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Strategy

Why America Needs a Four-Ocean Navy

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By Derek S. Reveron

Rethinking America’s Strategic Map

When Americans think about how the United States engages the world, we instinctively reach for maps. Our government bureaucracies are organized this way: regional bureaus at the State Department, unified commands at the Department of Defense, and component commands within the Navy. We have neatly drawn boundaries that shape policy debates, strategy, and force development decisions.1

But the world does not organize itself along U.S. bureaucratic seams. Commerce, data, and adversaries cut across regions. Revising the Unified Command Plan (the classified document that assigns missions, responsibilities, and geographic areas to U.S. combatant commands), empowering commands as global integrators, or giving commands global authorities does not change reality. Warships, commercial shipping, and fishing fleets operate across oceans. Yet, warships face different threats across different regions and are assigned different missions. The modern Caribbean is relatively benign with a focus on targeting small fast craft, the Indian Ocean can be non-permissive with a focus on major combat operations, and the Mediterranean is close to allies with ships focused on high-end ballistic missile defense and land attack.

For part of the twentieth century, the United States solved this problem by building what Franklin Roosevelt in 1940 called a “two-ocean Navy,” providing enough ships to operate within the Atlantic and the Pacific.2 Beginning in the 1930s and culminating in 1940, Congress passed the Two-Ocean Navy Act, which authorized an unprecedented expansion of shipyards that enabled the Navy to innovate and scale up to equip a fleet for each ocean.3 While it was a historically large naval expansion, it also provides a contemporary lens to inform fleet design.

Given the scope of national security today, the U.S. cannot afford to build enough warships, the industrial base could not build said warships even if resources were available, and a globe-oriented fleet would be inadequate. Multi-purpose ships ready to operate everywhere leads to overmatch when destroyers interdict dhows in the Gulf of Aden or drug boats in the Caribbean and undermatch when contemplating the defense of Taiwan. Simply, today’s approach to fleet design does not work. A globally dispersed Navy deprives the Pacific Ocean region of needed forces while increasing strain on ships and crews, reducing service life, and undermining needed investment in the Pacific theater that defines future high-end naval warfare.

History points toward a solution but reverting to a two-ocean fleet is not adequate. The Indian Ocean has emerged as a third, distinct ocean of operations and the Arctic Ocean is a growing fourth ocean.4 Further, the challenges in the Atlantic and the Pacific are not the same. It is time to expand our map and update our concept of the prevailing strategic framework for naval power. A four-ocean Navy organized around the Atlantic, Arctic, Indian, and Pacific oceans offers a clearer way to think about America’s role in the world, aligns missions with geography, takes advantage of the partner network that can contribute to U.S. national security, clarifies force design requirements, and buys the right kinds of ships optimized for each theater.

Why an Ocean Lens?

Oceans are the connective tissue of the international system. The global economy floats on tankers and moves by container, pulses through fiber optic cables laid on the seafloor, and depends on freedom of navigation across the oceans. Hydrocarbons, rare earths, and manufactured goods cross oceans daily. The coffee we drink, the shoes we wear, and the computers we use arrive by sea.

Oceans are also the medium through which rivals project power. China’s Belt and Road Initiative has an unmistakably maritime dimension with port access across the Indian Ocean to the Horn of Africa, creating a new maritime silk road.5 China and Russia seek access routes through the Arctic to link the Atlantic and Pacific. Iran and non-state actors routinely threaten shipping transiting critical maritime chokepoints affecting Indian Ocean commerce.

However, American bureaucracies and strategies often obscure these realities. The Indian Ocean, for example, is carved up among three different combatant commands and multiple State Department bureaus. No single U.S. commander or policymaker has full responsibility. Ships chop across theaters, but the planners inadvertently create blind spots and miss opportunities. By contrast, an oceanic lens forces planners to look at connectivity through maritime missions rather than administrative boundaries.

An oceanic lens provides clarity and simplicity since it reflects how the world works. It is also a way to optimize the fleet for the missions it conducts since equipping the Navy with enough high-end, multi-purpose ships has proven to be impossible. For example, using an Arleigh Burke–class destroyer for every mission, regardless of threat environment, creates costly inefficiencies. Deploying one of the Navy’s most advanced warships to conduct counter-drug patrols in the benign Caribbean, maritime security operations in the permissive Mediterranean, and air defense missions in the contested Indian Ocean misaligns capabilities and requirements.

The most sophisticated warships are not needed everywhere; using them for low-threat operations accelerates wear, drains resources, and reduces availability for missions where their advanced systems are essential. Unmanned systems and partnering with capable allies can perform many of the lower-end tasks more effectively and at a far lower cost. Reframing our force design through the lens of a four-ocean Navy clarifies where to concentrate high-end capabilities and sets priorities for industry that has not been able to adapt when futuristic warships do not align with an assumed future.

