Seeking Victory Against Hybrid Adversaries: The Changing Character of Twenty-first Century Threats and How to Fight Them
It is human nature for the weak to take the measure of the strong. Global underdogs — both states and non-state actors — are taking stock of the strengths and weaknesses of today’s dominant military power. And since 2001, the United States has obligingly displayed them. Having been at war for the past fourteen years, the United States and its allies have offered adversaries plenty of opportunity to school themselves on our tactics, operations and technologies. As social networking makes every major operation transparent and tweetable, it could hardly be otherwise.
In the United States, debate about the future of warfare concentrates on the ‘what is it’ question: what are its characteristics, what are adversaries doing, what should we call it, and what does it mean. ‘Hybrid warfare’, ‘political warfare’, ‘partisan warfare’, ‘geopolitical guerrillas’ are all different ways of saying the same thing: in the twenty-first century, our enemies have adapted to our strengths, and they are smart and agile enough to do a range of things that avoid them. It has been like this throughout history.
Hybrid adversaries are the ying to our yang, not just in military operations but in the political realm as well. Our enemies begin with a political strategy then mix tactics, conventional and irregular forces, state and non-state actors, and open and clandestine means, to single-mindedly pursue that political strategy against a predominant foe. We rely on impressive tactics and technologies, such as armed drones, cyber offense, and special operations, without the overarching framework of a clear and sustainable long-term political strategy. No wonder we are repeatedly surprised. That’s the point. We conceive of war too narrowly and then are surprised by the result.
Enemy adaptation is ancient. What is new is that US policymakers have fallen into the habit of assessing warfare outside its broader political context, assuming that our remarkable military instrument (as we call it) is so technologically advanced, so exquisite and so superior that it can fit an ever-expanding array of political tasks.
When Carl von Clausewitz wrote, ‘war is the continuation of politics by other means’, he did not mean that military force could conquer or transform every political problem everywhere. If anything, it was the opposite — politics persist throughout warfare and extend well beyond. For one side to win, the other side must know it has lost. If a political strategy continues and reaches people beyond the battlefield, the loss is but a temporary setback for them. We have no choice but to engage our hybrid adversaries on the broad political front, as well.
So, here I won’t concentrate on the ‘what is it’ question. Others have done that. Besides, all of you are intimately familiar with what is unfolding on the battlefield today. I want to focus on the ‘why’ and ‘how’:
- Why is war in the twenty-first century changing?
- What are the practical effects?
- How must we adapt to fight it and win?
Why is twenty-first century war changing?
Any smart soldier knows that the nature of war never changes. From the Peloponnesian War to the Persian Gulf War, from Gallipoli to the Global War on Terrorism, war has been a clash of opposing forces, dangerous and uncertain. Clausewitz’s remarkable trinity of primordial violence, chance, and reason persists. The skills of the soldier, the cohesion of fighting units, the effectiveness of training, the honour and integrity of the cause — all of these virtues remain vital to war. They are timeless.
But the character of war evolves. War’s character reflects its political, social, and economic context, and that context is different now than it was just a few years ago. To predict the future character of war, by which I mean where it is going and how it will look, we must understand major changes in the global context in which we fight. Because these are affecting where the threat is coming from, how we meet it, and whether or not we will win.
There are two key dimensions of change.
First, there has been a transformation in the means and ends of mobilisation — that is, how we tap into the popular passion that is the engine of war. To see and fully understand this, we again have to look back to Clausewitz’s world.
Clausewitz wrote On War in reaction to dramatic changes in the character of war at the end of the eighteenth century. Most important was the levée en masse, the August 1793 decree that the entire population of France must serve the war effort. This enabled Napoleon to harness the energies of the French people and build an enormous army that swept through Europe. Napoleon was a brilliant general, but he tended to win when he had superior numbers. With more men, he could fight on several fronts and absorb casualties at a rate that his opponents could not equal.
The character of war on the battlefield changed as a result. After they had been drubbed a few times, Napoleon’s opponents learned to match him: from a height of 60,000 to 80,000 men in the seventeenth century, armies ballooned by four or five times to 250,000 men on the field (at Borodino), or even 460,000 (at Leipzig) by the early nineteenth century. The literal meaning of the levée en masse, referring to the mass conscription that provided all that manpower, is well known.
