“The kill chain is a term that nearly everyone in the US military knows but few outside the military have ever heard of. It is, at the deepest level, what militaries do and have always done throughout the history of warfare. The kill chain is a process that occurs on the battlefield or wherever militaries compete. It involves three steps: The first is gaining understanding about what is happening. The second is making a decision about what to do. And the third is taking action that creates an effect to achieve an objective. And though that may involve killing, more often the result is all kinds of non-violent and non-lethal actions that are essential to prevailing in war or military contests short of war…”
- Christian Brose, The Kill Chain: Defending America in the Future of High-Tech Warfare
In the introduction to The Kill Chain, author Christian Brose – a former policy advisor to the late Senator John McCain, now with the Aspen Institute – paints a terrifying picture of a war between the United States and China. Though he is vague about the context, he is detailed about the particulars, listing all the ways that America’s hugely expensive military would be dismantled.
Cyberattacks would cripple logistics, making it difficult for US forces to mobilize. Communications and global positioning satellites would be jammed, blinded, or blown from orbit. Waves of missiles would plaster Japan and Guam and other forward bases. Marines attempting to make amphibious landings would die offshore, screaming and burning and drowning, as their $3 billion landing ships were Swiss-cheesed. American aircraft carriers, legacy systems costing roughly $13 billion apiece, would be slaughtered by hypersonic missiles. Meanwhile, the hugely expensive F-35 Joint Strike Fighter would never get into the fight at all, because the tankers needed to refuel them would be shot down mercilessly.
Far from the triumphs celebrated in Top Gun: Maverick, the shiny, fully-funded US Navy would be reduced to a smoldering ruin. An American president would then have to decide: surrender and retreat, leaving the Pacific to China, or take things to the next level, escalating to a city-for-city bloodbath with ballistic missiles crisscrossing the heavens.
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Brose’s scenario operates under a lot of assumptions, one of them being that China’s brand-new systems would work flawlessly in practice, though – as we have seen in the Ukraine – war in practice is different than war in theory. Additionally, his hypothetical ignores any response from America’s $700 billion military, even though any attempt by China to project force via its massive surface fleet would face the same obstacles.
Still, he makes his point.
Anyone who saw the damage done to the USS Cole by two men and a skiff knows that the United States has vulnerabilities. Unlike al-Qaida, however, China has seemingly unlimited resources, and they’re willing to use them to create a dominant military force, one that has been engineered to exploit America’s military forces, mostly comprised of a small number of technologically “superior” and wildly costly platforms.
The Kill Chain is unapologetically a warning, and Brose can be forgiven if he exaggerates some aspects in order to give his ultimate point more impact.
Unfortunately, Brose’s message is obscured by prosaic literary issues encompassing everything from editing to structure to word choice.
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The framework of The Kill Chain is hard to describe, other than to say Brose does not seem to have thought about it very deeply. The material is packed into a random assortment of chapters that seldom flow together. Some of them discuss Chinese capabilities, while others discuss American weaknesses. There is an entirely unnecessary – and ill-fitting – chapter about the use of lethal autonomous drones, and another, far more instructive chapter on how military budgets work (and how they fail to work effectively).
The most striking thing about The Kill Chain is its repetitiveness. It’s not that Brose says the same thing in different ways, it’s that he often says the same thing in the exact same ways, word-for-word. The roughly 250-pages here could have been halved without losing any substance.
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I have no doubts that Brose is very good at his current job, and was probably very good at his old one as well. But writing is its own discipline. Being an expert on defense technologies does not necessarily equip you to publish a mainstream book on the subject.
More than anything else, The Kill Chain reads like a dumbed-down position paper. It is a summary filled with buzzwords and jargon – including rampant overuse of the title phrase – but little detail or explanation. Brose bandies his trade terms about with reckless abandon, but they are so imprecisely employed as to be nearly meaningless. When Brose talks about “platforms” or “systems” or “sensors,” he rarely deigns to provide a practical definition or example. That is, he mostly skips any discussion of actual, specific ordinance that he thinks the US needs but doesn’t have, or has but doesn’t need.
In The Kill Chain, abstraction is a feature, not a bug.
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Relatedly, The Kill Chain suffers from a lack of case studies or real world applications. When Brose attempts to illustrate what he’s saying, the book clicks into place. For instance, Brose convincingly describes the shortcomings of aircraft carriers and the Joint Stars program. At one point, in decrying the lack of artificial intelligence, Brose recalls watching a soldier in a tactical deployment monitoring twelve different instant-messenger conversations, manually pushing intelligence from one group to the next. This kind of scene-setting is memorable, vivid, and readable.
Typically, though, Brose is frustratingly nonconcrete, preferring theoretical references to an undefined “technology” rather than getting into specifics.
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In keeping with the theme of vagueness-as-a-virtue, Brose’s prescriptions are pretty broad. Instead of a small number of expensive systems, he wants a large number of inexpensive ones. In practice, this means unmanned vehicles, especially drone swarms, which can overwhelm an enemy’s defenses, and are also expendable (or “attritable,” as Brose likes to say). Brose rightly argues for better “networks,” contending that soldiers have smarter technology in their daily lives than at work. He also calls for a ready arsenal of hypersonic missiles.
Getting to this place, Brose concedes, is going to be difficult. There are entrenched interests, a lack of incentives, too few defense companies, a terrible relationship between the military and cutting-edge tech corporations, and a political system that is verging on total collapse (and which has gotten worse since Brose published this in 2020).
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Despite all the talk of military hardware and software, I’m most impressed with Brose’s recognition that we are already in a changed world, though most Americans have not yet recognized it. This lack of recognition comes from flawed assumptions based on a superficial understanding of two abnormal periods in history.
First, there is China’s “century of humiliation,” stretching from 1839 to 1949. During this period, China was bullied, colonized, and embroiled in bloody civil wars. Because of this, many are conditioned to see China as a victim. As Brose points out, that’s not how they see themselves. China’s history stretches back thousands of years, and during most of those years, they were a formidable force. Xi Jinping isn’t trying to capture the top spot in world affairs, he’s trying to reclaim it. For him, a dominant China represents the natural order.
Second, there is America’s brief, 30-year reign as a hyperpower. Throughout recorded history, the world has been multipolar, with a bunch of strong nations or empires operating in their own spheres, their influence bounded by others. After World War II, the multipolar world became bipolar, with the US and the Soviet Union supreme. When the USSR collapsed, America got to be alone at the top, free to do what it wanted, for better and for worse.
This anomalous window has closed, and we’re back in a multipolar world of a handful of powerful nations, with China the new heavyweight. As Brose points out, there’s nothing that can realistically be done to counter this. Instead, he argues for a new humility, which includes forging better ties with allies, stricter definitions about what constitutes a critical mission, and a focus on national defense, rather than force projection.
Of course, it’s an open question as to whether America’s unstable democracy can maintain national coherence, much less undergo a huge shift in foreign and military policy. By the time we get done fighting each other, the issue may already have been decided for us.