Warship acquisition is a wager on the character of future operations, and when strategic assumptions shift, production plans fail. The Seawolf-class submarine was designed for sustained Cold War undersea competition, but the Soviet collapse reduced the program to three hulls. The Zumwalt-class destroyer, built around expectations of land-attack dominance and technological overmatch, fell from thirty-two planned ships to three amid cost growth and changing operational priorities. The Littoral Combat Ship reflected post-9/11 assumptions about modularity and irregular warfare in littoral environments, yet survivability concerns led to truncated procurement and decommissioning. The Constellation-class frigate was also cancelled in favor of “more readily producible ships.”6

The Missions of a Four-Ocean Navy

A four-ocean Navy begins with understanding missions the President expects the Navy to conduct. Each ocean represents a distinct strategic environment with its own geography, chokepoints, threats, and partner networks. The Atlantic and Arctic Oceans are primarily anti-submarine warfare (ASW), missile defense, and maritime security theaters to protect the homeland. The Indian Ocean is primarily a sea lines of communication (SLOC) protection and maritime interdiction theater to secure global trade, and land attack in support of U.S. Central Command. The Pacific Ocean is primarily a combined operations and power projection theater to deter or defeat Chinese and North Korean aggression.

Defending the Homeland

The Atlantic Ocean links the United States to its European allies. During the Cold War, U.S. naval strategy emphasized transatlantic reinforcement through convoys. Anti-submarine warfare was a critical Navy mission to protect convoys and to check Soviet submarines. ASW capabilities atrophied in the wake of Soviet collapse, but Russia’s submarine fleet is back and represents a formidable challenge in the North Atlantic.7 The Arctic also opens new avenues for Russia to pressure North America, which helps explain the administration’s interest in stronger links with allies Denmark and Canada.

However, the Atlantic is not just about Europe and Russia. To the south, the Caribbean and South Atlantic generate unique missions. The Navy and Coast Guard patrol the Caribbean to disrupt illicit trafficking networks that move drugs, weapons, and people. These missions support partner governments in Central America and the Caribbean who have a shared interest in reducing illicit trafficking. In the South Atlantic, the Navy works with its Brazilian, Argentine, and other partners to build maritime capacity, deter illegal fishing and trafficking, and reinforce hemispheric stability.

With these missions in mind, the Atlantic Fleet requires ships specialized for ASW and escort missions as well as smaller ships for maritime interdiction operations. Frigates, destroyers, and attack submarines matter most in the North Atlantic and can take advantage of American and Canadian ports for logistics. Maritime patrol aircraft complement these surface and subsurface forces. The Arctic requires persistent presence, cold-weather hardening, and under-ice capabilities.

For the Caribbean and South Atlantic, small surface combatants and unmanned systems provide affordable and effective presence that can interface with partners who operate similar platforms. Given the friendly logistics environment, cheaper diesel submarines can also operate in the Western Hemisphere, freeing up more expensive nuclear submarines for the Pacific, and can be sourced from U.S. allies who excel in building modern diesel-electric submarines.8

Securing the Arteries of Global Trade

The Indian Ocean is busy maritime space.9 It carries energy from the Arabian Gulf to Asia and manufactured goods from Asia to Europe. It is also the ocean where China’s maritime presence is expanding most rapidly, with port agreements stretching from Sri Lanka to East Africa.10 China’s state-owned enterprises have been building commercial connections in the Middle East and Africa with its Navy following its trade.

The Indian Ocean is also a frequent site of natural disasters and humanitarian crises. Amphibious ships and logistics vessels are uniquely capable of delivering rapid aid, supporting stability, and showcasing American goodwill. The demise of the Agency of International Development portends increased calls for Navy assistance as these missions reinforce alliances and prevent adversaries from filling vacuums when governments teeter.

The Indian Ocean Fleet requires ships optimized for endurance, presence, and rapid response. Logistics ships, replenishment oilers, and mobile bases are essential to support power projection in the Middle East. Amphibious ships, destroyers, and patrol craft support diverse missions from humanitarian assistance and disaster response (HA/DR) to counter-piracy. Coalition operations with India, Australia, France, and Gulf states amplify presence.

Deterring a Peer Competitor with Allied Multipliers

The Pacific Ocean remains the most likely theater for high-end naval warfare. For the last eighty years, the Navy has deterred major war in this region. While tensions subsided in the 1990s, China’s navy is now the largest in the world and supports an aggressive national security policy. Beijing is expanding its reach into the South China Sea and pressing its claims against U.S. allies. Taiwan remains the most acute flashpoint, but Chinese harassment of Japan and the Philippines also create demands on the Navy. North Korea adds volatility to the region, and Russia maintains a Pacific fleet presence able to reinforce the PLA Navy.

To be sure, the Pacific Ocean Fleet requires the Navy’s most advanced and combat-ready platforms. Aircraft carriers remain indispensable for forward strike and achieving air superiority when needed. Nuclear attack submarines provide unique capabilities, and as William Toti emphasized, “you can’t win without (more) submarines.”11 Amphibious assault ships also enable Marine operations, which are fielding missile systems to hold PLAN assets at risk. This forward posture maximizes combat power where it matters most—maintaining balance against China’s growing maritime capabilities.

Crucially, the United States is not alone in this mission. Japan and South Korea field their own Aegis-equipped destroyers, which are interoperable with U.S. platforms. This creates a force multiplier of shared sensors, integrated missile defense networks, and combined fleet operations. Together, the allies can pool capabilities to defend against North Korean and Chinese missiles, share intelligence to track and engage China’s surface ships, and coordinate operations across the region. This allied integration makes the Pacific Ocean Fleet stronger than the sum of its parts.

