Sometimes it changes the outcome of a battle. Sometimes it means the difference between life and death. Eisenhower credited his meteorologists as one reason the Allied invasion of Normandy succeeded. They gave him the information he needed to make a decision at a moment when weather meant the difference between victory and defeat.

This underpins a simple reality: Weather does not accommodate the mission. The mission accommodates the weather.

That is why the Pentagon should be paying attention to the El Nino forecast now. Whatever one’s views on long-term climate trends, the military still has to operate in the weather it actually experiences. And the weather forecast for the second half of 2026 is giving the Department of Defense something commanders rarely get before disruption arrives: months of notice.

On June 12, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) declared that El Nino had formed, and current forecasts suggest it may become a very strong event by fall or winter, one of the strongest in the modern record.

That means significant warming of the Pacific Ocean will influence the broad weather patterns we experience through the rest of the year. It cannot tell us when and where extreme weather will hit, but it is a significant threat indicator.

NOAA is forecasting a below-normal Atlantic hurricane season. At the same time, El Nino conditions tend to shift typhoon activity eastward in the Pacific, toward Guam and the Marianas.

The region’s exposure is not hypothetical. This year, Guam and the Northern Marianas have already been hit by two major typhoons. Typhoon Sinlaku brought widespread blackouts, flooding, and infrastructure damage in April. Super Typhoon Bavi followed in July, its eye passing over Rota, leaving severe outages and flooded roads on Guam and Saipan while thousands were still recovering from the first storm.

Whatever the forecast holds, these storms are a reminder of what installations in the region face. The El Nino outlook says: Be ready for more.

The Pacific is not the only concern. El Nino is also expected to reshape weather across the United States as the year progresses, especially this winter.

NOAA’s historical outlooks associate El Nino with a stronger southern storm track: wetter conditions across the southern tier of the country; a greater risk of heavy rain and flooding in parts of California, the Gulf Coast and the Southeast; and a generally warmer northern tier.

For the military, that is not an academic forecast. It means installations across the South and Southwest may have to contend with more flooding, more drainage and access problems and more interruptions to training and maintenance, just as they are already operating through a punishing summer.

Heat stress remains part of the story as well.

Training bases in the South already face more days above safe thresholds for strenuous outdoor activity. El Nino will not create that problem, but it arrives on top of it, extending a year in which commanders may have to manage both the immediate effects of extreme heat and the prospect of a wetter, stormier winter ahead.

Years ago, after Hurricane Michael devastated Tyndall Air Force Base in 2018, I asked the base commander what he would have done if he had six months’ warning that the storm was coming. His answer was revealing. He did not begin with a five-year military construction plan or a new regulatory framework. He talked about operations. He would have done more hurricane drills. He would have made sure his people knew what to do. He would have prepared the force to absorb the shock.

That is the right way to think about this El Nino forecast. Six months of warning is not enough time to redesign a vulnerable installation. It is enough time to prepare to operate through disruption.

For commanders and installation leaders, that preparation is not mysterious. It means testing continuity plans and making sure the mission-essential functions of a base can continue if normal operations are interrupted. It means checking backup power, fuel, water, communications, drainage and access routes before a storm or heat emergency exposes the weakness for you. It means revisiting training calendars and work-rest cycles in places where extreme heat is increasingly likely to interfere with readiness. And it means asking the basic operational question: If a storm takes this installation offline for a week, what absolutely has to keep functioning?

The larger lesson is not limited to this one forecast.

El Nino will pass, but the baseline it returns to is not the baseline of thirty years ago. Each of these events now arrives atop a warmer ocean atmosphere, which means the same seasonal pattern delivers more water, more heat and stronger storms than its predecessors did. That is not a policy argument; it is an input to planning.

Another seasonal forecast will take this one’s place. Another storm season will come. Another heat wave will test the assumptions built into training schedules and installation operations. The military does not have the luxury of ignoring those warnings because they arrive under the label of “weather” rather than “war.” The weather is part of the operating environment. It always has been.

The Pentagon cannot control the weather, but it can use the intelligence it has been given. El Nino is a threat warning. The military should treat it like one.

John Conger served as the U.S. principal deputy under secretary of defense (comptroller) from December 2015 to January 2017.

