By Meng Kit Tang

A Myth Before the Launch

In June 2026, the chairman of Taiwan’s China Shipbuilding Corporation’s (CSBC), announced that  the Hai Kun submarine was “on track” for delivery in 2026, but something else he said was even more telling. He added that pressure from the People’s Republic of China “has always existed,” on the program and that even after contracts are signed and parts are built, a shipment of parts can still be stopped at the last minute for political reasons.

That is an unusual thing for a shipbuilder to admit about his own supply chain. It means no deal with the suppliers behind Hai Kun is fully safe from Beijing until the part is delivered and actually installed on the boat.

As of its most recent sea trials in late July, its twentieth in all, the submarine’s delivery date remained officially unset, even as the pace of testing visibly picked up.

The submarine’s name fits this uncertainty better than anyone probably intended. Kun is a giant fish from the ancient Chinese text the Zhuangzi, so large no one can say how far it stretches, and it turns, within the same passage, into a bird whose wings blot out the sky. Taiwan named its first homemade submarine after this creature.

Before the boat ever touched water, before a single piece was welded, it already carried a story about becoming something vast, far more than a 2,500-tonne submarine could realistically live up to. A supply chain Beijing could disrupt at any point was never going to live up to it either.

That gap between the name and the actual submarine is really the whole story of this program. The launch ceremony in September 2023 built a big public celebration on top of a name that already promised too much, and in the three years since, the celebration has moved faster than the shipyard.

Delivery keeps slipping. The president has boarded the boat for photos that were later used against him. The ceremony made a statement about Taiwan’s ability to defend itself, one that the submarine’s uncertain legal status, its thin and shared torpedo supply, and a follow-on fleet that mostly exists on paper have not yet been able to back up.

The Liturgy of Launch

President Tsai Ing-wen led the launch ceremony at CSBC’s shipyard in Kaohsiung on September 28, 2023. A flag was draped over the submarine’s bow. “History will forever remember this day,” she told the crowd. “In the past, a domestically produced submarine was considered a mission impossible. But today, a submarine designed and built by our countrymen is in front of you.”

Two weeks later, in her National Day speech, she went further: building a submarine at home, she said, had been the dream of Taiwanese presidents for three decades, and now Taiwan had done it. The claim had grown between the two speeches.

One boat was now standing in for thirty years of hope.

By January 2026, when the submarine completed its first dive, the crowd watching had changed too. It was no longer just officials. Ordinary people gathered and chanted “Let’s go, Hai Kun” as it went under. A government can organize a ceremony. It cannot make a crowd show up on its own to cheer a test dive. Whatever problems the program has had, public support for it is real, not just something manufactured from the top.

The ceremony is doing two jobs most countries never have to combine. Building a weapon shows what a country’s industry can do. Being recognized as a state usually needs no proof at all. Taiwan does not have that luxury. Every time the Hai Kun appears in public, it has to do both: show the submarine works, and quietly assert that the government building it has the right to build anything at all.

Three years is a long time to keep a single launch day feeling meaningful. The submarine was originally due to the Republic of China Navy in November 2025. That date has slipped again and again, most recently to sometime in the second half of 2026.

In March 2026, Defense Minister Wellington Koo told reporters the ministry would simply stop giving delivery dates. That’s an unusual thing for a government to admit about its own flagship project. The month before, President Lai told the legislature that Taiwan would be in a stronger position today if a submarine bid had passed back in 2005, when he was still a lawmaker.

It is rare for a sitting president to admit that his signature program is not really a new achievement, but two decades of catching up, done in public.

The ceremony’s own photos have since been used against it. When Lai visited the docked submarine in March 2026, the Presidential Office released photos meant to show confidence and progress. Within days, lawmakers pointed out problems visible in those same photos: missing rivets, water stains, a bunk curtain that would not slide properly.

CSBC admitted the flaws were real, blaming “incomplete restoration following work done.” That’s the shipbuilder’s own explanation, not a critic’s, and it gives away something more telling: the boat had been taken apart and put back together in a hurry, or with the assumption that no one would look too closely, and some pieces never quite made it back into place.