A central virtue of the four-ocean Navy is that it saves money while improving readiness by considering operating environments that vary from the relatively benign Caribbean to the potentially hostile Pacific. This conceptual lens aligns missions and force structure, allocates resources efficiently, and takes advantage of allies’ support and technology. Not every mission requires a $13-billion aircraft carrier and not every region needs a $4.5 billion nuclear submarine. By tailoring fleets to ocean missions, we can prioritize platforms and crews for deployment to one of four oceans. In short, the four-ocean Navy avoids the trap of being everywhere with everything while preserving global reach.

Congress and the Four-Ocean Navy Act of 2026

Congress is an essential partner in Navy force development through appropriations and promotes continuity across administrations through members’ longevity and their staffs. In 1940, Congress passed the Two-Ocean Navy Act with remarkable strategic foresight that delivered the Navy that won World War II. Today, we face a similar inflection point. Just as 1940 demanded a new framework, the 250th anniversary of independence in 2026 offers an opportunity to legislate a Four-Ocean Navy Act. Congress can reaffirm America’s global maritime leadership by anchoring naval strategy in all four oceans. By disaggregating the global Navy concept to four oceans, it also offers a fair chance to build fleets that can meet mission requirements.

Such an act would:

  • Formally recognize the Atlantic, Arctic, Indian, and Pacific as co-equal theaters of American naval strategy.
  • Direct the Department of Navy to structure fleets, budgets, and procurement with oceanic missions in mind.
  • Authorize balanced procurement of frigates and diesel-electric submarines for the Atlantic Ocean, icebreakers and underwater capabilities for the Arctic, amphibious and logistics ships for the Indian Ocean, and sustained investment in carriers and nuclear submarines for the Pacific Ocean.
  • Signal to allies and adversaries that the US intends to remain the world’s leading maritime power through optimized ships it can build and Sailors it can train.

In short, a Four-Ocean Navy Act would demonstrate that America’s 250th birthday is not only about reflecting on history, but about charting a confident course for the next century. As BJ Armstrong wrote, “U.S. naval power—and its strength relative to other nations or navies—is instead a choice to be made by the American people through the actions of their elected representatives.”12 This is a maritime century, but to thrive in it, America must choose to participate.

America’s strategic map must change. The two-ocean Navy of the past secured victory in World War II and sustained deterrence preventing great power conflict throughout the Cold War. With the inability to field high-end, multipurpose warships globally, we need a four-ocean Navy that recognizes the Atlantic, Arctic, Indian, and Pacific as distinct theaters with unique requirements. This is a call for clarity: matching missions to oceans and tailoring warships with crews to oceans.

Derek S. Reveron is Professor of National Security Affairs at the U.S. Naval War College and Faculty Affiliate at the Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs.

The views expressed here are those of the author alone and do not necessarily represent the views, policies, or positions of the U.S. Department of Defense or its components, to include the Department of the Navy or the U.S. Naval War College. 

References

1. Gvosdev, Nikolas K. and Derek S. Reveron, “Geography, Bureaucracy, and National Security: The New Map,” Foreign Policy Research Institute, July 20, 2023.

2. Curzon, Daniel, Eric Perinovic, Tyler Pitrof, and Shawn Woodford, Navy Force Planning and Design, 1933-2019, Naval History and Heritage Command, 2025.

3. Symonds, Craig L., American Naval History: A Very Short Introduction, Very Short Introductions (New York, 2018; online edn, Oxford Academic, 24 May 2018).

4. Baruah, Darshana M. The Contest for the Indian Ocean: And the Making of a New World Order. Yale University Press, 2024.

5. Funaiole, Michael P. and Jonathan E. Hillman, “China’s Maritime Silk Road Initiative: Economic Drivers and Challenges,” Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), April 2, 2018

6. Sam LaGrone,” Navy Cancels Constellation-class Frigate Program, Considering New Small Surface Combatants,” November 25, 2025. https://news.usni.org/2025/11/25/navy-cancels-constellation-class-frigate-program-considering-new-small-surface-combatants

7. Foggo III, James, and Alarik Fritz. 2016. “The Fourth Battle of the Atlantic.” United States Naval Institute. Proceedings 142 (6): 18.

8. Spector, Jordan A. “The Path to a Bigger Submarine Fleet Includes Diesels.” Proceedings 151, no. 10, October 2025.

9. Shrikhande, Sudarshan. 2025. “Another Turbulent Year in the Indian Ocean.” United States Naval Institute. Proceedings 151 (5): 1.

10. Kardon, Isaac (2021) “Research & Debate—Pier Competitor: Testimony on China’s Global Ports,” Naval War College Review: Vol. 74: No. 1, Article 11.

11. Toti, William. 2023. “You Can’t Win Without (More) Submarines.” United States Naval Institute. Proceedings 149 (12).

12. Armstrong, Benjamin. 2021. “American Naval Dominance Is Not a Birthright.” United States Naval Institute. Proceedings 147 (9).