Now this story might seem immaterial in our age of volunteer armies. But the French levée en masse had a second meaning, less remembered but more relevant to our situation today: mass uprising. If conscription was the end, inspiration — leading to uprising — was the means.
Without radicalising, organising and educating the French population in the ideals of the revolution, the French Army could not have achieved numerical superiority. And the key to that process was a far-reaching change in access to information. Between 1789 and 1793, the publishing sector in France was deregulated. Ordinary people suddenly had access to shorter, cheaper and simpler printed materials. Rousing revolutionary images like the storming of the Bastille appeared in a flood of newspapers, pamphlets, and engravings. The number of journals produced in Paris went from 4 to 335, the number of printers quadrupled, and the number of publishers and sellers nearly tripled. People who were literate read aloud to those who were not. The deregulation of the presses democratised communications and helped drive a transformation of French society. Peasants from the lowest classes were inspired and gained a national identity as the ‘People’, French citizens, holders of popular sovereignty. So when Napoleon began his campaigns, the French nation and the Army were one.
How does this relate to us today? With the growth of mobile phones, the Internet, and related social media, we have experienced a similar, much broader democratisation of communications throughout the world. Over the past twenty- five years, there has been an increase in public access, a sharp reduction in cost, a growth in frequency of messages, and an exploitation of images on the Internet. As a result, tapping into today’s popular passions — Clausewitz’s primordial violence, hatred and enmity that is part of every war — has become much easier. Many types of actors can build a mobilising narrative that manipulates diaspora communities and shapes identities.
This is the political context in which we are operating. I first wrote about ‘cyber-mobilisation’ ten years ago (when inventing words beginning with ‘cyber’ was all the rage).1 At that time I was not sure whether the positive or the negative aspects would prevail. Would all this new connectivity spur democratic uprisings of Arab populations against their authoritarian rulers, as in the Arab Spring? Would it spread knowledge and build a stronger global community?
Some of that has occurred: new media combined with old media (like television and newspapers) have diffused knowledge and ideas. Remember the colour revolutions that unfolded during the early 2000s, including the former Yugoslavia’s ‘Bulldozer Revolution’ in 2000, Georgia’s Rose Revolution in 2003, and Ukraine’s Orange Revolution in the winter of 2004/05? In the long run, I have faith in the power of the democratic ideals that drove these uprisings.
But in the short term, the consequences of this mobilisation from below have been disheartening. We are not seeing mass armies sweep across Europe, but the outcome is just as dramatic because now it is global. Except in states that suppress free speech, the predominant pattern has been the polarisation of political communities and the growth of a powerful underworld of criminal networks, gangs, terrorist groups, human traffickers, warlords, proxies, insurgents and state-supported thugs. Democratic states like ours are stuck between the Scylla of suppressing free speech, and the Charybdis of allowing new forms of mobilisation leading to violence that threatens us all.
This is bad news for those who value stability and predictability. States no longer hold a monopoly on mobilisation. Individual actors and non-state groups of all types can reach broad populations virtually, to form new identities, to mobilise them to join a cause, to indoctrinate or inspire them to carry out violent attacks at home. Most of the time you still need human facilitators, but online radicalisation extends the reach and accelerates the process. At a time of global connectivity, disparate identities are stronger than ever. When the so-called Islamic State’s newspaper in October 2014 called for lone wolf-style attacks against the United States, United Kingdom, France, Germany and Australia, for example, this was an integral part of their military strategy. It has become easier to create chaos and disorder, but harder to govern, stabilise, and build. Napoleon’s mobilisation built the modern nation-state; this mobilisation undermines it.
The second key dimension of change in contemporary war is a shift in the process of innovation — a buzzword that pops up everywhere from airport bookshops to the Pentagon. In the twentieth century, military technological innovation was all about states, armies, and complex systems. The focus was on capital-intensive programs like aircraft carriers, submarines, armoured vehicles and fighter jets, built by or for the military. Ships, tanks, airplanes and nuclear missiles were exquisite technological marvels, linearly developed, with each one eclipsing its predecessor. These incredible weapons systems helped win the Second World War, and the Cold War too.