None of this affects whether the submarine can actually dive. What it affects is trust. The government’s own photos, meant to reassure, instead gave an already-doubtful legislature something concrete to point at.

One Hull, A Fleet Still Sung

CSBC has said plainly what these boats are for: making it costly for China to blockade Taiwan or land troops there, and pushing back Chinese carrier groups near the strait.

In short, the goal is not to control the strait outright but to make crossing it expensive. Keep that purpose in mind, because most of what follows is about how much of the fleet meant to do this job does not exist yet.

The number eight has carried a lot of weight in this program’s story ever since Taiwan formalized its plan to build eight submarines at home. CSBC’s chairman complicated that number in May. He said a US assessment of Taiwan’s situation puts the real need closer to twelve boats, based on the standard naval rule that a fleet needs about three hulls for everyone it can keep on active duty, since the rest are in training or repair.

Eight was the ceremony’s number. Twelve, according to the builder’s own account of what Washington thinks Taiwan needs, is the working number.

The torpedoes tell a similar story. Taiwan has a confirmed order for 28 Mark 48 Mod 6 torpedoes, 24 for combat and four for training, arriving in batches: four in 2026, fourteen in 2027, and ten in 2028.

These are not just for Hai Kun. They are to be shared with the two older Chien Lung-class submarines Taiwan bought from the Netherlands in the 1980s, which will likely still be in service when the new torpedoes arrive.

So a navy planning for eight modern submarines will, for years, be working with a torpedo supply sized for a much smaller, older fleet. A parallel case shows how wide that gap between paper and hardware can run: the navy has held a signed contract since 2017 to upgrade 168 lightweight MK-46 torpedoes, used by surface ships and patrol aircraft, to the newer MK-54 standard, originally due by 2022.

Audit findings released this year show it slipped to 2025 through 2027, arrived as scattered, undocumented parts the navy could not assemble into a single working torpedo, and sat for nearly three years after Washington flagged a 91 percent failure rate in the components, without the navy procuring replacements or reassessing the schedule.

Two of the seven follow-on submarines already have a signed contract, the first pair in a build sequence of two, three, and two boats, changed in 2024 from an earlier plan of three, two, and two so the navy could adjust later designs based on lessons from the first boat.

But the roughly one billion Taiwan dollars set aside for those two boats stays frozen until the Hai Kun finishes its sea trials and the defense ministry submits a full report to the legislature. The contract exists. The money does not move until the first boat proves itself.

Right now, the next stage of the fleet is a signature on paper, not steel in the yard.

None of this means the program is failing. Prototype submarines often run late and hit technical problems. Hai Kun’s technical setbacks during 2024 sea trials, and its recovery from them, are unremarkable by the standards of building a first-of-its-kind submarine.

What’s worth noticing instead is the gap between how the two sides of this story get told. The ceremony announced a fleet built to deny an enemy the strait. Three years later, the shipyard has one hull, a torpedo stock it shares with older boats, and a signed contract for two more submarines whose funding won’t move until the first one proves itself.

A state whose international standing partly depends on looking self-reliant has every reason to let the ceremony’s promises outpace the shipyard’s progress, because the political payoff comes the moment the cameras catch the launch, while the military payoff is only tested in a crisis nobody wants to see happen.

The Boats With No Liturgy

The contract for the first two follow-on submarines was signed quietly. No flag, no crowd, no presidential speech. That makes sense: there was no boat yet to photograph, and a ceremony needs something physical to celebrate, a hull, a hatch someone can climb through for the cameras.

A signature on a contract and a frozen budget line do not give a ceremony anything to work with, so nothing was held. The state stays loud about the one submarine it has and silent about the seven it has not.

That difference matters. The 2023 ceremony could afford to oversell, because the boat was real and would eventually prove the claims true or false in public, one sea trial at a time. The seven boats still on paper do not get that kind of scrutiny, because nobody is making loud claims about them yet. That sounds safer, but it might not be.