Featured Image: USS George H.W. Bush (CVN-77) transits the Atlantic Ocean in its final rounds of exercises prior to deployment, Feb. 15, 2026. (U.S. Navy photo)

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)

Strategic Outlook

Driving Toward Distributed Maritime Operations: Getting the Navy Out of Its VLS Hole

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By Peter Kouretsos

The Department of War is addressing its critical shortfall in precision munitions, but it also needs more platforms capable of using them. This is especially true for the U.S. Navy. As the number of missile-equipped vessels shrinks, the Navy risks sailing into a dangerous trough, just as operational demands in the Indo-Pacific grow. To prepare for a more dangerous world and continue on its course of distributed maritime operations, the Navy could take steps to grow and make better use of its missile shooters.

The Navy faces at least three challenges for its missile shooters. First, in a high intensity fight, current vertical launch system (VLS) capacity may be insufficient to sustain operations, as ships risk rapid magazine depletion and could face challenges reloading in contested waters. Second, the defense industrial base struggles to keep missile production at pace with requirements. Third, much of the Navy’s missile capacity is concentrated in its cruiser and destroyer fleet; while these ships carry significant firepower for high-intensity operations, their loss—or even temporary withdrawal—would greatly reduce the fleet’s strike capacity. Each of these problems is interconnected, and addressing them all will require serious attention and investment. This article focuses on the first challenge—the number and distribution of VLS cells—and specifically what can be done with surface ships in the near term. While imperfect, the surface navy remains the workhorse of the fleet, and enhancing its strike and defensive capacity is an immediate way for the Navy to buy back combat power in this decade.

Source: Author’s calculations from US Navy, USNI News, IISS (The Military Balance). Figure 1: If not for the delayed retirements of older ships and deliveries of newer ones, including a handful of new Virginia-class submarines during this period, the situation would be much worse. Note: CG = guided missile cruiser, DDG = guided missile destroyer.1

The Decline in Surface and Undersea VLS Capacity

One of the clearest indicators of naval firepower is the number of VLS cells across the fleet. These cells house everything from Tomahawks to Standard Missiles, and are an important part of the Navy’s offensive and defensive operations. But the Navy’s VLS capacity has been shrinking. As of early 2025, the Navy’s approximately 9,000 VLS are concentrated primarily in Arleigh Burke-class destroyers and Ticonderoga-class cruisers, and submarines (primarily Virginia-class nuclear-powered attack submarines (SSNs) and Ohio-class nuclear-powered guided missile submarines (SSGNs)), but the imminent retirement of cruisers and SSGNs represents a continued drop in total launchers, one that new construction alone will not significantly offset anytime soon. By the 2027-2028 time frame, the Navy will have fewer launchers at sea than it did in 2020—despite more demanding operational requirements.

Source: Author’s calculations from IISS (The Military Balance), US Navy. Figure 2: The Navy’s VLS capacity is concentrated in large surface ships and large payload submarines.2

This decline is especially troubling given the so-called “Davidson Window,” deadline by which the People’s Republic of China’s President Xi Jinping charged the People’s Liberation Army to be prepared for invading and capturing Taiwan. In any Indo-Pacific crisis, the Navy’s surface ships and submarines would be among the first U.S. forces to respond. Yet only a fraction of overall VLS capacity is forward-deployed west of the International Date Line. U.S. Seventh Fleet controls roughly 10–14 destroyers and cruisers and 8–12 submarines at any given time—facing a regional adversary operating close to home with shorter supply lines and faster reinforcement timelines.

The second problem is that deliveries of new destroyers and Virginia-class Block V submarines will eventually replenish lost capacity, but under today’s schedules, those platforms will not make a meaningful impact on missile inventories until well into the 2030s. Much has been written on the state of the submarine industrial base and efforts to improve its maintenance and production backlogs, but any further delays in Virginia Block V and future variant deliveries could extend the strike gap (see Figure 3). In the meantime, the Navy has demonstrated concepts for at-sea reloading of VLS cells, but these methods remain cumbersome and limited by weather, sea state, and operational risk. At-sea reloads will require ships to operate in relatively calm waters—often away from the fight—slowing the fleet’s ability to sustain fires in a peer conflict.

Source: Author’s calculations from IISS (The Military Balance), U.S. Navy. Figure 3: Today more than half of the Navy’s total undersea strike capacity resides in 4 submarines, all expected to retire soon. Note: VA = Virginia Class SSN, LA = Los Angeles Class SSN, SSGN = Ohio-class SSGN. Note: Future Block V and VI Virginia class SSNs with the Virginia Payload Module (VPM) will be capable of deploying up to 28 additional Tomahawk cruise missiles or 12 CPS hypersonic missiles.

The Math of Winchester

A rough estimate of the U.S. Seventh Fleet figures discussed earlier suggests there could be about 1,600 VLS cells in the western Pacific at any given time. Assuming half of the surface capacity is reserved for defensive use and all undersea capacity is assumed to be offensive, only about 950 cells are available for offensive strike.3 That might sound like a lot, but it is not much of a margin. Most targets—especially more heavily defended ones—require multiple missiles to ensure an adequate probability of arrival and probability of kill, even in a precision world. A few salvos could leave the fleet “Winchester”—out of weapons and forced to withdraw.4 A shot doctrine of “shoot, look, shoot” or “shoot, shoot, look, shoot” while intended to conserve inventory, could quickly deplete a ship’s VLS magazine. That is not an abstract risk: in a contested environment, inability to sustain offensive pressure would push U.S. naval forces off the front line. The credibility of conventional deterrence depends not just on showing up, but on staying in the fight.