Capital ships and fighter jets remain important today and many countries are building them. Australia’s Canberra-class Landing Helicopter Docks and amphibious assault ships will be vital to her ability to project power and engage in humanitarian relief missions. But most of these systems are assembled by a few companies with a monopoly, or near monopoly, on their production. Competition is narrow, and their most advanced features are the software in their computers or the weapons they carry aboard. These are sustaining technologies now.
The forefront of twenty-first century technological innovation has shifted elsewhere. The relationship between the military and industry has always been close. But in the twentieth century, the private sector often drew from major systems first developed for the military. To take one example, jet aircraft began as weapons of war and then Boeing Corporation took the lead in establishing their commercial use. Indeed, many military aircraft technologies — such as the crew compartment pressurisation systems, first used in the B–29 bomber — later became essential to high-altitude commercial passenger jets. Now the process is reversed. Disruptive changes come from innovations not even within the scope of the military — yet they keenly affect what militaries do, including whether or not they win.
The diffusion of critical technologies driving this change occurred decades ago through deliberate US government policy, as part of the post-Cold War euphoria of a unipolar, democratised world. Publicly financed basic and applied research from the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s drove the technology boom of the 1990s. With US federal government support, Advanced Research Projects Agency Network (ARPANET) became the Internet. Tax dollars developed the Global Positioning System (GPS). The Google search engine emerged from a National Science Foundation grant. Apple now earns some US$40 billion a year, but few realise that all the major components of the iPhone derive from US government programs, including the microchips, the touchscreens, and Siri, the voice activated system. In short, the much-maligned US federal bureaucracy was a net exporter of key information technology throughout the 1990s.
Now it is a net importer of technology. The process has shifted from consolidating power in the hands of a few, to sharing it — or to be more precise, selling it — to the masses. Today, the most important advances in 3-D printing, robotics, information technology, artificial intelligence, and many other emerging technologies come from the private sector, to be harvested by US and allied militaries (or not). And it is not just the US private sector that is charging ahead; sometimes the most important developers of new technologies are in China, India or Europe. This is an important shift. Like the democratisation of communications, this is the democratisation of access to a wide range of emerging, sometimes lethal, technologies. And that means these dangerous, leading-edge technologies are available to our adversaries. In short, taken together, these two dimensions of change mean that war is more unpredictably ‘passionate’ and lethal arms are more accessible.
What are the practical effects of the changing character of war?
The practical effects of these two drivers of conflict — innovation and mobilisation — are easy to see. We have circumscribed the role our governments play in these two realms, and placed greater power in the hands of individuals and private actors. Yet our armies still bear the responsibility to deal with the consequences, promote stability, fight enemies abroad, and protect our citizens at home.
Beginning first with innovation, the proliferation of democratised military technologies to both state and non-state adversaries is an unfolding drama. It is not that our technological edge is slipping. We have given away or sold the key technical tools enabling others to catch up and we are no longer investing in the kinds of basic research that spawned all this creativity some thirty or forty years ago. Now we confront the practical consequences for war.
Take unmanned aerial vehicles, or ‘drones’. There is nothing especially advanced about the capabilities of these aircraft; it is all about the Internet connections, the satellite guidance, and the quality of the photographic lenses they carry. More than ninety states have unmanned aerial vehicles in their arsenals now; about thirty have or are developing armed drones. I understand that Australia is among them. American companies chafe against restrictions on our export sales because the Chinese, the Israelis, the Turks, the Iranians and many others are gaining global market share. If we do not sell them, others will, they say. It is better for the United States to be the world’s leader in drone technology than to yield the lead to the Chinese, they argue. At this late point in the game, they are probably right. State use of drones in traditional war zones is a given.
What is new is that illicit non-state actors are becoming more innovative and unpredictable in how they use emerging technologies. For example, in the past terrorists were generally conservative in their means. According to the US Global Terrorism Database, about 88 per cent of all terrorist attacks since 1970 have used explosives and firearms, familiar technologies that go back hundreds of years. Low-probability, high-impact types of threats, like chemical, biological, nuclear or radiological attacks, represented less than one-quarter of 1 per cent of all terrorist attacks.
With widely accessible emerging lethal technologies, non-state actors’ methods are evolving in unexpected ways. Hezbollah recently took an Iranian drone, added sixty pounds of explosives and flew it over Israeli air space. Last autumn, it began to use weaponised drones against Islamic State of Syria and the Levant (ISIL) and al-Nusra in Syria. For its part, ISIL has used reconnaissance drones to assess adversary movements or just demonstrate their prowess to potential recruits. Friendly unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV) have been hacked and controlled by insurgents using GPS-signal spoofing.