The hard truth is this: America cannot dominate the modern battlefield if the Department of War does not know where its critical materials, components and software come from.

A fighter jet, missile battery, naval vessel, radar system, drone or armored vehicle does not begin on the factory floor of a prime contractor. It begins with minerals, metals, magnets, chips, chemicals, software, castings and forgings — thousands of components moving through supply chains that stretch across the world. In a major defense program, those chains may run five or six tiers deep, while government visibility often stops at the first or second.

That gap is the danger. America’s vulnerabilities are buried in the lower tiers — the subcontractors and vendors supplying specialty metals, electronics, chemicals, software and raw materials that Washington is not watching.

And that is exactly where President Trump’s new executive order, “Securing America’s Defense Supply Chains and Ensuring Domestic Acquisition of Critical Materials,” strikes.

For too long, Washington has pretended a weapons system is “American” if final assembly happens in America — even when critical inputs come from foreign adversaries or suppliers vulnerable to foreign ownership, control or influence. That fiction may satisfy a lobbyist. It will not survive a war.

Congress recognized the danger in 10 U.S.C. 4872, which restricts acquiring covered materials from covered nations. But laws are only as strong as their enforcement — and waiver culture, contractor convenience, and bureaucratic inertia have hollowed out those rules.

That era is over. The Trump policy is simple and tough: end the loose waiver process, expose hidden supply chains, vet the lower tiers, qualify trusted sources and hold contractors accountable.

Beginning January 1, 2027, waivers under 10 U.S.C. 4872(c)(1) and (e) will no longer be business as usual. A contractor seeking relief must identify the noncompliant source, document exhaustive efforts to find compliant material or prove none was available, lay out the steps to remove it from the supply chain and commit to a strict timeline.

Failure to qualify a domestic source will not count as “non-availability” unless the contractor shows active, adequately funded and ongoing efforts to qualify one. In plain English: No more, “We tried nothing, and we’re out of options.”

To expose hidden supply chains, the order directs the Secretary of War to begin rulemaking requiring contractors to map critical supply chains for national-security acquisitions identified by the department — from raw materials to the end products delivered to the military — through a tier-by-tier bill of materials tracing components, parts, software and materials back to their origins.

This is not paperwork. It is battlefield preparation. If a missile system depends on a foreign-controlled supplier, the Department of War needs to know before the shooting starts. If a naval platform relies on a sole-source supplier vulnerable to bankruptcy, takeover, cyber disruption or production bottlenecks, that risk must be surfaced and mitigated. If a supply chain runs through an adversary-controlled chokepoint, that is a strategic exposure, not an accounting detail.

To vet the lower tiers, contractors must screen suppliers and subcontractors supporting critical supply chains for financial risk; foreign ownership, control or influence; and manufacturing and supply risk. They must report significant risks and fix them on a strict, tracked timeline.

On trusted sources, the message is blunt: qualify or replace. For decades, contractors have hidden behind slow qualification processes while adversary-linked suppliers stayed embedded in America’s defense industrial base. No more.

Contractors relying on supply chains that include materials or components supplied by unreliable foreign suppliers must promptly qualify and use alternatives, consistent with law, safety, mission requirements and contract terms. The Department of War will speed the testing and qualification of new sources and materials. And when outdated regulations block rapid qualification for defense production, those roadblocks must come down.

On the accountability front, national security contracting is not a game of hide-the-ball. Contractors that fail to qualify required alternatives can lose task orders, contract options or the contract itself. And contractors who commit fraud, deliberately mislead the government, or knowingly or willfully fail to implement approved mitigation plans face every lawful action and contractual remedy the secretary deems appropriate, with possible referral to the Attorney General.

The broader message of this new Trump administration EO should be clear. America’s arsenal of democracy begins in the mine, the refinery, the forge, the foundry, the chemical plant, the semiconductor fab and the machine shop.

Peace through strength requires strength through secure supply chains: American weapons built with domestic, allied, and trusted materials; sunlight, enforcement, qualification and accountability.

And one overriding rule for every defense contractor: Never put an American warfighter at risk because an adversary-linked supplier was buried five tiers down.

Peter Navarro is the White House Senior Counselor for Trade and Manufacturing.