Momentum Before 2030

Faced with the dilemma of losing so much VLS capacity above and below the surface during a high-profile threat window, the Navy appears to be taking steps to address this looming gap. It announced plans to extend the service life of three Ticonderoga-class cruisers and twelve Flight I Arleigh Burke-class destroyers into the 2030s. If the Navy follows this plan, these delayed retirements—combined with new ship deliveries—could help VLS inventories reach pre-2020 levels by the end of the decade (see Figure 4). When these and other ships retire in the mid to late 2030s, Flight III Arleigh Burke-class and other vessel deliveries should help prevent significant declines in VLS capacity. Given the current state of the submarine industrial base, solutions for preserving and adding VLS capacity in the surface fleet appear more promising and achievable.

Source: Author’s calculations from IISS (The Military Balance), U.S. Navy. Figure 4: Navy plans to extend the service lives of select Ticonderoga-class cruisers and Flight I Arleigh Burke-class destroyers could help pad VLS counts, buying time for capable future ships to enter service.

The Navy is also taking steps to up-gun other ships. In October 2019, the first Independence-class Littoral Combat Ship (LCS) received two 4-cell canisters containing the Naval Strike Missile, which now reportedly has a range of greater than 300 km. By FY 2023 these were installed on eight ships, and there are plans to outfit the whole class of fifteen by FY 2026. Similar plans have been announced for ten Freedom-class LCSs. While these platforms do not match the punch of cruisers or destroyers, every additional shooter adds complexity for adversaries and depth to U.S. strike options. A more flexible launcher option to allow these vessels to carry other payloads for longer range, multi-mission strike and self-defense capability would go a long way to building out the Navy’s distributed maritime operations concept and complicating adversary plans.

A more ambitious and promising approach lies in containerized launchers. For example, the Navy recently tested and installed a MK 70 payload delivery system (PDS) on an LCS, and plans to install them on additional hulls, including uncrewed surface vessels. Based on the Army’s mid-range capability Typhon launcher, each 40 foot container can carry four Tomahawk- or Standard Missile-sized VLS weapons. While this might not amount to much at an individual level, launchers like the MK 70, Adaptable Deck Launcher (ADL), and other containerized launchers can be installed on most ships, including DDGs, LCS, and even amphibious ships and auxiliaries, without extensive modification. If widely deployed—three MK 70 per LCS, two MK 70 per amphib, six ADL per destroyer—containerized systems could add over 1,000 missile launch cells to the fleet by 2028 (see Figure 5).

Source: IISS, The Military Balance; U.S. Navy; USNI News; publicly available information from Lockheed Martin and BAE Systems. Figure 5: Outfitting more Navy ships with containerized missiles could add 1,000+ missile capacity to its Battle Force by 2028, buying time for capable future vessels to enter service. Note: MK 70 = MK 70 Payload Delivery System PDS, ADL = Adaptable Deck Launcher. Note: Assumes 3x MK 70 on LCS, as shown by Lockheed Martin. Assumes 2x Mk-70 on Amphibious Warfare vessels, to preserve room for flight operations; Assumes gradual integration of 6x 2-cell ADL on DDGs, as shown by BAE Systems.

These systems bring additional operational flexibility. Containerized launchers could be loaded onto vessels as needed based on the mission, allowing the Navy to quickly surge strike capacity in response to a crisis. Ships that might otherwise play only a supporting role in wartime—such as fast transports, amphibious command ships, or Military Sealift Command vessels—could carry launchers and operate as arsenal ships in lower-threat environments. This approach broadens the base of missile shooters without requiring new hull designs or major redesigns.

Simpler Reloads, Smarter Fires

Containerized launchers also offer a more flexible approach to reloading at sea. Unlike traditional VLS, which require specialized ships and calm seas for replenishment, containerized systems could be swapped out more quickly using cranes and be delivered preloaded. This would allow faster turnaround in safer waters and could enable ships to remain forward and armed for longer durations. The Navy could also continue exploring options for reloading from expeditionary sites, further increasing operational tempo.

Still, containerized launchers are not a panacea. They compete with other mission priorities for deck space—particularly on LCSs, amphibs, and logistics vessels with helicopter pads and mission bays – valuable real estate for resupply; intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance; and air-launched effects. Some experimentation with different configurations might be necessary to strike the right balance. As a first step, placing one or two MK 70s on these ships would allow the Navy to evaluate operational tradeoffs and solicit feedback from crews. Meanwhile, destroyers could host several ADLs without compromising existing sensors, radars, or communications systems.

Even as the Navy experiments with reloading VLS at sea, it should rethink the future of its missile architecture. That could include considering and evaluating options for new ships with more flexible launcher form factors, developing new and more flexible VLS weapons, investing in logistics to reload under fire, and ensuring that forward forces can stay lethal for longer. Containerized launchers will not replace the traditional fleet, but they could buy valuable time for these solutions to materialize while adding redundancy when it matters most.