And it is not just terrorist groups, insurgents and jihadists employing new technologies. Drug smugglers, human traffickers and wildlife poachers use them to trace routes and track quarries. Even ordinary hobbyists can build their own drones and get around manufacturer-installed safeguards. These are private individuals whose actions have public consequences. Power is diffusing as a result.
With all the technological bells and whistles available to coalition forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, the most devastating threat to our soldiers was the improvised explosive device (IED). Armed by amateurs, cheap drones may soon become airborne IEDs, or grouped into swarms that challenge the control of airspace that our armies take for granted. If we continue down the road toward autonomous systems, individuals may some day be able to launch thousands of autonomously piloted UAVs toward a target, then walk away and melt into the crowd. We seek autonomous systems because they extend the range, reliability and accuracy of our weapons. What will happen when they give anonymity to criminals and terrorists? How will our armies or police forces respond?
Still, as widespread and accessible as these technologies are, we will learn to counter them on the battlefield.
It is the second key dimension — mobilisation — that worries me more. The state’s faltering grip on popular mobilisation is changing the causes of war, specifically why violence occurs and who fights. This first became clear with al Qaeda, even more so now with ISIL.
There is a direct connection between ISIL’s military conquest on the ground and their ability to mobilise people, in the Middle East and abroad. Recall that the civil war in Syria started in March 2011 with anti-regime protests as part of the so-called Arab Spring. The idealistic individuals who first flocked there wanted to help civilians being massacred by the Assad regime, their heart-wrenching fates broadcast over YouTube and Facebook. Western powers did almost nothing to defend them. ISIL then took advantage of the anger and chaos, and fighters gravitated to the most successful anti-Assad faction.
In neighboring Iraq, ISIL capitalised on sectarian strife to build an alliance with Iraqi Sunni tribal leaders, former anti-US insurgents, and even secular former Iraqi military officers. Met by mass desertions from the US-trained Iraqi army, ISIL swept across Iraq last year. Seeing the results through the Internet and other media, thousands of foreign fighters flocked to the region, about a thousand a month. Many have died fighting there or have been used as human fodder for suicide attacks, though now our governments fear others will return home to carry out attacks.
The so-called Islamic State has capitalised on the ability to mobilise a following through the Internet and every other type of social media tool. Having declared a caliphate, it projects the image of utopia on earth, where individuals can live together in a just and pious society. They do this by demonstrating their power, in gruesome beheading videos for example, or spinning a tale of adventure, in carefully crafted storylines about the joys of living in the caliphate. They do not just want fighters, as al Qaeda did, with its ascetic videos of old men in caves; ISIL is recruiting doctors, teachers, engineers, entire families, and young brides to build their pseudo-state.
With a sophisticated 24-hour online operation and a huge cadre of trained recruiters, ISIL are reaching out to individuals, many of whom have no criminal record, no prior history of involvement in violence, no clear or reliable profile that law enforcement can identify. Then they recruit them either to join the so-called jihad in Iraq and Syria or to kill so-called infidels at home. People heeding this call are usually Muslims, members of diaspora communities from North Africa, the Middle East or South Asia, but not always.
For example, one beautiful 23-year-old American woman named ‘Alex’, from a deeply religious Christian family in rural Washington State, was recruited earlier this year through emails, Twitter posts, texts and Skype chats — all under the noses of her devoted grandparents, and even as she taught Sunday school and attended church each week. Her English-speaking online recruiter sent care packages with headscarves and Lindt chocolate bars — an allusion to last December’s Lindt café hostage siege in Sydney. She converted to Islam and was planning her escape to the Islamic State when her grandparents turned her in to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Alex is but one example; there are many similar stories in the United States, United Kingdom, Europe and here in Australia.
In a broader sense, changes in the political context are forcing us to recalibrate what it means to be a sovereign state. The primary responsibility of the nation-state is to protect its citizens. To what extent should that include protecting them from external indoctrination and violent mobilisation? The advances of ‘hybrid’ enemies owe as much to the weaknesses of the governments they oppose as to the military force they use. What does sovereign authority mean? Does it exist if a government cannot or will not defend itself? How about if it is unable to mobilise its own populace?
