Artificial intelligence (AI) is transforming warfare, but whether it is changing it for the better remains unsettled. AI-enabled systems can improve surveillance, targeting, defensive response, and force protection. Yet technological improvement alone does not constitute a revolution. The more critical issue is whether AI-enabled robotics, which include semi-autonomous and fully autonomous machines, will change what Carl Von Clausewitz called the “grammar of war,” which includes the practical methods through which political violence is organized, controlled, and conducted. 

The conflict with Iran, known as Operation EPIC FURY, has made a broader view of war more compelling. The operation is characterized by drones, missiles, long-range strikes, electronic warfare, persistent surveillance, and layered air defenses, like the war in Ukraine. The absence of a significant ground campaign does not mean U.S. troops are out of harm’s way. These courageous service members reassure allies, support operations, deter escalation, and influence an adversary’s decisions. Even if they are not directly fighting on the ground, these brave men and women remain targets. 

This operation highlights the lack of distinction between combat troops involved in direct operations and support troops, which may signify the future of warfare. The U.S. has pivoted toward multi-domain operations with a focus on geopolitical actors and challenges, at times marginalizing insurgency and criminality as a secondary issue. In this new (or perhaps revamped) dynamic, a service member does not have to be maneuvering against an enemy force to be a target. Ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, and one-way attack drones can hit well beyond a conventional front line. The front line has not disappeared. Instead, it has expanded across the theater. 

Robotics may further alter this situation, but only if our military leaders and planners look beyond supplanting troops with machines. Unmanned aircraft, robotic logistics platforms, automated ships, underwater systems, and loitering munitions could reduce the number of personnel exposed to kinetic attacks. But these systems would still need operators, maintainers, analysts, communications specialists, and logisticians. If those people remain concentrated on vulnerable bases, robotics may simply shift risk rather than eliminate it. 

A genuine technical revolution would therefore require robotics to transform both offensive and defensive capabilities. Robotic systems would need to fill roles in the most dangerous missions in place of humans while also protecting the human force that remains as a shaping element in the region. The first recorded rescue operation involving downed pilots involved an unmanned surface vessel (USV) during Operation EPIC FURY. This rescue proved that robotics or drones could reduce the potential for loss of life. 

Advanced AI plays a role in the revolution especially in counter-missile and anti-drone capabilities. A prime example of AI successfully countering unmanned aerial systems (UAS) and missile attacks is Israel’s use of its Iron Dome. With future advancements, those networks could fuse multiple sensor feeds, distinguish real threats from decoys, predict trajectories, and deploy the most cost-effective defense. This is important because current attacks are meant to swamp defenders with volume, speed, and complexity. 

Clausewitz explains what can change the nature of conflict. War has its logic in political aims, the why, and its own grammar, the how. Geopolitical entities will engage in combat operations, but the question is, with what tools? The debate regarding active conflict will not dissipate, even if humans are not involved in the more active parts of combat. Emerging technologies can rewrite this framework to a degree but only if they compel militaries to completely overhaul established doctrine, logistics, and command structures to accommodate novel paradigms. 

Historical precedent cautions against calling a revolution at the first use of every new weapon system. In the aftermath of the 1991 Gulf War, numerous analysts cited precision munitions and satellites as definitive evidence that combat had undergone a permanent transformation. The less glamorous realities of the Gulf War are very telling as well and commonly forgotten. These include strong supply chains, highly specific political boundaries, ineffectiveness and ineptitude of the opposing force, and overwhelming air superiority, which are frequently disregarded by that narrative. Hardware offers promise; institutional competence is still the filter through which that promise is translated into actual combat effectiveness.  

The same will be true of robotics. Militaries will not achieve a revolution merely by purchasing or producing thousands of drones or unmanned vehicles in place of humans. Those systems must be integrated in a coherent way of fighting through doctrinal and organizational changes. They must share information, divide tasks, adapt to losses, function in disrupted communications environments, and operate under clear rules of authority and accountability. 

Integrating robotic systems into combat operations and the operational environment may fundamentally alter the domestic politics surrounding armed conflict. While sparing troops is an undeniable humanitarian gain, removing the visceral human cost could significantly lower the political barrier for states to initiate or drag out military campaigns. The political price of fighting, therefore, does not vanish but merely takes a new form. Public debate and legislative scrutiny will most likely shift from the casualty metrics to severe hardware attrition, market dynamics, and debt or deficit levels. Domestic debates will center around the depletion of advanced interceptors, sudden semiconductor supply chain crises, and the hard reality that a nation’s industrial base may not even be able to produce replacements at the rate that the conflict justifies. 

Soon to be joined by economic and cost-exchange paradigms, traditional measures of success, such as casualty-exchange ratios, will come to prominence. While tactical victories may be achieved in isolated engagements, a nation could suffer broader strategic failure if it continuously depletes multi-million-dollar defense infrastructure to counter cheap, mass-produced weapons. Future military power will be measured not only by troop numbers, but also by computing capacity, energy reserves, software agility, and manufacturing speed. 

Experiences from recent conflicts suggest that contemporary conflict is nearing this technological threshold but has not yet reached it. Advanced AI-enabled combat systems have transformed the battlefield, yet human vulnerability remains. Specifically, support personnel behind or beyond the front lines are now high-value targets because of how their operational and logistical footprint can shape the course of the conflict. 

The decisive test of a robotic revolution will not be whether autonomous machines can reach the enemy. Missiles and drones already do this. The test will be whether integrated networks of semi-autonomous and fully autonomous systems, supported by advanced AI, can prevent the enemy’s machines from reaching friendly safe havens. If robotics can simultaneously generate combat power, protect deployed forces, and reorganize how militaries distribute risk, then it may profoundly change the grammar of war. 

