn, charter parties and loan covenants do the rest. Ships divert on their own.

The same mechanism that emptied the Gulf offers Beijing a fast, low-visibility path to sever Taiwan’s maritime lifelines. It also points to where deterrence must be constructed, not in missile silos or carrier decks alone, but in the ledgers and liability clauses that determine whether merchant vessels are willing to sail at all.

The Insurance Trigger: Commercial Lawfare and the Risk Cascade

A quarantine of Taiwan need not begin with gunfire. Instead, it begins with patrol patterns and the careful cultivation of doubt. The model Beijing has rehearsed relies on the appearance of lawful control rather than the application of overt force.

China Coast Guard cutters conduct “routine” inspections. Maritime militia vessels loiter in numbers that feel less like presence than occupation. The People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) remains just over the horizon, visible enough to anchor the scene but distant enough to preserve deniability. Legal ambiguity does the work that coercion would otherwise require.

From that posture, the mechanism unfolds with quiet efficiency. An inspection regime is announced under the language of safety or customs enforcement. The Joint War Committee in London, attuned to risk rather than intent, considers the Strait a Listed Area. After which, protection and indemnity clubs begin to narrow coverage, first with higher premiums, then with exclusions that matter. Charter parties and mortgage covenants, written to avoid precisely this kind of exposure, take over. Shipowners do not need to be ordered away. They withdraw because their contracts demand it, their insurers insist on it, and their lenders will not tolerate the alternative.

Traffic thins before any vessel is seized. The decisive fact is not damage sustained at sea, but risk reclassified on paper. This sequence does not require unanimity among insurers to take hold. Partial restrictions are enough. As such, a handful of major clubs tightening terms can reprice the entire route.

Shipping is a conservative business with narrow margins and strict compliance cultures. Faced with ambiguity in coverage, operators choose certainty elsewhere. Diversion becomes the rational default, not the exceptional case. The cascade is therefore less a switch than a ratchet, with each incremental tightening reinforces the next. The market reacts and moves as if a line has been crossed even when no single decision appears decisive.

Taiwan’s exposure to this dynamic is acute. Its energy system depends on a steady rhythm of liquefied natural gas (LNG) deliveries, with storage measured in days rather than months. A simple interruption to this rhythm and the problem is not only scarcity but unpredictability. Grid operators cannot plan around shipments that may or may not arrive. Industrial output and household consumption compete for a shrinking and unreliable supply. The waters around the island simultaneously carry approximately $2.45 trillion in annual commerce through surrounding sea lanes.

When confidence falters, the consequences propagate outward as quickly as they accumulate at home. Wargames suggest commercial diversion accelerates within seventy-two hours of a notional crisis, with merchant losses rising sharply before major combat and power generation falling to a fraction of normal capacity as fuel deliveries slip out of sequence.

The pattern mirrors what Chinese exercises have rehearsed without concealment. During the “Justice Mission” drills, coast guard and militia elements practiced the administrative choreography of control by issuing notices, establishing inspection routines, and shaping the legal narrative that would accompany any future operation. The rehearsal was less about fighting than about governing the terms under which others decide whether to sail.

That window between the moment risk is redefined on paper and the moment ships stop sailing is where the contest will be decided, and where preparation must already be in place.

Hormuz and Taiwan: Lessons and Limits

The record from the Iran-Iraq Tanker War offers the clearest precedent for what sovereign commitment can accomplish when insurance markets retreat. Under Operation Earnest Will, the United States did more than escort tankers. It absorbed the upper layers of risk through reflagging and sovereign backing.

By some accounts, war-risk premiums fell by more than half, and traffic returned even as Iranian attacks continued. The lesson was not about warships alone. It lay in Washington’s willingness to stand behind commercial exposure when private insurers stepped back. That willingness allowed underwriters to recalculate rather than retreat, and ships to sail that would otherwise have stayed in port.