That calculus has changed. Adversaries have invested in the capabilities needed to interdict supply lines — long-range fires, drones, electronic warfare, anti-ship weapons, proxy networks that can reach ports, rail corridors, and staging areas far from any front. The vulnerability of the logistics infrastructure that sustains combat power is no longer an abstract concern, it is the operational problem of this moment, and it is not unique to the Middle East. The supply chain as battlespace is the defining characteristic of modern conflict.

These same adversary investments are driving sustained, high-tempo combat operations that can burn through critical munitions inventories — precision strike missiles, air defense interceptors, long-range fires — at rates that take years to replenish. What once looked like an abstract readiness concern is now headline news. In this environment, knowing precisely where every asset is, protecting it with optimized precision, and integrating that picture into combat planning isn’t a modernization initiative, it’s a necessity. We have the technology for that comprehensive, near real-time common operating picture (COP), we just need to link it.

The technology is here

Episodic tracking — the military’s primary in-transit visibility approach for 30 years — was built for a different operational environment. It tells you when cargo passes a fixed reader but, in a contested environment that’s not visibility, it’s a guess.

Mesh networking changes the equation entirely. Battery-powered tags form ad hoc networks, relaying location and condition data through mobile gateways to satellite uplinks, delivering near real-time asset visibility across any mode of transportation without fixed infrastructure. The architecture is hardened for contested environments: tags can suppress their own emissions when the threat environment demands it and come back online automatically based on location; communications are encrypted; the network uses frequency hopping to resist targeting. It works in the field, across truck, rail, and sea, at scale.

Once materiel is deployed, AI-enabled platforms can now fuse asset locations, threat data, terrain, unit capabilities, and route status into a single real-time operating picture — and model the consequences of protection decisions before forces are committed. Optimization engines evaluate and analyze the full picture to recommend courses of action. Auto-tasking allocates units as conditions change. What once required significant, manual staff effort across disconnected systems can now be accomplished in a unified interface, fast enough to match the pace of combat. This capability, too, is proven and operational.

A COP across the lifecycle

Taken separately, each capability is valuable. Taken together, they represent something the joint force has never had: a COP that ties where a resource is to what the force can do with it. A COP that follows every resource — equipment, ammunition, fuel, sustainment — from depot to forward position, continuously informing protection requirements and enabling smarter combat decisions as the picture evolves.

Consider what that means in practice. A commander knows not just that a critical shipment departed a depot — but precisely where it is, in near real time, as it moves through rail yards, ports, and contested sea lanes. When the threat picture shifts, the protection platform immediately recalculates coverage, recommends reallocation and flags gaps. When assets reach a forward position, the same data that tracked them in transit feeds directly into combat planning. Inventory is not an estimate, it is a fact, integrated into every decision downstream.

That integration matters most when inventories are under pressure. Modern conflicts are consuming critical munitions inventories faster than they can be replenished, eliminating the margin for waste — misrouted shipments, unprotected convoys, planning based on stale inventory data — disappears. A COP does more than improve efficiency. It prevents the compounding losses that turn a supply shortfall into a capability gap.

This is a different theory of how logistics and operations relate to each other. The traditional model treats supply chain management and combat planning as sequential — logistics delivers, operations consume. The integrated model treats them as continuous and interdependent. The COP does not end at the depot gate or the port of embarkation. It persists through the entire lifecycle of a resource, from production to employment, updating in real time and driving decisions at every echelon.

Commanders who can continuously see their assets can redirect them before disruptions become crises. Protection cells who can see the full logistics picture — not just unit positions but the routes, schedules, and vulnerabilities of the supply chain itself — can defend it proactively rather than reactively. And planners who can query actual inventory rather than projected inventory can design operations around ground truth, not assumptions that dissolve on contact.

We get to choose

The threat environment that made this architecture necessary is no longer theoretical. From the Strait of Hormuz to the U.S. Pacific Command, adversaries are investing in the precise capabilities designed to disrupt sustainment, fracture visibility, and exploit delay between detection and decision.

The technology to close those gaps already exists, and the operational need is visible. What remains is the decision to connect these systems deliberately, under a unified architecture with the processes and authorities to move at the speed the threat demands.