The U.S. Navy faces a period in which its missile-firing capacity is declining as strategic threats are rising. Distributing long-range fires across existing additional classes of ships with the help of containerized launchers offers a solution to fill the VLS gap, provide reload flexibility, and expand the number of shooters at sea. While some vessels might not possess the same organic communications, radars, and command and control capabilities as destroyers and cruisers, Navy efforts to improve the fleet’s connectivity and battle network could eventually mean these missiles can be used with the help of other ships in the theater. In distributing lethality this way, the Navy could dig itself out of its VLS hole faster, and achieve the virtues of mass without the vulnerabilities of concentration.5

Peter Kouretsos is a researcher at the Institute for Defense Analyses (IDA), a Young Leader with Pacific Forum, and a member of the Military Writers Guild. The article reflects the author’s personal views and not those of IDA, the US Navy, the Department of War, or any affiliated institution.

Endnotes

[1] Note: Total Missile Cells includes MK 41 and MK 57 VLS cells aboard surface ships, VLS tubes in Los Angeles- and Virginia-Class attack submarines, and Tomahawk cruise missile capacity of Multiple All-up Round Canisters, Virginia Payload Tubes, and Virginia Payload Modules employed on Ohio-class guided missile submarines, and Block III, IV, and V Virginia Class attack submarines, respectively.

[2] Note: Submarine Missile Cell figures do not include torpedo tube-launched weapons capacity.

[3] Assumes approximately 14 Flight IIA/III DDGs with a loadout split between defensive interceptors and offensive missiles, and 12 submarines (11 SSNs and 1 SSGN) with Tomahawk missiles.

[4] A notional target set might include 500 targets: the PLA Navy’s estimated battle force of 370 naval platforms, and 130 other targets such as air defenses, missile sites, aircraft hangars, and other operationally relevant surface infrastructure.

[5] Author note: The data and projections analyzed in this article were collected and compiled before the recent announcement regarding changes to the U.S. Navy’s frigate program – specifically the cancellation of the Constellation-class (FFG-62) frigates and subsequent development of the Navy’s new FF(X) frigate concept, which reportedly will not include an integrated VLS array in its initial configuration.

Featured image: USS Savannah (LCS 28) conducts a live-fire demonstration in the Eastern Pacific Ocean utilizing a containerized launching system that fired an SM-6 missile from the ship at a designated target. US Navy photo.

Alliances and Partners

Turkey’s Air-to-Air Drone Test and the Logic of Middle-Power Alliance Stress

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By Lawrence J Kaiser

In late 2025, Turkey conducted a successful test of an air-to-air missile launched from an unmanned combat aerial vehicle (UCAV).  At first glance, the event appeared to be a narrow technical milestone – another incremental advance in the rapid evolution of drone warfare. Yet in strategic terms, the test reveals something far more consequential:  a structural shift in Turkey’s strategic posture as a middle power, a shift that increasingly tests, reshapes, and exploits alliance boundaries rather than choosing sides within them.

However, for U.S. and NATO planners, the significance of the test lies elsewhere.  Turkey’s air-to-air UCAV capability alters the escalation calculus of the alliance itself while remaining formally inside NATO’s institutional framework.  The episode signals less about alliance defection than an emerging pattern of alliance stress-testing – one that exploits gray-zone ambiguity from within.

The Event and the Misreading

Turkey’s successful air-to-air missile launch from a UCAV, reportedly conducted using Bayraktar’s Kizilelma platform, was widely reported as evidence of Ankara’s growing defense-industrial sophistication.  Commentators emphasized technical details:  sensor fusion, indigenous missile development, and the potential export market for Turkish drones.  While accurate, this framing misses the strategic significance of the test.

Air-to-air capability is qualitatively different from the ground-attack roles that have defined drone warfare in Nagorno-Karabakh, Ukraine, and the Middle East.  Ground-attack UCAV’s typically operate against fixed or surface targets in permissive or degraded air-defense environments where escalation remains geographically bounded and politically intelligible. However, air-to-air systems directly contest air sovereignty and interact with the manned aircraft of other states. They enter, then, a domain historically governed by tightly managed rules of engagement and alliance de-confliction arrangements. As a result, their use moves these weapons from supporting roles in peripheral conflicts, to potential instruments of direct interstate belligerence within contested airspace. In doing so, Turkey is not merely adding a new weapon, it is redefining the political and strategic meaning of unmanned force.

Why Air-to-Air Matters for a Middle Power

For a middle power like Turkey, air-to-air UCAVs offer three distinct advantages. First, they reduce political risk. The absence of a pilot lowers the domestic and alliance costs of escalation, enabling assertive signaling without immediate reputational or human consequences. Second, they enhance ambiguity in the escalation environment. Unmanned aircraft do not hold a distinct legal status under the U.N. Charter, the Law of Armed Conflict, or U.S. Standing Rules of Engagement. The destruction of such a platform remains a use of force. Yet the absence of a pilot materially alters the political and psychological dynamics of confrontation. Without the risk of killed or captured personnel, incidents involving unmanned systems generate lower immediate domestic or alliance pressures to retaliate. As a result, leaders are able to frame them as limited coercive signals – or even technical miscalculation – rather than as acts demanding a reciprocal military response. Third, they strengthen bargaining leverage. Indigenous air combat capability signals autonomy from alliance supply chains and constraints.