However, tactical success at sea did not automatically restore confidence. The United States damaged Iranian assets and secured individual transits, yet broader commerce recovered only when financial risk became manageable.

The gap between naval action and commercial effect proved stubborn. This is a warning that any Taiwan scenario relying on convoy operations without addressing the insurance dimension risks repeating that failure, with escorts protecting ships that no longer wish to sail.

It should be noted that the analogy begins to fray once geography and actors come into view. The Strait of Hormuz narrows to roughly thirty-three kilometers, it is a confinement that amplifies mines, fast craft, and shore-based weapons. The Taiwan Strait spans closer to one hundred thirty kilometers at its narrowest point. That distance dilutes the immediacy of physical harassment without diluting the speed with which perceived risk propagates through insurance markets.

In the Taiwan case, diversion is likely to hinge even more purely on financial calculation than on proximity to danger, making the insurance mechanism the primary instrument, not a secondary effect.

The actors differ as well. Iranian forces and their proxies operated with limited conventional reach. The China Coast Guard functions within a system backed by a nuclear-armed state and supported by the world’s largest navy in hull count. Legal claims, domestic statutes, and coordinated messaging accompany every operational move. The stakes are categorically higher and the room for misinterpretation narrower.

The Gulf experience confirms that insurance can close a sea lane and sovereign guarantees reopen it. It does not offer a template for sailing convoys under the shadow of a major power. Any application in the Taiwan context demands more deliberate legal framing and more restrained operational posture. The mirror reflects the mechanism clearly. It distorts the setting in which that mechanism must be managed.

Taiwan’s Role: Pre-Crisis Coordination

Taiwan’s role in this problem is neither symbolic nor auxiliary. A sovereign backstop offered by Washington carries greater political weight if Taiwan is seen to bear part of the burden of keeping its own sea lanes open. That visibility need not take the form of public declarations or new institutions. Commercial shipping does not wait for governments to clarify their positions. Within days of perceived risk, vessels divert, contracts are voided, and schedules unravel. If coverage is to hold, the groundwork must already exist before the first announcement is made.

What Taiwan can do is practical and, if handled carefully, conducted without public announcement.

The first task is cultivating understandings with the insurance market itself. Discussions with Lloyd’s syndicates and the major protection and indemnity clubs can establish thresholds at which coverage tightens and the conditions under which it can be sustained. These need not be formal agreements, but a shared expectation about triggers and tolerances can slow the reflex toward withdrawal.

Alongside this, port authorities can maintain standing open-port declarations that are legally sound and routinely exercised. Shipping firms take their cues from clarity. If access conditions are known and stable, the argument that waters are unsafe becomes harder to sustain.

Closer to shore, Taiwan’s Coast Guard carries a distinct responsibility. Final-approach escorts into port can be handled by a civilian maritime service as it signals control without inviting the confrontation associated with naval deployments. This reduces the exposure of foreign naval forces in confined waters while preserving visible protection for inbound traffic.

Beyond Taiwan’s immediate approaches, pre-arranged diversion protocols with ports in Japan and the Philippines would give shipping companies alternatives that are more than theoretical. These include contracts, berth rights, and customs procedures settled in advance, when time is still available to resolve them carefully.

Taiwan cannot openly designate war-risk zones or advertise convoy frameworks without risking a response that accelerates the scenario it seeks to avoid. It is not to abandon sufficient preparation but to conduct it carefully in a register that does not provoke. Agreements can be specific, rehearsed, and ready to activate  yet remain outside public view until the moment they are needed.

Beijing’s Escalation Calculus

Beijing’s approach to a Taiwan quarantine is best understood through two escalation thresholds that define both its options and its constraints.

The first sits below the threshold of force. Public moves would draw a response that is legal, diplomatic, and informational rather than kinetic. Chinese authorities would issue counter-declarations, challenge the measures under UNCLOS, and frame them as external interference in a domestic matter. State media would amplify that framing while diplomats pressed insurers and flag registries to distance themselves. The Coast Guard would likely increase patrol tempo to signal resolve without direct confrontation.