In Iraq, the Maliki government undermined its own legitimacy by pursuing a hardline pro-Shi’ite agenda, cutting funding to the Sons of Iraq, arresting hundreds of Sunni tribal elders, barring Sunni candidates from elections, and killing peaceful protestors. According to the Congressional Research Service, the United States had spent US$26 billion on the Iraqi Security Forces alone. Iraq should have had an army able to turn back the advance of ISIL and a police force willing and able to protect the rights and interests of the Sunni minority. They did not. I sincerely hope that the new Iraqi government will be able to rally its inhabitants — Shi’a and Sunni alike — to support and defend it, especially with the help of US and Australian air power. But no matter how much equipment, or how many embedded advisers we provide, external powers will never be able to force them to do so. War is, and always has been, a matter of clashing wills.
So these two broad dimensions are changing war in practical ways. The greater accessibility of lethal technologies means that non-state groups such as human traffickers, pirates and terrorist groups are gaining ground on state armies and navies. And democratised mobilisation is enabling illicit actors like ISIL to tap into popular passions and manipulate susceptible people far from the battlefield. In short, the changing character of war is affecting who fights, why they fight, where they fight, and with what means.
How must we adapt to fight it?
In this shifting global context, Western military gains have not been translated effectively into the achievement of political goals that serve our national interests. If the top priority is protection of the homeland, then the connection between overseas expeditionary operations and the security of the homeland must be more rigorously analysed and compared against the opportunity costs.
In our efforts to carry out operations ‘by, with, and through’, for example, we have depended on local governments who for local political, cultural, or historical reasons — or maybe just old-fashioned greed — have placed graft and corruption ahead of the welfare of their people and their states. We have no choice but to confront the legitimacy of the governments we are asked to defend if we are to make wise strategic choices about where our armies should fight, and why.
To illustrate, the Islamic State will be defeated, but not directly by the democratic powers. A core part of the myth of the Islamic State is its claim to be a caliphate. If we flood the region with troops, we will supply the pretext for the theological nonsense they spout. They tell their followers the caliphate will soon face what they call the army of ‘Rome’, meaning Christian-majority nations, that will confront them in towns like Dabiq in northern Syria and initiate a countdown to the apocalypse. It would be foolish to play into that narrative. They would use it to mobilise or inspire additional supporters in the region, and the threat of homegrown attacks will grow.
But that does not mean we should be passive. We must attack this threat with sustainable policies that can achieve our political objectives. These include bearing down with punishing air strikes on ISIL targets, supporting the Iraqis and the Kurds as they fight, continuing arms embargos and sanctions, and choking off ISIL smuggling routes. While containing them militarily, we should greatly increase aid to civilians fleeing the fighting.
More importantly, we have no choice but to attack the message. We can kill a prominent figure such as Anwar Al-Awlaki, the charismatic cleric from al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula who was targeted by a US drone attack in Yemen, but his videos and speeches persist on the web. Indeed, they are more popular than ever. The Tsarnaev brothers who carried out the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013, and the Kouachi brothers who orchestrated the Paris Charlie Hebdo massacre in 2015 were both inspired by Al-Awlaki videos, accessed over YouTube. Al-Awlaki died in 2011. That is a key difference between today’s political mobilisation and the levée en masse of the French Revolution — messages and images appearing on the Internet are immortal.
The only way to finally end this threat, both at home and abroad, is to build a viable political strategy that undercuts ISIL’s message and interrupts their ability to capture the imaginations of Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Fortunately, they are helping us. They have claimed to establish a state, yet most of the indigenous populations of Iraq and Syria have fled. With 14 million displaced people or refugees, it is the worst such crisis since the Second World War. No wonder ISIL is desperate to attract new people — they have denuded their territory of those who normally live there.
The so-called Islamic State is not governing their territory as a utopia, and they cannot sustain this phony image. Foreigners who travel to Iraq and Syria to join the Islamic State are killed, sometimes as they flee the harsh conditions. Brave activists like the group Raqqa is Being Slaughtered Silently send out videos of ISIL atrocities, brutal punishments, or long lines for bread. The Islamic State’s revenues are not infinite. Banks can only be looted once, oil revenues are depressed, and captured Iraqi military equipment is breaking down. Extortion of the local population now means a tax of up to 50 per cent on salaries and 20 per cent on contracts and businesses. We should broadcast the hypocrisy of this hell on earth.