These advantages are not merely theoretical. Turkey has repeatedly demonstrated a preference for tools that expand its room for maneuver, while preserving plausible deniability. From drone operations in Syria and Libya to naval posturing in the Eastern Mediterranean, Ankara has favored capabilities that allow it to probe limits without triggering decisive retaliation. Air-to-air UCAVs fit squarely within this pattern.

Supply Chains, Material Sourcing, and Strategic Autonomy

Turkey’s progress in unmanned air combat cannot be understood solely in terms of platforms or doctrine. Its deeper significance lies in the supply chains and material sourcing strategies that underpin Turkey’s drone ecosystem. These industrial foundations are what allow Ankara to sustain operational tempo, absorb potential political friction, and maneuver within alliance constraints without triggering formal rupture.

Unlike many NATO allies, Turkey has pursued defense-industrial depth rather than specialization. Over the past decade, Ankara invested heavily in a more vertically integrated production model across a host of sectors: airframes, avionics, sensors, and – perhaps most critically – munitions. Firms like Baykar operate within a broader ecosystem of domestic subcontractors that, in turn, reduce reliance on single foreign suppliers. This matters because air-to-air UCAVs are not one-off prestige systems. They require reliable access to not only propulsion components and guidance systems, but missile inventories and data links that can be replenished under conditions of political stress.

Supply chain autonomy has already proven decisive in earlier phases of Turkey’s drone deployment. Western export controls on engines, optics, and precision components following operations in Syria and Nagorno-Karabakh forced rapid substitution and indigenous development. Rather than halting progress, these constraints accelerated Turkey’s efforts to diversify its sourcing and indigenize critical subsystems. While the result is not complete autarky, it is a fairly resilient hybrid model that limits the coercive leverage of any single supplier or alliance partner.

In the air-to-air domain, this resilience takes on heightened strategic importance. Unlike ground attack drones, the use of air-to-air UCAVs implicate alliance airspace management, rules of engagement, and escalation control. Capability that exists only on paper – or even depends on fragile supply chains – would offer only limited leverage.  In contrast, a system backed by secure production lines and scalable munitions supply enables Turkey to signal persistence rather than experimentation.  It tells allies and adversaries alike that these platforms are not exceptions, but part of a durable force structure.

Material sourcing also shapes Turkey’s export behavior which reciprocally feeds back into its posture within the alliance. Because Turkish drones are not fully captive to U.S. or European components, Ankara can sell them to partners that Western suppliers would exclude or delay. This export flexibility strengthens Turkey’s diplomatic reach, while reinforcing domestic production volumes and, thereby, further insulating its supply chains from external pressure. In effect, Turkish exports subsidize Turkish autonomy.

For NATO, this presents a subtle but consequential challenge. Alliance influence has traditionally flowed through shared logistics, interoperability standards, and supplier dependence. Turkey’s drone supply chain strategy erodes that leverage without violating formal commitments. Ankara remains interoperable where it chooses, while retaining the option to diverge when alliance consensus constrains Turkish interests.

This pattern is not unique to Turkey. Arms-transfer data from the Stockholm International Peace Institute (SIPRI) suggest that other middle powers, including India and South Korea, also have long pursued analogous diversification and domestic production strategies in order to reduce supplier leverage, while remaining formally aligned with U.S.-led security frameworks.

Viewed in this light, Turkey’s air-to-air UCAV capability is not merely a technological leap. It reflects the mindset of a deeper industrial strategy that converts supply chain resilience into strategic optionality. This material foundation is what allows Turkey to stress-test NATO from within, while remaining confident that any resulting political friction will not translate into immediate operational vulnerability.

Alliance Stress-Testing Rather Than Alliance Exit

Much of the commentary on Turkey’s defense trajectory assumes a binary choice: either Ankara is drifting away from NATO or it remains a difficult but ultimately loyal ally. This framing obscures a third possibility: Turkey is deliberately stress-testing the alliance to extract concessions, redefine roles, and maximize its autonomy.

The UCAV air-to-air test exemplifies this approach. By developing capabilities that NATO itself is still debating conceptually and doctrinally, Turkey positions itself as both indispensable and disruptive. It contributes innovations while simultaneously complicating alliance planning. This duality is not accidental. It allows Ankara to argue for greater voice and flexibility within NATO, while retaining the option to act independently when alliance consensus falters.

Importantly, this is not equivalent to the logic behind Turkey’s acquisition of the Russian S-400 system. Whereas the S-400 represented a clear breach of alliance norms, indigenous UCAV development does not violate formal commitments. Instead, it creates informal pressure, thereby forcing allies to adapt to Turkish capabilities rather than constrain them.

For NATO, while alliance commitments remain unchanged, incidents involving unmanned platforms may unfold at a tempo that tests NATO’s consultation processes, thereby increasing the risk that political coordination lags behind rapid escalation dynamics.