Pre-announced sovereign guarantees are, perhaps unexpectedly, less provocative than reactive interventions during a crisis. They set clear expectations, signaling to the markets that political risk has already been accounted for and absorbed, thus eliminating the ambiguity that Beijing might seek to exploit.

The second threshold is crossed when naval escorts begin to transit the Strait, at which point Beijing’s stance becomes more rigid. Escort operations, under Chinese domestic law, can be framed as violations of sovereignty, even in international waters. The PLAN shifts from passive observation to active shadowing, probing for weaknesses while avoiding direct engagement. The Coast Guard takes on a more prominent role, with boarding attempts against escorted vessels serving as a means to test rules of engagement without escalating to a confrontation between major surface combatants.

Each encounter becomes a contest of both legal and operational authority. When a vessel halts and submits to a Coast Guard inspection under duress, it may not technically be seized, but it still challenges the integrity of the convoy framework. Doctrine must address this scenario directly, as what escorts do when a merchant captain complies under pressure is just as operationally significant as their response when force is employed.

Across both thresholds, legal warfare provides the connective tissue. The doctrine of the three warfares: legal, media, and psychological ensures operational actions are paired with arguments and sustained pressure campaigns. Beijing would contest the legitimacy of sovereign guarantees, question their compatibility with maritime law, and seek to isolate participating insurers through diplomatic channels.

The contest extends beyond the seas, unfolding in international maritime legal forums and through the flag state administrations. Washington and Taipei must therefore prepare their legal arguments in advance, grounded in the precedents of Earnest Will and the Red Sea convoy, and communicate them to governments whose neutrality will influence insurer behavior before PRC counter-narratives can take hold.

Time compresses all these choices. China’s own dependence on Taiwanese semiconductors and the exposure of regional supply chains limits how long a quarantine can be sustained before incurring costs at home. That constraint favors a rapid shock to commercial confidence rather than a drawn-out campaign. If sovereign guarantees are in place before a crisis, the mechanism Beijing seeks to exploit may never take hold.

The Sovereign Guarantee Framework

The architecture of sovereign guarantees in the Taiwan Strait is designed to preserve commercial confidence and deter coercion. Central to this system is the integration of doctrine, escort strategies, and allied logistics, ensuring that the framework operates effectively under pressure.

Doctrine: Institutionalizing Insurance-Backed Deterrence

Deterrence in the Taiwan Strait hinges on maintaining commercial confidence under pressure, making insurance a core element of operational strategy. At the heart of the system is a U.S.-led reinsurance mechanism, which pre-negotiates war-risk coverage for vessels operating under American guarantees. Commercial insurers continue to provide standard coverage, while the sovereign layer activates only when risk surpasses the private market’s capacity, preserving the current system without triggering collapse.

Vessels operating under the guarantee are publicly designated and sail within energy and humanitarian corridors, allowing insurers to reassess exposure and commanders to clarify rules of engagement. These corridors signal a deterrent by reducing perceived risks, providing legal clarity, and affirming U.S. credibility in maintaining commercial flow.

For effective deployment, this structure must be embedded in doctrine. The U.S. Seventh Fleet would establish standing procedures for insurance-backed convoy operations, including activation protocols and coordination with Lloyd’s and P&I clubs. Annual tabletop exercises at Fleet Activities Yokosuka would ensure synchronized timelines between insurance activation and operational decision-making, closing the gap between tactical escort actions and commercial confidence.

Escorts: Calibrated Presence and the Problem of Coerced Compliance

At sea, escort operations must strike a balance between visibility and restraint. An Arleigh Burke-class destroyer would provide command and defense capabilities, signaling commitment, while unmanned systems would ensure surveillance and documentation without escalating tensions. These assets shadow Coast Guard vessels, recording interactions without unnecessarily heightening the stakes.