Robert Yon is LMI’s vice president, Sensor Mesh. Yon leverages his experience as a former USMC officer to identify technology solutions for the military’s greatest challenges, with an emphasis on addressing logistics. As VP, Sensor Mesh, he leads the implementation of LMI’s SPECTR asset visibility tool, and oversaw its recent successful deployment during USTRANSCOM’s Turbo Fusion exercise.

This is not a temporary surge. It is a structural shift to taking care of our own backyard. It will take time, to be sure, but the tracks are laid and the train has left the station. We invite our American friends to judge us not by old assumptions, but by the record we are building together.

When I last wrote in these pages, in 2025, we had a plan – Readiness 2030, a nearly one trillion-dollar roadmap to buy new weapons and technological equipment. It signaled a fundamental rethink of the EU’s role in European defense spending, and big opportunities for American defense firms.

Today, we’re making that plan happen. Let’s look at what’s already advancing – Europe collectively spent 2.1% of GDP on defense in 2025, above NATO’s benchmark. Frontline allies like Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia are moving toward spending 5% of GDP. Eighteen member states have already taken the next step under the EU’s new $200 billion defense financing program. And the first $6 billion-plus is already being deployed to help countries procure faster, strengthen defense production and deliver the capabilities Europe and NATO need.

Bigger budgets are only part of the story. Europe has fundamentally changed how it thinks about defense. The era when Europe outsourced too much of its security is over. New factories are opening, existing production lines are expanding, and private investment is flowing into next-generation drones, armored vehicles, artificial intelligence and electronic warfare. That investment is already translating into new industrial partnerships. At the NATO Summit, Lockheed Martin and Rheinmetall announced plans to produce ATACMS missiles in a newly opened production plant in Germany, the first time the system will be manufactured outside the United States.

We’re also changing how Europe buys defense. For too long, 27 national defense markets operated under 27 different sets of rules, creating duplication, delays and unnecessary costs. The European Union is helping bring those markets together, making it easier for countries to procure jointly, invest together and give industry the predictable demand it needs to expand production and deliver capabilities faster. These initiatives and more are helping Europe move from fragmentation towards integration.

None of this comes at America’s expense. Quite the opposite. As Europe invests more in its own defense, the alliance as a whole becomes more resilient and better prepared for the threats we face together. Europeans remain the largest customers of the U.S. defense industry, accounting for nearly 40% of U.S. arms exports (worth $130 billion) – and supporting American manufacturing, innovation and high-skilled jobs. At the same time, more than half of European defense procurement continues to come from U.S. suppliers. Europe’s defense investment is creating a larger market, and as that market grows, so do the opportunities for American defense companies.

Let me be clear – this buildup is not about replacing the United States. It’s about becoming a stronger, more capable ally and balanced partner in a security relationship that benefits both sides of the Atlantic and keeps deterrence credible.

One year ago, we promised action. Today, Europe is delivering – and learning valuable lessons in what works and what doesn’t. A powerful example of this is Putin’s war in Ukraine. Together, the EU and its member countries have mobilized more than $300 billion in support for Ukraine, making Europe the largest provider of overall assistance. Importantly, a significant share of military support is being spent with U.S. defense companies through joint procurement and European-funded purchases, reinforcing both Ukraine’s defense and the transatlantic industrial base.

The lesson from Ukraine is clear: modern warfare rewards speed, adaptability and scale.

Europe has become very good, our defense commissioner Andrius Kubilius recently argued, at producing “haute couture missiles” – highly sophisticated and expensive systems. The next challenge is to combine that excellence and attention to detail with the ability to produce “good enough” capabilities at scale, including drones and other rapidly deployable systems. In other words, I am reminded of the English idiom “don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.”

Later this year, the EU will formulate its vision for securing the region in our new European Security Strategy. It will help shape the next chapter of Europe’s defense transformation.

Stay tuned – we are just getting started.

Jovita Neliupšienė is the ambassador of the European Union to the United States.

We have soldiers for land, sailors for sea, airmen for air, and guardians for space. But in cyberspace, a borderless domain where American forces are engaged with adversaries every day, we still do not have a military service whose central purpose is to build a quality, expert force, equipped with the most cutting-edge capabilities, for war-fighting in the cyber domain.