A promise made in public can be checked against reality, slowly and awkwardly, but checked. A promise never made in public can’t be checked at all. The part of the fleet we know least about is also the part we talk about least, and that’s probably not a coincidence.

A Congregation That Cannot Say Its Own Name

The ceremony has a second audience, one the launch event never addressed because it could not.

Components and technical help for Hai Kun came from engineers and firms in seven countries: Australia, Canada, India, Japan, Spain, the United Kingdom, and the United States. In several cases the work had to go through arm’s-length companies, because Beijing has long warned that any country helping Taiwan build a submarine would pay a diplomatic price.

None of these governments has stood at a podium beside Tsai or Lai to say what it contributed, a silence that likely protects each supplier’s relationship with Beijing more than it protects Taiwan’s submarine.

Taiwan can claim an internationally assisted, non-Red supply chain. It cannot name who took part, and those who did are not offering.

After the Music Stops

CSBC, Hai Kun’s builder, lost money on the submarine program because of delays and warranty costs. It returned to profit over the next two quarters, supported by both its commercial shipbuilding business and follow-on submarine contracts.

The two sides of the business help sustain each other.

The 2023 launch ceremony is not disproved simply because the navy has yet to receive the submarine. Ceremonies like this are not judged immediately. They are judged over time, as events either confirm or undermine their promises. But that process cannot continue indefinitely.

Every year the Hai Kun remains undelivered widens the gap between the optimism of the launch and the submarine still sitting in dry dock at Kaohsiung.

Eventually, reality catches up. The Hai Kun enters service, joins the fleet, and validates the ceremony in retrospect. Or the follow-on submarines never materialize, leaving the ceremony remembered more clearly than the capability it promised.

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: President Lai Ching-te inspects the Hai Kun. (Wikimedia Commons photo)

By Eleanor Gaudion and Michael Posey

American maritime strategy in the South China Sea often starts by counting ships. Planners must keep enough hulls forward to contest Beijing’s constant pressure and its excessive maritime claims. The number of ships matters because a Navy that is too small, too strained, or too delayed in maintenance cannot meet the demands of a global maritime power. Still, ship counts, or a fleet’s volume of tonnage, can pull the conversation in the wrong direction. In 2005, Admiral Michael Mullen, then the Chief of Naval Operations, argued for a 1,000-ship navy. However, the basis of his call was not “more hulls.” Instead, he envisioned a multinational “fleet-in-being” that leveraged international cooperation to achieve maritime domain awareness, mobility, and access.

Strategists often reduce Alfred Thayer Mahan to the apostle of fleets, commerce, bases, and command of the sea. His framework also emphasized the human element. In The Influence of Sea Power upon History, Mahan lists six principal conditions affecting sea power. The list includes geographical position, coastline accessibility, extent of territory, and population size, as well as the “character of the people” and the “character of the government.” Sea power cannot be pigeonholed as simply hulls and military strength afloat. It also depends on national habits, political will, maritime culture, institutions, and the human systems that allow ships to achieve strategic effects.

Mahan’s principles remain relevant in the South China Sea. The number of ships the United States has must be considered alongside where those ships can go, how long they can remain forward, and whether partners want them there. Access drives that problem. Access constitutes a range of possibilities, from overflight rights to permanent garrisons. It also includes the permissions and practical support that allow forces to enter, operate, replenish, repair, and work with partners. While basing gives a navy staying power, access enables presence.

The U.S. Navy does not need to match the People’s Liberation Army Navy’s local presence ship for ship in the South China Sea. Instead, the U.S. Navy needs access that links lawful operations at sea to port visits, exercises, repair arrangements, and partner relationships ashore. The human element of sea power, built on trust, access, and routine cooperation, turns ship presence into influence. The decisive factor in the South China Sea is not ship numbers or capabilities alone, but the human infrastructure of access, repair, and partner trust that allows ships to operate with purpose and endurance.