Rules of engagement must be graduated: initial contact prompts bridge-to-bridge communication and warnings, followed by interposition and unmanned asset deployment if boarding is attempted, and defensive measures only in response to overt force.

More complex cases require equal consideration: a merchant captain who submits to a CCG boarding request under implicit pressure rather than explicit force. No shots are fired, and no legal seizure takes place, yet the integrity of the convoy is quietly and completely undermined.

This situation lies outside the scope of current rules of engagement, which address the use of force but not voluntary compliance. Doctrine must clarify the authority of escorts to intervene before compliance occurs and define the legal justification for such intervention within the corridor designation framework.

A captain who yields to subtle intimidation rather than overt coercion presents a challenge that cannot be addressed by warships or written rules of engagement alone. Failing to address this gap leaves the most critical flaw in the structure unaddressed.

Equally, de-escalation triggers matter as much as escalation authorities. A commander who knows precisely when to hold course and when to yield tactical ground without conceding strategic credibility is as operationally valuable as one who knows when to act.

Allied Integration: Logistics, Access, and Shared Credibility

Allied logistics provide the depth that makes the system credible over time. Japan offers the backbone through pre-negotiated port access and substantial throughput capacity, enabling rerouting if direct Strait transit falters. The Philippines extends reach into the southern approaches with forward sites for replenishment and support.

Shared tracking and communication protocols across U.S., Japanese, and Philippine forces reduce friction during compressed decision timelines. Taiwan’s coast guard manages final approach into port, maintaining presence without raising the profile of foreign naval forces in sensitive inner waters.

Limits of the Sovereign Guarantee Architecture

While sovereign guarantees stabilize markets, they do not eliminate the coercive capabilities of Chinese maritime forces, and pressure from these forces will persist. The value of the system lies in deterrence rather than resolution. By denying China its fastest, least costly options, the framework forces Beijing to resort to more overt measures, where costs increase, ambiguity narrows, and interference becomes harder to disguise as routine enforcement. This recalculates the escalation burden, shifting it onto the side that can least afford to bear it publicly.

Pre-Empting the Insurance Weapon

A PRC quarantine of Taiwan would not require forceful military action through the Strait to succeed. The decisive impact would come earlier, through contracts, premiums, and the subtle recalibration of risk. Once insurers withdraw, shipping follows, and the island loses access without a single exchange of fire at sea. In this scenario, the key factor is not naval vessels or missiles but confidence in coverage. This shift in focus makes the threat hard to deter through traditional naval presence alone.

The sovereign guarantee architecture directly addresses this. By absorbing risk upstream, it prevents hesitation from turning into withdrawal. Once credible backstops are in place, the insurance trigger loses its power, as the expected economic disruption no longer materializes. The mechanism fails before it activates, and Beijing’s window for rapid, decisive commercial disruption never opens.

For naval commanders and policymakers, this means preparation must start before the legal and financial framework of a quarantine becomes visible, not after commercial shipping has already made its calculations. In the Taiwan Strait, control over movement may depend less on patrol patterns than on who first convinces underwriters that uncertainty has already been priced and contained. That is the real contest… and it has already begun.

Tang Meng Kit is a Singaporean freelance analyst and commentator who works as an aerospace engineer. He graduated from the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), NTU, Singapore in 2025.

Featured image: Taiwan President Tsai Ing-wen reviews Taiwan Coast Guardsmen, September 2021. (Wikimedia Commons)

Asia-Pacific

Operation Highmast: UK Eastern Deployment for a “Two-Carrier Navy”

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By David Scott

Operation Highmast, running from April to November 2025, took a UK Carrier Strike Group (CSG), led by HMS Prince of Wales, over 40,000 nautical miles to the Sea of Japan and back. The CSG consisted of five UK vessels, with eight others joining the CSG at various stages from other navies. Three strategic considerations underpinned this deployment as per Prime Minister Keir Starmer: successfully operating a two-carrier navy (HMS Queen Elizabeth and HMS Prince of Wales), sending a “clear message of strength to our adversaries,” and “a message of unity and purpose to…allies.”