For more than a decade, Washington has tried to patch this problem instead of fixing it. Congress has granted U.S. Cyber Command new authorities. The Pentagon has adjusted organizations, budgets and training pipelines. Senior leaders have made the current structure work better than it should. But those reforms have not changed the basic fact that there is no military service that sees organizing, training and equipping forces for the cyber domain as its first and primary priority.

Cyber Command’s job is to employ cyber capabilities in military operations. But it still depends on the existing services to recruit, train, retain, and develop the people who carry out those missions and equip them with the capabilities to do so. In the rest of the military, that division of labor is clear: services build forces, and combatant commands employ them.

Cyber remains the exception. The Navy must build fleets, the Army must build land power, the Air Force must attain air superiority, and so on. Each service has cyber responsibilities, but each also has core missions that naturally, and appropriately, come first. Cyber matters to all of the services, but it is not the central organizing mission of any of them.

The result is a weaker cyber force than the country needs. The military’s cyber enterprise still struggles with inconsistent recruiting and retention problems. A young American who can write code, spot weaknesses in software or understand how digital systems break may be exactly who the country needs, even if that person does not fit the standard mold the existing services were built to recruit, promote and retain.

Cyber talent does not grow by accident. It must be recruited deliberately, trained continuously and retained through a career model that rewards technical mastery, instead of forcing top operators to move into command or management roles just to advance. The country needs people who can spend years becoming experts in offensive and defensive cyberspace operations, not personnel forced through systems that were never built for the mission.

The threat is evolving too quickly to justify continuing marginal fixes to the current system. China, Russia, Iran, North Korea and criminal actors are targeting U.S. networks, critical infrastructure and military systems. Artificial intelligence will only increase the speed and scale of cyber operations. The United States cannot keep relying on a cyber force stitched together across multiple services, each with different priorities, incentives and personnel rules.

A new report from the Foundation for Defense of Democracies and the Center for Strategic and International Studies shows how to build a Cyber Force with a clearly defined mission, not a sprawling bureaucracy. Its job should be to organize, train and equip forces for offensive and defensive cyberspace operations. It should not take over every military information technology network or absorb every technology function inside the Department of Defense. The existing services should continue to operate and secure the networks and systems tied to their own missions.

A Cyber Force would also strengthen Cyber Command. Too much of this debate treats a new service as a judgment on Cyber Command’s performance. It is not. Cyber Command houses some of our nation’s most talented cyber warriors. What they need is a better force-generation system behind them.

The U.S. military has adapted before when new domains became central to warfare. The Air Force was created because airpower became too important to remain secondary to another service’s priorities. The Space Force was created because space needed its own culture and focus. Cyberspace has reached the same point: American forces are already in daily contact with adversaries online, cyberattacks can disrupt military operations and civilian infrastructure alike, and artificial intelligence is making the domain faster and more dangerous.

For too long, cyber has been treated as everyone’s responsibility, and therefore no one’s first priority. Our adversaries are not waiting for us to get organized. They are building capabilities, probing our defenses, and preparing for the next conflict. The United States should not enter that fight with cyber forces generated as a side mission by services built for other domains.

If cyberspace is truly a domain of warfare, it deserves its own service built to fight in it.

Dr. Erica Lonergan is an assistant professor in the School of International and Public Affairs at Columbia University and previously held several positions at the United States Military Academy at West Point.

RADM (Ret.) Mark Montgomery served for 32 years in the U.S. Navy and is now the senior director of the Center on Cyber and Technology Innovation at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies.

They both served on the CSIS-FDD Commission on U.S. Cyber Force Generation.

Europe does not have an idea problem. Its challenge is turning ideas into mass-produced capability, and the joint ventures (JVs) meant to do that too often stall before they deliver.

The logic of a JV is sound: pair a fast-moving innovator with an incumbent that has factories, program relationships, and government credibility, and you can field capability faster than either could alone. A JV is often the right structure precisely where a full acquisition is not, whether because of national-security rules, foreign-ownership scrutiny, or a desire to prove the partnership works before committing permanent capital. A JV is not a compromise; it is a deliberate way to solve problems no other structure handles as well.