Instead of taking advantage of these weaknesses, we sometimes actually help ISIL mobilise. They regularly claim ‘credit’ for attacks they had nothing to do with, and we trumpet the claims. ISIL has ties with some 35 groups that have announced support or allegiance. This projects an image of power, while also building into the movement a source of weakness through infighting and overstretch. It is not a seamless jihadist movement; it is more like a global civil war. And many of the so-called ISIL affiliates are al Qaeda rejects. In fact, ISIL and al Qaeda have been mortal enemies. We must take care not to help ISIL by lionising them.
We must also be much smarter in using our brilliant technologies to help us more than they help them. The same technologies that facilitate their recruiting enable authorities to track social media and intervene when a plot is underway or a recruit has departed the county. Experts use grisly ISIL videos to geolocate ISIL training camps. Cell phone data and social media posts help us target air strikes. But online tracking means having access to communications that democratic countries define as free speech. For some, this represents an alarming expansion of the power of the state, but I believe we have no choice.
At the heart of adapting to fight ‘hybrid’ wars is ensuring that our use of violence reinforces a clear political strategy, and that means facing up to the strategic as well as tactical importance of communications. Measures to counter the adversary’s messaging and mobilisation will often be non-kinetic, but they will directly affect what happens on the battlefield and in our home countries. Twitter, Facebook, Google, Instagram, Tumblr and other social media sites may consider themselves neutral platforms, but they regularly serve as purveyors of enemy propaganda, especially when they allow encrypted sites that our security services cannot read. They should be held accountable for their role in this process. If online geniuses can create algorithms that track every click we make to sell us things, they can figure out how to prevent ISIL from using the vitriol of Neil Prakash, and others, to recruit young Australians who are vulnerable or bored. ISIL’s online campaign is not free speech, but a form of virtual mobilisation that can threaten our societies.
Conclusion
In recent years, we have tried to act as if politics and the use of military force are separable — online platforms were virtual utopias where free expression and the human spirit could blossom. Tactical resources such as drones and special operations forces took the place of an integrated political strategy. We have tried to leave behind a messy world and rely upon emerging technologies as the answer to tomorrow’s wars.
But the character of war is moving toward democratised access to technologies that facilitate both popular mobilisation for war and widespread participation in the conflicts that do break out. There is no such thing as a strictly military conflict and never has been. We cannot avoid engaging in the political dimension of war. That is where the passions of the people reside, the source of deadly violence, the explanation for why war’s reason and chance may not predominate even when we have the better technology going forward.
We must adjust. In the twentieth century we counted on popular mobilisation to serve the interests of the state. Governments raised armies. When a country was militarily defeated, its political leaders surrendered and the people knew they were defeated. That time is over. Terrorism was a provocative and powerful non-state use of force in 2001 because it affected a wide range of audiences throughout the world. Osama bin Laden was not just trying to intimidate the American people; he was demonstrating his strength and power to young men that he wanted to recruit to al Qaeda from dozens of countries.
ISIL is even more determined to recruit through its provocative use of violence, its conventional military campaign sweeping across Iraq, and its establishment of a so-called caliphate reaching back to the seventh century. Unlike al Qaeda, the so-called Islamic State is trying to recruit an entire society, including professionals, women, and whole families. Some of their targets live here, and in my country too. As we determine how to respond to this threat, we have no choice but to factor political mobilisation into the causes and the effects of our military operations.
The good news is that ISIL will fail — because creating and governing a new state has become more difficult than ever. We, on the other hand, come from strong nations with proud traditions of democracy and justice. We will cooperate, adapt and prevail. Even as we have worked by, with and through some regional coalition members who were found wanting, the United States and Australia have stood shoulder to shoulder, close friends and solid allies. Our partnership has been invaluable; the dedication, grit and determination of the Australian Army, inspiring. With a smart, sustainable strategy, conceived, built and implemented together, we will triumph against these complex global threats.
Endnote
1 Audrey Kurth Cronin, ‘Cyber-Mobilization: The New Levée en Masse’, Parameters, Summer 2006, pp. 77-87, http://strategicstudiesinstitute.army.mil/pubs/parameters/Articles/06su… cronin.htm