Operating a Two-Carrier Navy

Operation Highmast was announced in May 2023 by Conservative Party Prime Minister Rishi Sunak at the signing of the Hiroshima Accord, which was a landmark agreement focusing on “an enhanced UK-Japan global strategic partnership” and included “the future deployment of the UK Carrier Strike Group to the Indo-Pacific.” The deployment was carried out by the Labour Party administration after it came to power in July 2024, and it proceeded despite some calls to “mothball” of one of the carriers after the exchange of power between parties.

Another strategic decision illuminated by Operation Highmast was that despite growing concerns over Russian aggression in Europe, the Royal Navy maintained an Indo-Pacific commitment, albeit modified. The March 2021 Integrated Review of Security, Defence, Development and Foreign Policy announcement of an “Indo-Pacific tilt” underpinned the Queen Elizabeth CSG deployment in that year’s Operation Fortis. Four years later, the June 2025 Strategic Defence Review mantra of “NATO first does not mean NATO only” guided the Prince of Wales CSG deployment in Operation Highmast.

Strategically, the UK’s punch increased as both its Elizabeth-class aircraft carriers, the HMS Queen Elizabeth and HMS Prince of Wales, are the largest vessels ever constructed for the Royal Navy (80,000 ton displacement). This is almost four times the displacement of the three Invincible-class aircraft carriers (22,000 ton displacement) they replaced. Additionally, the Initial Operating Capacity (IOC) for the Wildcat helicopter Sea Venom anti-ship missile, carried on the Prince of Wales, was announced at the start of October. The Royal Navy considered this “a step-change in [its] combat power.”

After deciding to build the aircraft carriers, the UK government chose to embark F-35B fighters, considerably more advanced than the retired Harriers used on the previous Invincible-class. Strategically, the F-35B decision would enhance interoperability with the US, Italian, and Japanese navies. Eighteen UK F-35Bs embarked at the start of the Prince of Wales deployment and were joined by six more in October for a total of 24. Unfortunately, these jets had embarrassing engine malfunctions including one that was temporarily grounded in India as well as another in Japan. Nevertheless, Full Operational Capacity (FOC) was declared in November, signifying that the two carriers, the Queen Elizabeth and the Prince of Wales, could operate with purely UK F-35B complements.

Working with Allies and Partners

The Royal Navy’s ability to work with others was illustrated in cooperation with various European navies as well as in operations with India, Australia, Japan, and the United States—denoting a tacit balancing against China.

Operation Highmast represented a European rotation of CSGs, under the European Carrier Group Interoperability Initiative (ECGII), which has been guiding defense movements since 2008. The 2023 UK-France Summit had agreed on “the sequencing of more persistent European carrier strike group presence in the Indo-Pacific.” In this vein, the Italian CSG deployment in the second half of 2024, led by ITS Cavour, was followed by the French CSG deployment in the first third of 2025, led by FNS Charles de Gaulle, and then by the UK CSG deployment, led by HMS Prince of Wales, in the following months of 2025.

Operation Highmast had other European nations embedding their ships within the UK CSG. The Norwegian frigate HNoMS Roald Amundsen was in support throughout the CSG deployment. This reflects the Joint Statement on Enhanced Defence Cooperation between Norway and the United Kingdom signed in February 2025. Portugal’s frigate NRP Bartolomeu Dias joined the CSG from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. Spain’s frigate ESPS Mendez Nunez joined from the Atlantic to the Philippines, and Italy’s ITS Luigi Rizzo joined the CSG in the Mediterranean.