The deals that are progressing show what good looks like: Rheinmetall and ICEYE set up a satellite-manufacturing venture in 2025, and more recently, Helsing and OHB have teamed up to fuse battlefield AI with satellite-building in their KIRK venture. Both are promising because each side brings something the other cannot easily replicate. KIRK itself grew out of an earlier alliance, a reminder that the strongest partnerships tend to deepen over time rather than arrive fully formed.

So why do others lose momentum? Two reasons are well understood, and two are easy to miss.

Familiar challenges

First, speed. For an innovator, time is the most valuable asset. Approval cycles that are routine for a large organization can consume an innovator’s cash runway and slow the rapid iteration that modern, software-defined warfare rewards. A venture that moves only at the larger partner’s tempo loses much of its purpose.

Second, control. Software is improved through constant, rapid iteration. If the venture is set up so that routine technical decisions must clear the incumbent’s approval processes, speed is the first casualty. The structure looks balanced on paper, but development slows, decisions stall, and the partnership can lose momentum before anything reaches the field.

Overlooked challenges

The third is a difference in how the two sides measure value. A large defense group naturally values what it can see on a balance sheet: factories, order books, and assets depreciated over decades. But much of an innovator’s worth sits elsewhere, in software, algorithms and the ability to rewrite a product in weeks.

Helsing, for example, has been valued above €12 billion, and ICEYE above €10 billion, with almost none of it attributable to tangible assets. Applying a hardware-centric, revenue-based framework to a software-defined business understates the innovator’s contribution and misaligns incentives. The more useful approach treats an innovator’s commercial traction and demonstrated demand as real evidence of value, not something to discount until a defense contract is signed.

The fourth tends to surface only years later: who owns the technology, and the data it generates. If core intellectual property is not clearly ring-fenced at the outset, an innovator can become tied to a single partner and constrained from selling elsewhere, which limits its own value and can strain the relationship as circumstances change. This is why valuation is not a closing formality. Left unmanaged, a misalignment that seems minor at signing compounds quietly and can destabilize a partnership long after formation. Ownership, licensing, and exit terms are far easier to resolve at the start, when incentives are aligned, than once commercial pressures have set in.

None of this calls for financial engineering. It asks both sides to be clear about what each brings and what each receives: the innovator quantifying the value of reaching a certified production line and skipping years of procurement friction; the incumbent quantifying the capability it would otherwise have to build in-house; and both agreeing in advance how the economics adjust if the technology proves decisive in winning a program.

One pattern is worth watching. Partnership activity is not spreading evenly across the market; it is coalescing around a handful of industrial platforms, with groups such as Rheinmetall recurring as serial JV partners across multiple capability areas. As these alliances mature from loose market-access arrangements into named ventures with real equity at stake, valuation discipline stops being optional. Europe’s procurement ambitions will be met by partnerships built to last, where ownership, control, value, and exit are settled before the ink dries rather than after the friction starts.

Milko Pavlov is a managing director and Anita Bucanac is a director in Houlihan Lokey’s Financial and Valuation Advisory business.

Cutting U.S. troops in Europe places transatlantic trade and investment ties in jeopardy, but additionally, the decision represents a potential missed opportunity – Washington risks giving away something for nothing. Russia wants U.S. troop reductions in Europe, and it’s not too late for the United States to get something in return from Moscow.

Cutting U.S. troops in Europe now carries great risk, but if troops must leave, bargaining with Russia makes far more sense than cutting unilaterally. Doing so could reduce the threat posed by Russian forces to NATO, it could facilitate an end to Russia’s war in Ukraine, and it could lower the risk posed to the transatlantic trade and investment relationship.

Earlier this month, the United States notified its NATO allies that it would reduce the number of forces it makes available to NATO for the implementation of the alliance’s operations plans. These plans – approved by all allies – were developed by NATO’s American-led military headquarters in Mons, Belgium, and they are largely focused on the defense of allied territory against Russia. The alliance uses the plans to build a list of the required military forces, and then those requirements are apportioned among the individual allies, building a country-by-country capability target list.

The reduced commitments unveiled by the United States earlier this month were, in many ways, expected. They’ve been signaled by American leaders for at least a year, most notably in February 2025 when Secretary of Defense Hegseth announced that Europeans would need to take the lead in conventional defense of Europe.