Port visits, recurring exercises, maintenance agreements, professional exchanges, or staff talks at a partner-nation headquarters may seem modest compared with carrier strike group operations or a shipbuilding plan. Yet routine interactions hold quiet, practical meaning, such as helping port authorities learn what a U.S. ship needs, helping commanders from different navies understand one another, and making a partner government more comfortable agreeing to future American requests. Though day-to-day formalities may seem insignificant, they can shape possibilities in the South China Sea in crisis or in conflict.

Naval campaigning blends hard and soft power, but the better frame for the South China Sea is the human element of sea power. Joseph Nye defines soft power as the ability to get desired outcomes through attraction and persuasion rather than coercion or payment. Smart power, an integrated strategy and toolkit that draws on both hard and soft power, aids planners in framing naval campaigning most effectively. While the concept helps, it should not distract from the practical maritime point: naval power works best when ships, ports, repair facilities, embassy teams, and partner navies reinforce one another through cultivated and sustained relationships.

The South China Sea Problem and Freedom of Navigation Operations

The South China Sea links the Pacific and Indian Oceans through vital trade routes. Roughly one-third of global shipping passes through it. China uses excessive legal claims, coast guard operations, maritime militia pressure, and the militarization of South China Sea features to routinize its presence and justify its claims. Although the 2016 arbitral tribunal rejected China’s expansive maritime claims, Beijing continues to press its position, as reflected in the Department of Defense’s 2024 China Military Power Report and CSIS reporting on Chinese coercive tactics at Second Thomas Shoal.

In the South China Sea, the United States does not need to chase every Chinese patrol. It needs to appear often enough, with enough purpose and enough partners, to render Chinese coercion ineffective. Freedom of navigation operations (FONOPs) remain necessary. These operations challenge excessive maritime claims, preserve legal positions, demonstrate operational access, and reassure partners that the United States will not treat coercive claims as settled facts. FONOPs matter for strategy and alliance politics, as they are lawful and legitimate, resting on treaty law, customary international law, and long-standing U.S. legal positions.

A recent example shows how they support the narrative of a “Free and Open Indo-Pacific.” In August 2025, USS Higgins conducted a freedom of navigation operation near Scarborough Shoal. Beijing claimed it had expelled the destroyer; the U.S. 7th Fleet rejected that claim and said Higgins operated in accordance with international law before continuing normal operations. USNI News, Reuters, and the Associated Press captured the ambiguity: a U.S. warship asserted navigational rights, while China sought to recast the same event as a sovereignty narrative.

Freedom of navigation operations do not build partner capacity on their own. They cannot repair ships or make access automatic. They work best when they are not one-off events. A legal challenge at sea should connect to the next port visit, the next exercise, the next repair arrangement, and the next conversation with a partner navy. When port partnerships are grounded in the human element of sea power, the logistics, operations, and wartime readiness of both navies stand to benefit.

Port Visits Are Strategic Acts

When new sailors visit a port, their leaders remind them that they are ambassadors. Some may hear that as a warning to behave ashore. Most understand that port visits also build relationships and continue service in another form. With timeless ceremony, liberty, public affairs, and diplomatic theater, port visits remind hosts that U.S. naval power arrives with people, expectations, and presence, not only steel. A 1921 Proceedings article described foreign port visits and official calls as routine duties involving courtesy, ceremony, and relations with foreign officials. Likewise, a warship entering port by invitation shows that the host government has chosen to cooperate with the United States.

A port visit alone, even to a country with close ties to Beijing, will not deter China. Port visits, however, can make deterrence more politically sustainable. A ship in port gives visible proof that the United States is welcomed and able to operate with partners. Port visits also create human contact that a communique cannot replicate. Commanders meet their counterparts. Supply officers and port authorities learn requirements and test procedures. Defense relationships become personal.

Vietnam and Malaysia show how cautious partners can still create room for maritime cooperation. The USS Carl Vinson’s 2018 visit to Da Nang marked the first U.S. aircraft carrier visit to Vietnam in more than forty years, and the USS Ronald Reagan Carrier Strike Group visited Vietnam in 2023. The USS Abraham Lincoln’s 2024 port call at Port Klang was the first U.S. carrier visit to Malaysia in 12 years. These visits did not transform Vietnam or Malaysia into U.S. allies. Their contribution is more modest, and more useful: they make cooperation visible and routine without forcing partners into a binary choice.