Close UK-Italy ties were on show as Foreign Secretary Yvette Cooper and Defense Secretary John Healey hosted their Italian counterparts on board the Prince of Wales in November at the conclusion of the Falcon Strike exercise, which was the NATO exercise at the end of Operation Highmast of the coast of Naples, Italy. Their Joint Statement noted:

The presence of the F-35-equipped UK Carrier Strike Group in Naples underlines deep British-Italian defense ties. Complex joint exercises during the deployment have further enhanced the interoperability of our Armed Forces.

The dual carrier exercises with Italy’s ITS Cavour in the Med Strike exercise in May as well as the Neptune Strike exercise in November represented a European willingness to carry the burden in the Mediterranean, enabling US carrier strength to be deployed elsewhere.

The UK CSG interaction with India reflected the February 2025 Defense Partnership-India (DP-1) as well as the UK decision in 2022 to co-lead India’s Indo-Pacific Ocean Initiative (IPOI). The CSG exercised in the Arabian Sea with India twice on its way to and from Japan. In June 2025, the CSG exercised with INS Tabar, a P-8I Neptune plane, and an Indian submarine. The October Konkan exercise was particularly powerful. It involved dual carrier operations with the INS Vikrant CSG for the first time, which included seven ships in the Indian CSG and six ships in the UK CSG. Port calls to Mumbai and Goa coincided with Keir Starmer’s visit to Mumbai. Not surprisingly, the India-UK Joint Statement on October 9 declared: “Prime Minister Modi welcomed the port call of UK’s Carrier Strike Group and the Royal Navy’s exercise Konkan with the Indian Navy.” An implementing agreement on electric-powered engines, currently in development by Rolls Royce for India’s next generation navy, was on show with the Prince of Wales’s and HMS Richmond’s Full Electric Propulsion System.

Australian involvement with the CSG was noticeable. Having just carried out freedom of navigation activity around the Spratley Islands with HMS Spey in June, Australia’s HMAS Sydney joined the UK CSG in July on their way to Australia for Exercise Talisman Sabre. The Sydney participated in the CSG exercises in the Timor Sea with the USS George Washington CSG, representing a trilateral Australia-UK-US (AUKUS) format. On July 27, the third day of the Australia-UK Ministerial (AUKMIN) talks were held in Darwin, Australia on the Prince of Wales under Reciprocal Access Agreement (RAA). These talks involved Foreign Secretary David Lammy, Defense Secretary John Healey, and their Australian counterparts. The AUKMIN Joint Statement welcomed that “the [CSG] deployment demonstrates the UK’s ongoing commitment to increase interoperability with Australia in the Indo-Pacific.” HMAS Brisbane joined the CSG in August in the Philippine Sea as part of the trilateral Japan-UK-US CSG and again in the bilateral UK-Japan carrier drills southwest of Japan in September.

UK convening power was on display as—for the first time—the Prince of Wales led the Bersama Lima exercise in September, off the Malaysian coast, under the Five Power Defense Arrangements (FPDA). This involved other naval units from Malaysia, Singapore, Australia (HMAS Ballarat) and New Zealand (HMNZS Aotearoa). New Zealand’s HMNZS Te Kaha had earlier joined the CSG from April to July across the Indian Ocean from the Arabian Sea to the Timor Sea, while Canada’s HMCS Ville de Québec joined the CSG from April (Devonport) to August (North Philippine Sea).

UK cooperation with Japan was further strengthened by Operation Highmast. When the Prince of Wales moored in Tokyo Bay on August 28, UK Defense Secretary John Healey, First Sea Lord General Sir Gwyn Jenkins, and Japan Minister of Defense Gen Nakatani were present to welcome the carrier and participate in the Pacific Future Forum onboard. At the Forum, Healey stressed UK-Japan defense cooperation: “[T]his carrier strike route deployment is the operational demonstration of this truth,” and “that is why the presence of the Prince of Wales here in Tokyo is not just symbolic — it’s strategic.”