But keen observers of NATO understand that this trend has been unfolding for years. Between 2017 and 2025, the proportion of all capability targets assigned to the United States dropped from 46 percent to 38 percent. At the same time, the number of high-end, “exquisite” capabilities provided by the United States, such as advanced air defense, were reduced from 13 (out of 26 total) to 5.

In other words, America has long been on the path of reduced commitments in European defense planning, in the name of fair burden-sharing as well as the shifting of U.S. resources to the Indo-Pacific. The latest changes are the result of dialogue between American and European defense planners as well as between U.S. military officials based in Europe and those based in the Indo-Pacific.

These latter discussions, and the analyses that informed them, were necessary to truly assess what was needed by American military leaders based in the Pacific. It should come as no surprise therefore to see that naval and air forces are reportedly on the list of what the United States will no longer make available to fulfill the NATO operations plans.

Coincidentally and largely unrelated to American capability targets and NATO plans, the United States also announced in early May that it would withdraw 5,000 troops from Europe. This decision, in contrast to the one described above, reportedly came as a surprise.

Initially, American military leaders decided that the largest portion of those 5,000 troops would come in the form of a 4,200-person tank brigade deployed to Poland on a rotational basis. However, that decision was quickly reversed following conversations between top American and Polish leaders. Now American military officials in the Pentagon and in Europe are wrestling with how to implement the cut, perhaps considering drawing down U.S. forces that are permanently stationed (usually with families) in places like Germany, Poland, Italy, Spain, Turkey or the U.K.

Reducing American troops stationed in or rotationally deployed to Europe makes little sense for several reasons. First, most of those troops are ground forces, which are unlikely to be as important for a conflict in the Indo-Pacific. Second, basing U.S. troops in Europe can be cheaper than stationing them in the United States, especially when European allies like Poland or Lithuania pick up the costs. And third, U.S. reductions while Russia’s war in Ukraine rages on sends the wrong message to allies and enemies alike.

Even if none of these things were true and it made great sense operationally, fiscally, and strategically to withdraw U.S. forces from Europe, doing so in exchange for nothing amounts to a very bad deal.

Moscow has made clear it doesn’t want U.S. forces based in Europe, so why not bargain with Russia and get something in exchange?

This is precisely what U.S. officials did a generation ago as the Cold War came to an end – they negotiated simultaneous reductions in conventional and nuclear arms with Moscow.

It’s not too late – if Washington is intent on reducing troop levels in Europe, it can still wield this bargaining chip. In exchange for a 5,000 troop cut in U.S. forces based in Europe, Washington could demand Russia end its war in Ukraine, eliminate the military bases it’s been building up near NATO borders, or cease its hybrid war against U.S. and European interests across Europe and North America.

Something – really, anything – is better than nothing.

John R. Deni is a nonresident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council and a nonresident senior fellow at the NATO Defense College. The views expressed are his own.

Today, that question resurfaces regarding Iran and the Strait of Hormuz. The prospect of NATO safeguarding freedom of navigation prompts predictable objections: Hormuz is not NATO territory, and Iran is not attacking an ally.

Therefore, the argument goes, NATO should stay out. At first glance, this position appears prudent. In reality, it reflects a surprisingly short institutional memory.

For much of the last three decades, NATO has operated on the assumption that allied security cannot be defined solely by geography. For a generation, the alliance spent more time conducting operations beyond its borders than preparing for territorial defense within them.

From Bosnia and Kosovo to Afghanistan, and from Operation Active Endeavour to Operation Ocean Shield off the Horn of Africa, NATO repeatedly demonstrated its willingness to protect allied interests beyond the Washington Treaty area. These were not exceptional departures from NATO’s mission; they became an integral part of it.

The alliance formally codified this evolution. The 1999 Strategic Concept introduced crisis-response operations beyond Allied territory. The 2010 Strategic Concept went further, establishing collective defense, crisis management, and cooperative security as NATO’s three core tasks.

Significantly, that same document identified the proliferation of ballistic missiles as a direct threat, explicitly highlighting Iran’s missile activities and nuclear ambitions. This was not an American talking point — it was agreed NATO policy, adopted unanimously.

The suggestion that developments in the Gulf fall entirely outside NATO’s sphere of concern requires a degree of historical selectivity—or, perhaps more accurately, strategic amnesia.