Lieutenant Colonel Matthew J. Fecteau is an information operations officer working with artificial intelligence, and a PhD researcher at King’s College London. The views expressed in this report are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Department of the Army, the Department of War, or the US Government. 

Beyond the Body Count: Will Robotics Change the Grammar of War? was originally published on Global Security Review.

There is a comforting fiction at the heart of much contemporary strategic thinking: conventional military capabilities can substitute for nuclear deterrence without requiring the same political will. It is a neat idea—reassuring, technologically optimistic, and politically convenient. It is also dangerously wrong.

Deterrence does not reside in platforms, precision, or posture. It resides in belief—specifically, the adversary’s belief that you are both capable of inflicting costs and willing to do so. Strip away that second element, and deterrence collapses into theater.

This is the central problem confronting Australia and its allies as they navigate a rapidly shifting Indo-Pacific security environment. As nuclear risks grow, particularly with China’s expanding arsenal, there has been a noticeable intellectual pivot toward elevating conventional capabilities as a more “usable,” credible, and politically palatable form of deterrence. Long-range strike, autonomous systems, undersea warfare, and advanced ISR are all presented as tools that can impose meaningful costs without crossing the nuclear threshold.

However, this argument only holds if those tools are used. Too often, the debate stops at capability acquisition. Billions are spent, platforms are announced, doctrines are drafted. Yet, there is a conspicuous silence when it comes to the harder question: under what circumstances would Australia employ these capabilities in anger? What thresholds trigger their use? What risks are we prepared to accept in doing so?

Without clear answers, the signal sent to adversaries is not strength, but hesitation. Consider the logic from the perspective of a competitor. If Australia invests heavily in long-range strike but avoids articulating when it would employ it, an adversary may conclude that those capabilities are politically constrained. If grey-zone coercion, such as the deployment of sea mines, harassment of maritime assets, or interference with undersea infrastructure, does not elicit a forceful response, then the lesson learned is not deterrence, but permissiveness.

In this sense, ambiguity is not always stabilizing. It can just as easily invite probing. The uncomfortable reality is that conventional deterrence demands a level of resolve that many policymakers are reluctant to acknowledge. Unlike nuclear weapons, whose very horror lends them a paradoxical clarity, conventional forces sit in a murkier space. They are more usable, but precisely for that reason, credibility hinges on demonstrated willingness.

A missile that will is restricted from use is not a deterrent. A submarine that will not be deployed into contested waters does not shape adversary behavior. A cyber capability that remains permanently in reserve does not impose costs. Deterrence, in the conventional domain, is performative. It must be signaled, exercised, and at times demonstrated.

This does not mean recklessness or a rush to escalation. It means recognizing that deterrence is not cost-free. If the objective is to prevent adversary action, then one must be prepared to act before the situation becomes intolerable. Waiting until costs are imposed on you, economically, militarily, or politically undermines the very logic of deterrence. This is where much of the current discourse falls short. There is a tendency to treat conventional capabilities as inherently stabilizing, as though their mere existence alters adversary calculations. But capabilities without credible intent are inert. Worse, they can create a false sense of security, masking the erosion of deterrence beneath a veneer of preparedness.

The challenge is particularly acute for middle powers like Australia, which rely heavily on alliances and extended deterrence. As questions grow around the credibility of U.S. nuclear guarantees, especially in a more contested and multipolar environment, there is an understandable desire to bolster national self-reliance through conventional means. This is a sensible objective. But it cannot be achieved through hardware alone.

If conventional forces are to serve as a substitute or even a supplement to nuclear deterrence, then they must be embedded within a clear framework of political resolve. This requires more than capability development. It requires declaratory policy, strategic signaling, and a willingness to accept escalation risks.

For example, if the laying of sea mines in Australian waters is deemed unacceptable, then that must be stated clearly and backed by a credible commitment to respond with force if necessary. Anything less invites incremental encroachment. Over time, such encroachment normalizes behaviors that would once have been considered intolerable.

History offers ample evidence of this dynamic. Deterrence erodes not in dramatic moments, but through a series of small, unchallenged actions that cumulatively shift the baseline of what is acceptable. By the time a clear red line is crossed, it is often too late as the adversary has already recalibrated expectations.

The solution is not to abandon conventional deterrence, but to take it seriously. This means confronting uncomfortable questions. Are we prepared to use long-range strike capabilities against an adversary’s military assets in the initial stages of a crisis? Would we target grey-zone actors operating below the threshold of armed conflict? How do we signal our intentions without triggering the very escalation we seek to avoid? There are no easy answers, but avoiding the questions altogether is not a strategy, it is an abdication.

Ultimately, deterrence is about shaping perceptions. It is about convincing an adversary that the costs of action will outweigh the benefits. This cannot be achieved through ambiguity alone, nor through capability acquisition in isolation. It requires a coherent integration of means, messaging, and above all else, will.

If policymakers are unwilling to countenance the use of conventional force, then they should be honest about the implications. In such a scenario, conventional capabilities do not replace nuclear deterrence; they merely decorate its absence.

The risk is not just strategic failure, but strategic surprise. An adversary that perceives a gap between capability and intent will exploit it; once that perception is formed, it is exceedingly difficult to reverse.

Deterrence, in the end, is a test of credibility and resolve. It is not measured by what you possess, but by what an adversary believes you will do. In strategic competition, credibility is not claimed; it is proven and without resolve, deterrence is nothing at all.

Natalie Treloar is the Australian Company Director of Alpha-India Consultancy, a Senior Fellow at the Indo-Pacific Studies Center (IPSC), a Senior Analyst at the National Institute for Deterrence Studies (NIDS), and a member of the Open Nuclear Network. Views expressed in this article are the author’s own.

Deterrence Without Resolve Is No Deterrence at All was originally published on Global Security Review.