Naval cooperation with Japan was on show with the trilateral carrier exercises involving JS Kaga in the North Philippine Sea in August, the F-35B bilateral exercises in the Sea of Japan on September 6, and the bilateral carrier exercise off south-west Japan, which again involved JS Kaga as well as JS Akebono, on September 9. It was particularly helpful to provide proof of concept when UK jets landed on JS Kaga as it was converted from a helicopter carrier to a fixed-wing F-35B-capable aircraft carrier. It was also noticeable that JS Akebono stayed with the UK CSG on its way back across the Indian Ocean.

The trilateral carrier exercise in the North Philippine Sea was a particularly striking visual moment, involving as it did four flat-top F-35B carrying battle groups, involving the USS George Washington, the USS America, Japan’s JS Kaga, and the UK’s Prince of Wales. This trilateral naval format reflects the Japan-UK-US agreement signed by naval chiefs in October 2016, that “as Chiefs of three highly capable and like-minded Services, [the nations] share a common vision of enhancing the operational effectiveness of… maritime forces through increased cooperation.” This was furthered in their Joint Statement in November 2019 about maintaining a “routine forward presence“ for cooperating over “the security of the Indo-Pacific region.” In the case of operational effectiveness, the common F-35B choices made by all three navies aids inter-operability, which was very much on show with the crossdeck activities carried out in Operation Highmast between these various carriers.

Last but not least, cooperation with the US was present throughout. The UK CSG was led through the Bab-el-Mandeb by USS Truxtun. Twice the USS George Washington CSG exercised with the UK CSG: once bilaterally in the East Timor Sea and another time trilaterally with Japan in the Philippine Sea. In another first, the USNS Wally Schirra, alongside RFA Tidespring, carried out a simultaneous Replenishment at Sea (RAS) with the Prince of Wales. The USS Higgins accompanied HMS Richmond on its transit of the Taiwan Strait in September before briefly joining the main UK CSG group as it sailed across the South China Sea. When the CSG transited into Red Sea in October, anti-drone and missile cover was provided by USS Forrest Sherman.

Deterring Adversaries?

On the eve of departure, the UK Defense Secretary John Healey had been upbeat in April, commenting, “[The] Royal Navy is once again demonstrating its formidable capability while protecting British values and sending a powerful message of deterrence to any adversary.”

In terms of operations, the CSG was able to twice deploy through the troubled Red Sea. When transiting in late May/early June, the CSG had been put on “defense station” in the light of continuing Houthi activities in the Red Sea. The context was that the UK had carried out strikes on Houthi drone facilities on April 29, joining the US in Operation Rough Rider. However, despite Houthi outrage, all was calm a month later for the CSG. Upon the CSG’s return in September, a diversionary tactic was employed. A fake Bahr Guardian sea exercise was announced for the Arabian Sea, with an accompanying press blackout, leaving the CSG free to instead slip though the Bab-el-Mandeb and up the Red Sea. It is unclear as to whether this move was an indication of the UK’s cunning  or a fear that a publicly announced transit was still too dangerous.

China remained the elephant in the room as the UK refused to acknowledge the deployment was China-motivated. Though China did not use official public channels to announce its displeasure, its state media, namely the Global Times, was ready to express China’s negative opinions. Back in 2023, when the deployment was first announced, a Global Times editorial on December 17, titled “The UK’s sunset fleet should just stay surfacing the internet,” warned that the UK was “closer to becoming a laughing stock.” The article derided UK collaboration with Japan as a vain attempt to restrain China. These protestations more likely revealed a sensitive subject for Beijing over UK-Japan security collaboration.

During the 2025 CSG deployment, the Chinese state media was ready to comment again. Starmer’s announcement about meeting threats was immediately denounced in the Global Times on April 24 with a piece titled “Can the UK aircraft carrier’s ‘return to the Indo-Pacific’ deter anyone?” Global Times journalists, Liu Xuanzun and Liang Rui, scoffed over UK problems with the F-35B jets in their August 10 article titled: “UK carrier-based F-35B reportedly makes emergency landing in Japan; Chinese expert says incidents highlight Britain’s struggling with aircraft complexity.”