Port visits to the Philippines convey a different message. As a U.S. treaty ally directly exposed to Chinese pressure, the Philippines is increasingly vital to the U.S. posture in the South China Sea. The U.S.-Philippines Bilateral Defense Guidelines describe the importance of alliance coordination, including access to agreed locations under the Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement. Even in the Philippines, U.S. Navy access depends on domestic politics, public trust, alliance management, and a shared sense that American presence contributes to Philippine security rather than simply serving American requirements.

The Philippines also illustrates why access must be handled carefully. After a port call and fuel stop in Subic, USS Guardian ran aground on Tubbataha Reef in 2013, damaging a protected site and forcing the Navy to dismantle the ship in place. The United States later paid the Philippines nearly $2 million for damage to the reef. Access is a privilege sustained by discipline, local awareness, and strategic empathy for the host nation.

Relationships Become Access

Access, basing, and overflight do not appear automatically when a crisis begins. They are built over time through trust, repeated contact, legal arrangements, mutual benefit, and political confidence. Security cooperation helps build trust conditions that contribute to access, basing, and overflight outcomes. Military access to allies and partners in the Indo-Pacific could shape the outcome of a conflict, and lower-level peacetime access, such as overflight and logistics, can matter even if combat access remains politically sensitive.

In a crisis, governments rarely grant access to strangers. They are more likely to grant it to people and institutions they already know, and to forces they trust will act with discipline. That trust is built through exercises, exchanges, port calls, staff talks, coast guard engagements, logistics planning, and professional military relationships. The relationships built now shape which access decisions are politically possible in a time of crisis.

This is where the human element of sea power matters most. The United States should not treat naval operations, diplomacy, economic cooperation, and sustainment as work done in separate rooms by separate people. A port visit can open the door for a multinational or bilateral exercise. Exercises can reveal logistics requirements and test assumptions. A logistics agreement can facilitate future access for repairs. Repair cooperation can generate economic benefits. Political support can create access during a crisis.

The Indo-Pacific will not follow a NATO template anytime soon. Instead, each relationship must be nuanced and bilateral to deliver the best outcomes for both countries. Vietnam and Malaysia may offer political access and maritime diplomacy. The Philippines may provide operational access, geography, and alliance-enabled logistics. Meanwhile, Japan, Singapore, South Korea, and Australia are stronger candidates for maintenance, repair, replenishment, and industrial support. The United States must continue to work with each partner on what they can actually support.

Japan’s value to this network could extend even further. In a Foreign Affairs interview, Oriana Skylar Mastro argued that Japan fighting alongside the United States in a regional conflict from the start rather than shifting to a later supporting role could strengthen deterrence. Japan’s geographically forward-positioned ports enable a much shorter response timeline. The speed advantage would not be a function of hull numbers, but instead a function of years of exercises, staff talks, and routine interactions that have facilitated Japan’s response rather than requiring negotiation in a time of crisis. Routine human interaction leads to familiarity, which leads to fast, credible ally responses.

Maintenance Enables Maritime Influence

Presence breaks down when ships cannot be repaired, replenished, or politically sustained. A ship that can be repaired forward returns to operations faster. A ship that must transit long distances for maintenance pays a tax in time, fuel, and availability. A fleet tied to a few fixed facilities becomes easily targetable and narrows its own options. Delayed maintenance imposes real readiness costs.

The Navy already relies on forward repair in several places. Naval Sea Systems Command describes the Ship Repair Facility and Japan Regional Maintenance Center as keeping the Seventh Fleet mission-ready from Yokosuka and Sasebo. At the same time, its Singapore detachment supports repair work across the region. Australia is developing the Henderson Defense Precinct to support naval shipbuilding and sustainment. In South Korea, the Navy reported that USNS Wally Schirra completed major maintenance in 2025.

