It's only natural that the navy and air force want the best ships and aircraft. After all, it's this equipment that determines what our services do and how they go about achieving their missions. Inevitably, this limits our way of thinking. What's possible is always conceived of within the technical parameters of our equipment and explaining "why", rather than asking "why not?" Strategic thinking begins (and ends) with what vessels and aircraft are capable of.
The problem is that such thinking might no longer be enough to keep up with rapid technical change. If speculation's a crucial strategic tool, it might be one we're lacking.
![A conceptual image of Australia's French-built submarines, the Shortfin Barracuda, which does not yet exist.](http://web.archive.org./web/20170616191538im_/https://www.fairfaxstatic.com.au/content/dam/images/g/t/7/f/n/w/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gwphfh.png/1497248017560.jpg)
Take our new submarine. No one can fault the massive ambition of this project. The issue is that, in striving for the world's best, largest, yet most invisible conventional underwater vehicle (still intended to be in service in 50 years' time), everything needs to go right. All the eggs are in the one basket. We're highly leveraged on the absolute success of this one project.
That's not a problem from today's standpoint. But we're assuming no similar technical breakthroughs will destroy the submarines' great advantage: stealth.
![One of Australia's new joint strike fighters at the Avalon airshow in March.](http://web.archive.org./web/20170616191538im_/https://www.fairfaxstatic.com.au/content/dam/images/g/u/p/y/w/i/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gwphfh.png/1497350807845.jpg)
As it is, the Collins class submarines are, effectively, shifting black holes. They swallow up all indications of their presence as they hide underwater. But what happens when a new method is suddenly found of probing through the water and penetrating these secrets? The development of sonar in World War II crippled the German U-boat fleet allowing the allies to win the battle of the Atlantic.
Similarly, two years earlier, the air conflict that saved Britain from invasion wasn't just won by the valiant few who piloted Spitfires and Hurricanes against the Luftwaffe. Radar made their victory possible. This ensured the British RAF aircraft began dogfights by swooping down on the lumbering bomber formations with the sun behind them. The Germans never could fathom how the British always managed to be in just the right place at just the right time. Eventually, they gave up and went off to invade Russia. The Luftwaffe knew about radar – even attacking the stations at one point in the battle – but never pressed this home. They didn't understand how crucial the new technology was.
Today, the Royal Australian Air Force is similarly leveraged. The original decision to buy the F-35 joint strike fighter was made back in 2002. This decision was both unusual (because the evaluation process hadn't finished, and the aircraft had only flown on computers) and controversial (because many analysts still insist – without evidence – that the plane is flawed.) There's no doubt, when the full complement is acquired, they'll be the best jets in the world. The question is how long they will maintain that superiority.
Technical capacity is advancing at breakneck speed.
The two dominant trends in the evolution of weapons have always been increased lethality and range. Neither of these auger well, over the longer term, for our military's obsession with equipment. Particularly given that we're losing the competitive technical superiority we've always enjoyed.
Last week, the Australian Strategic Policy Institute held a conference on the future defence force. What became apparent is we've already made the critical purchase decisions today that will shape the forces over the next half-century. The worry is that this huge intellectual push – the combined desire of senior officers, politicians and industry – will continue driving us down a particular equipment path that risks being the wrong one. The joint strike fighter, for example, represented a radical way forward at the start of this century; it still looks like a wonderful option. But why would technical progress stop now? Why won't there be newer missiles that can seek it out and shoot it down? We're far too ready to congratulate ourselves on what we can achieve today, as if this transient superiority is guaranteed to last.
Which brings us to the army. Under Lieutenant-General Angus Campbell, it's been forced to try a different approach. That's partly because the army was left behind in the purchase of new weapons systems. Our Abrams tanks are a generation too old to fight in Iraq, and the idea of buying a self-propelled howitzer remains nothing more than the late-night fantasy of an artillery officer. Because of this, the army was forced to equip personnel instead of finding soldiers to operate equipment.
It's being forced to look beyond established doctrine and look at different ways of fighting. New momentum is stressing the need for individuals to use their initiative in complex war-fighting situations, instead of reverting to the textbook solutions of the past. Now, it may simply be that the army realises it lacks the equipment and capacity to accomplish its mission without embracing some agile, flexible (and perhaps even wishful) thinking. Nevertheless, this is a welcome trend away from an earlier obsession with common structures and interchangeable standardised unit organisation.
We're too ready to congratulate ourselves, as if our transient superiority is guaranteed to last.
In 1938, the bloke who built my house trained as a mounted officer. Two entire light-horse divisions graced the order of battle. Two years later, he was flying Spitfires. I hope our forces today can evolve as quickly as he did.
Nicholas Stuart is a Canberra writer.