There had been advance speculation whether the UK would be deterred from freedom of navigation activities in the Taiwan Strait and the South China Sea. It was significant that both were carried out. The CSG detached HMS Richmond for a transit of the Taiwan Strait alongside USS Higgins on September 12, which was immediately denounced as “provocative” by the PLA Eastern Theater Command. Some Chinese harassment had taken place. “Constructive kills,” or in layman’s terms tactical drills run with no missiles fired, were carried out around HMS Richmond with Chinese jets following the path they would take if they were launching an attack. Immediately after, the CSG transited the South China Sea, during which RFA Tidespring and HNoMS Roald Amundsen carried out specific freedom of navigation activities around the Spratleys in mid-September. The CSG was followed by several Chinese ships broadcasting messages for the CSG to stay away. However, the details on this only came to light in a Times report on September 29 followed by the Royal Navy briefing on 30 September, by which time the UK ships had long left these waters.

Unsurprisingly, the UK exercising with other China-concerned actors attracted further criticisms from China. On July 14, Zhang Changyue and Guo Yuandan denounced the Talisman Sabre exercise in their piece titled: “US-Australia largest ever war drill underway, hyping it may draw ‘Chinese observation’ to boost attention.” The subsequent trilateral exercising drew more Chinese fire with Liu Xuanzun and Liang Rui’s piece on August 6 titled: “US, UK, Japan, others hold drill in Pacific; move undermining regional peace.” One can surmise that such Chinese criticisms would not appear unless the UK deployment was having an impact regarding freedom of navigation issues and a tacit balancing of China.

Looking forward

Five strategic questions remain to be answered for the future concerning the operation of a two-carrier Navy:

  1. With two carriers scheduled for active service until 2029, should the UK maintain a two-carrier navy and resist any further calls for ”mothballing?”
  2. What is the right balance between Euro-Atlantic and Indo-Pacific CSG deployments? If Indo-Pacific deployments continue regularly should the four-year gap between Queen Elizabeth and Prince of Wales missions become the norm, or should it be shortened or lengthened?
  3. How far should carriers operate as “crewed aircraft” carriers. The Strategic Defence Review recommends that:

Much more rapid progress is needed in its evolution into ‘hybrid’ carrier airwings, whereby crewed combat aircraft (F-35B) are complemented by autonomous collaborative platforms in the air, and expendable, single-use drones. Plans for the hybrid carrier airwings should also include long-range precision missiles capable of being fired from the carrier deck.

It can be noted that in a “historic first,” the Prince of Wales used drones to transfer supplies between ships as opposed to traditional helicopters.

  1. How will the Royal Navy manage its fleet’s numbers to support its strategic goals? The structural problems of being hollowed out, in terms of other naval assets, remain acute. The continuing challenge of numbers expected to decline before eventual increase in numbers as eight Type-26 and five Type-31 replacements for the nine current Type-23 frigates are completed.
  2. How will the Royal Navy manage its new F-35Bs moving forward? Questions and choices still remain surrounding the numbers and capabilities of the F-35B planes. At present, the UK currently has 34 F-35Bs with initial plans to acquire 48 and potentially 138 in the more distant future. F-35B capabilities await the replacement of their Paveway-series guided bombs by more advanced Spear-3 cruise missiles. These were originally slated for delivery and use on F-35Bs by 2025 but face delays due to software configuration problems at Lockheed Martin and US export control regulations.

“Quo Vadis?” indeed, for a two-carrier UK navy.

Dr. David Scott is an associate member of the Corbett Centre for Maritime Policy Studies. A prolific writer on Indo-Pacific maritime geopolitics, he can be contacted at davidscott366@outlook.com.

Featured Image The U.K. Queen Elizabeth-class (QEC) aircraft carrier HMS Prince of Wales (R09)’s participation in WESTLANT 23. (US Navy photo by Dane Wiedmann)