Forward sustainment already exists in pieces. The Navy already thinks in terms of refuel, rearm, resupply, repair, and revive, and it already uses forward repair facilities, allied shipyards, and partner access. But the Western Pacific demands a more integrated approach to logistics, resupply, and sustainment than the current system provides.

History reinforces the point. Mahan is sometimes reduced to a “more ships” (or bigger fleet) thinker. Still, The Influence of Sea Power Upon History was also about commerce, bases, maritime infrastructure, and national systems that enable fleets to operate over long distances. World War II offers an even more practical example. In the early 1940s, Service Squadron Ten performed many functions of an advanced naval base in the Pacific, supporting voyage repairs and helping return ships to service without sending every damaged vessel back across the ocean. But that access did not appear by magic. At Ulithi, survey work, pontoon piers, repair ships, floating dry docks, tenders, welders, carpenters, electricians, shipfitters, and command and control arrangements turned a lagoon into a functioning forward base. Although the contemporary Indo-Pacific differs, the lesson still holds: maritime power depends on forward sustainment, and forward sustainment depends on relationships, access, skilled people, and political preparation.

Economic Cooperation Makes Presence Less Extractive

Partners cannot see themselves as being taken advantage of, as it neither serves them nor American interests. Ship repair, port infrastructure, workforce development, technical training, logistics contracts, maritime domain awareness support, and industrial partnerships can help partners build capacity while improving American endurance.

The Indo-Pacific Maritime Security Initiative supports partner maritime security and human capital development. In the Philippines, the U.S. Embassy’s transfer of mobile energy systems to Palawan demonstrates how partner-capacity efforts can connect infrastructure, resilience, and maritime access in a contested area. Allied participation in maintenance, repair, overhaul, and shipbuilding cooperation offers one path for strengthening endurance. Japanese shipyards could serve as forward maintenance hubs, improving readiness and creating stable demand for Japanese industry. These initiatives enable shared maritime endurance: more repair options for the United States, more work and capacity for partners, and fewer single points of failure for everyone.

The Human Infrastructure of Maritime Power

The United States should think of relationships as maritime infrastructure. Ports, drydocks, logistics hubs, legal agreements, and maintenance facilities matter. Behind each of them are people: port officials, shipyard workers, diplomats, logisticians, naval officers, coast guards, local political leaders, embassy teams, and sailors who have interacted with one another before a crisis. This kind of infrastructure is easy to miss because it does not appear to be a source of combat power and does not appear in fleet-size comparisons or shipbuilding plans. However, in a crisis, it may determine whether ships can enter port, whether repairs can be made, whether logistics can flow, whether partners accept political risk, and whether American presence is seen as legitimate.

Some of the great strategic thinkers can help us understand the importance of the human element of sea power. Clausewitz reminds us that military action remains connected to political intercourse, not divorced from it. Mahan reminds us that sea power depends on commerce, bases, national systems, and the ashore infrastructure that allows fleets to operate across distance. Corbett reminds us that maritime strategy is about communications and movement, not simply occupying ocean space. James Cable’s theory of naval diplomacy reminds us that navies are political instruments below the threshold of war, using limited naval power to secure advantage or avert loss. In sum, maritime presence is not created by hulls alone. It is created by relationships, permissions, habits, and support networks that allow hulls to have political effects.

China’s advantage in the South China Sea is proximity and persistence. The United States draws its advantage from a network of allies and partners, global mobility, operational experience, and legitimacy when it acts in defense of lawful maritime use. The U.S. advantage must be cultivated as the competition for the South China Sea remains a contest over whose presence is more legitimate, sustainable, and politically useful.