Escalation Optionality and the Compression of Thresholds

One of the most significant implications of the air-to-air UCAVs is their effect on escalation dynamics. Traditional air combat involves high thresholds: the deployment of manned fighters, formal rules of engagement, and alliance consultation mechanisms. In regions such as the Aegean and the Black Sea, where air encounters are frequent and politically sensitive, this ambiguity creates new risks of miscalculation that are difficult to manage through existing alliance procedures. For example, a Turkish unmanned interceptor operating near contested airspace in the Aegean could shadow a Greek aircraft or conduct a radar lock without immediately triggering the political shock associated with a manned confrontation. If the unmanned platform was damaged or downed in such an encounter, the absence of a captured or killed crew would reduce the immediate domestic and alliance pressures that typically accompany the loss of a pilot, even though the legal characterization of the incident would remain unchanged. The legal threshold would be the same, but the political demand for swift retaliation would be lower. Unmanned air-to-air platforms alter escalation tempo without altering legal thresholds.

For Turkey, the effect is not the creation of new legal authorities but the expansion of escalation flexibility. Manned fighters are equally capable of conducting warning intercepts or employing force in self-defense, and neither NATO policy nor the UN Charter establishes a distinct approval regime for unmanned systems. The distinction lies in the consequences attached to the loss of personnel. When a crewed aircraft is damaged or downed, the presence of killed or captured aircrew generates immediate domestic and alliance pressures that narrow response options and accelerate consultation demands. Incidents involving unmanned platforms, while still constitute a serious use of force, do not carry the same immediate human stakes, thereby allowing greater room for graduated signaling and a controlled response. In contested environments such as the Aegean, northern Syria, and the Black Sea, that marginal difference can matter.

From a strategic perspective, Turkey is acquiring not just a weapon, but a spectrum of options that blur the line between peace and conflict. This is a hallmark of contemporary middle power strategy under conditions of multipolarity and institutional strain.

Turkey as Systems Integrator, Not Mere Spoiler

A common caricature portrays Turkey as a spoiler within NATO: unpredictable, transactional, and disruptive. The UCAV test suggests a more nuanced reality. Turkey is increasingly acting as a systems integrator, combining indigenous platforms, tailored doctrines, and selective alliance participation into a coherent strategic posture. But this integrative posture also introduces alliance friction. A Turkey able to conduct limited unmanned air operations in contested airspaces – such as an intercept or retaliatory strike in the Aegean or northern Syria – without incurring immediate personnel loss may act more rapidly than NATO’s consultation processes can accommodate. While such an action might fall below the threshold of collective defense, it could nevertheless trigger countermeasures from a third party, thereby placing the alliance in the position of managing escalation dynamics it did not collectively authorize.  Allies may diverge over what constitutes a proportional response, levels of risk tolerance, or the necessity of consultation, exposing internal fractures and complicating deterrence signaling. The issue, then, is not alliance collapse, but the strain placed on cohesion and decision-making under compressed timelines. 

This posture does not reject the West, nor does it align fully with revisionist powers like Russia or Iran. Instead, it seeks leverage against all sides by creating capabilities that others must account for. In this sense, Turkey resembles other middle powers that pursue strategic autonomy without formal non-alignment (e.g. India or Brazil), albeit within a more militarized and volatile regional context.

Forward Indicators: What to Watch

If the UCAV test is a signal, what does it signify? Several indicators merit close attention. First, integration with naval aviation, particularly Turkey’s ambitions for carrier-based drone operations, would further enhance its independent power projection. Second, export behavior – whether Turkey restricts or proliferates air-to-air drone capabilities – will reveal how Ankara balances profit, influence, and restraint. Third, NATO doctrinal debates on unmanned air combat will indicate whether the alliance adapts to Turkey or attempts to constrain it.  Finally, shifts in Turkish strategic rhetoric will signal how Ankara seeks to justify its posture diplomatically.

Conclusion

Turkey’s successful air-to-air missile launch from a UCAV should be understood as a strategic signal rather than a technical curiosity. It reflects an emerging middle power logic that prioritizes escalation optionality, alliance stress-testing, and indigenous capability development. Far from signaling a simple drift away from NATO, the test underscores Ankara’s efforts to redefine its role within (and occasionally beyond) the alliance.

For analysts and policymakers, the lesson is not that Turkey is drifting away from NATO, but that an alliance may increasingly face stress from within as members acquire tools that compress escalation thresholds without breaking formal rules. Turkey’s air-to-air UCAV highlights how military innovation can outpace alliance governance, turning institutional ambiguity into leverage. Understanding this dynamic is essential not only for managing Ankara’s trajectory, but for adapting alliance strategy to an era in which escalation control is no longer monopolized by manned platforms.

Dr. Lawrence Kaiser is a geopolitical strategist focused on alliance politics, middle-power hedging, and escalation dynamics. He holds a Ph.D. in philosophy and an ALM in international relations from Harvard University.

Featured Image: Turkey’s KIZILELMA UCAV: A next-generation unmanned combat aerial vehicle designed for precision strikes, with supersonic speed, 1.5-ton payload capacity, and advanced autonomous flight capabilities. (Picture source Ugur Ozkan via X)