China understands the logic of employing the human element of sea power. In Cambodia, Beijing has financed the expansion of the Ream Naval Base, rotating Chinese ships through its pier, and framing the arrangement as a mutual-benefit partnership rather than a foreign outpost. This comparison is instructive rather than reassuring. Cambodia’s government insists that Ream remains open to any friendly navy, yet years of opacity about the terms of access open a door to Beijing and Phnom Penh familiarity that could prove impactful in wartime. That uncertainty, or strategic ambiguity, can be useful to China, yet also points to an opportunity for the U.S. While China’s version of relationship building runs through dependency and quiet leverage, the American version depends on a wider set of partners who retain the standing and political space to say no. The United States does not win the human element of the sea by default. It wins by ensuring its access is transparent, consensual, and reciprocal in ways that Beijing’s arrangements are not.

While these behaviors reflect diplomacy and logistics, they also constitute sea power. Ships cannot exercise influence where they cannot enter, repair, or remain. The U.S. Navy does not lack port visits, exercises, or repair arrangements, but sometimes these activities are treated as separate events rather than as parts of the same maritime campaign.

Implications for Maritime Planners

Navy and joint planners should plan port visits as campaign events rather than courtesy calls. The Navy sets a theater by increasing its access to key terrain, such as ports near a chokepoint. Therefore, a port visit should do more than put sailors ashore and generate photos. It should test access, build relationships, support public diplomacy, reveal logistics friction, and set conditions for the next engagement. It should create relationships across ranks and functions to encourage a port-wide familiarity that can be called upon in times of uncertainty.

Planners should also map access by function. Some locations may support port visits and replenishment. Others may support exercises, crew rest, voyage repair, emergent maintenance, drydock work, or contracted sustainment. Not every partner is a base. Not every port is a repair hub. Nevertheless, many can still contribute to the overall campaign.

Finally, planners should integrate operations, diplomacy, economics, and sustainment into a single maritime campaign. Freedom of navigation operations, exercises, port visits, repair agreements, senior-leader engagements, and partner-capacity efforts should build on one another rather than stand alone.

Conclusion: Ships Need People

The United States needs a ready fleet, a stronger maritime industrial base, and enough ships to meet global commitments. Shipbuilding, maintenance reform, and industrial revitalization still anchor U.S. maritime power, as the Department of Defense’s National Defense Industrial Strategy also makes clear. Ships alone, however, will not secure American influence in the South China Sea.

The future of U.S. maritime presence will depend on where ships can go, how long they can stay, whether partners welcome them, and whether they can be repaired and sustained forward. Those conditions are built through people. Port visits, exercises, maintenance cooperation, and professional exchanges may seem ordinary, but they build trust, test assumptions, and enable future operations.

Mahan’s “character of the people” was not a decorative phrase. It points to the habits, confidence, discipline, and political will that allow maritime power to endure. In the South China Sea, that character will not be measured only by the number of ships the United States builds. It will also be measured by whether the United States can build the trust and access that allow those ships to matter.

The United States cannot match China’s proximity-driven presence ship-for-ship in the South China Sea. It does not need to. The better task is to show up consistently, operate lawfully, sustain forward, and do so alongside partners who see American presence as legitimate and useful. The human element of sea power begins with a simple recognition: ships need ports, ports need trust, and trust begins with people.

Eleanor Gaudion is a graduate of the University of Virginia with a B.A. in Foreign Affairs with a focus in intelligence and military relations. She previously served as an intern at the U.S. Army War College, revising national security wargaming scenarios for students.

Michael Posey is an active-duty Naval Flight Officer. He holds business degrees from Carnegie Mellon University and the University of Florida. He is a doctoral candidate in education at Pennsylvania State University. Currently, he serves as an assistant professor and the Admiral William F. Halsey Chair of Naval Studies at the U.S. Army War College.

The views expressed in this article are those of the authors alone and do not necessarily reflect those of the U.S. Army War College, the U.S. Army, the U.S. Navy, or the Department of War.

Featured image: Rear Adm. Eric Anduze, commander, Task Force 70 and Carrier Strike Group 5, shakes hands with a member of the Vietnamese military during Nimitz-class aircraft carrier USS George Washington’s (CVN 73) regularly scheduled port visit in Da Nang, Vietnam, July 30, 2026. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist Seaman Anthony Vilardi) 

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)

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.

4. 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.
5. 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)