The geopolitical logic behind those earlier assessments has only strengthened. The world has become more interconnected.

Economic security, critical infrastructure, supply chains, energy resilience, and maritime access have moved from the periphery of security debates to their very center. Yet when one of the world’s most important maritime chokepoints enters the discussion, many suddenly revert to a narrow geographical definition of security.

The Strait of Hormuz may be geographically distant from Europe, but strategically and economically, it is anything but. A significant share of global energy trade passes through it.

Disruption affects energy prices, industrial output, defense production, and ultimately military readiness across the Euro-Atlantic area.

None of this means NATO should return to the expeditionary ambitions of the early post-9/11 era. Collective defense must remain the alliance’s primary task, and Russia remains the most immediate military threat to allied territory.

The defense of Europe is NATO’s center of gravity. But there is a significant difference between maintaining priorities and embracing what psychologists might call a strategic tunnel vision.

The increasingly popular “not our war” argument promises discipline but often produces paralysis. Applied consistently, it becomes difficult to distinguish between strategic restraint and outright disengagement.

If the alliance divides the world into exclusive regional compartments, it gradually loses its ability to address security challenges whose consequences do not respect borders.

NATO has confronted this dilemma before. The famous phrase “out of area or out of business” emerged precisely because the alliance recognized that relevance required more than territorial defense alone. Security challenges rarely ask permission before crossing regional boundaries.

What makes today’s debate particularly peculiar is that allied practice has already moved ahead of rhetoric.

European navies — even under EU command — operate routinely close to, in, and around the Gulf. NATO maintains partnerships across the region, and individual allies regularly contribute to maritime security efforts beyond Europe. The practical question was largely settled years ago; what remains unsettled is the narrative.

A future mission supporting freedom of navigation in Hormuz — whether NATO-led, NATO-enabled, or conducted by a coalition of allies with NATO political backing—would represent continuity rather than a revolutionary expansion of the alliance’s role. It would reflect patterns of behavior and political commitments that NATO has developed over decades.

The real issue is not whether NATO can operate beyond its borders—it has done so repeatedly. The real issue is whether the alliance is prepared to acknowledge openly what its own history demonstrates: that defending Allied security sometimes requires action beyond Allied territory.

Otherwise, NATO risks repeating a familiar mistake — not mission creep, but strategic amnesia. And history suggests that forgetting past lessons is often more dangerous than applying them.

Vytautas Leškevičius, previously Lithuania’s ambassador to NATO, is chief policy advisor at GSSC, a Vilnius-based think tank.

The same censorship apparatus the Party built to control its people is now corrupting the AI systems its leaders depend on. The United States, by leaning into an open marketplace of information and ideas, will gain advantage as it takes a different path.

AI is increasingly training newer, faster AI models. This typically involves scraping the internet for content and then loading it into datasets for new programs. The problem: online content used for training is increasingly generated by AI. As a result, each generation of technology drifts from reality.

AI researchers refer to this as “model collapse,” a phenomenon in which models trained on their own synthetic outputs degrade over successive generations. The only defense is a constant influx of fresh, honest, human-generated information. Without it, the system folds in on itself.

China’s Great Firewall cuts off that influx, expediting the impact of model collapse within its borders. The first generation of large language models worldwide was trained on massive datasets of publicly available human-generated text. These human-derived pieces of information built an algorithmic approximation of how people think, argue, explain, and communicate.

Now, the internet is filling with AI-generated content at a rate inconceivable five years ago. Marketing copy, product descriptions, social media captions and news summaries are increasingly produced by AI systems and published online. They’ve all become generic and detached from human signals.

With each cycle of new AI, the models drift further from their human origins. The newer systems amplify the patterns AI systems favor while losing nuance and amplifying existing biases. Each successive AI generation is one step further removed from the humans these programs were originally built to serve.

In China, the Great Firewall accelerates this problem. The Chinese Ministry of Public Security built the Great Firewall of China in the late 1990s to censor the Chinese people. It is now the most sophisticated information control infrastructure in human history. The Great Firewall does not just restrict what Chinese users can see. It shapes the data used to train Chinese AI systems. By design, it strips out politically sensitive events, dissenting viewpoints, and independent reporting. Left behind is a curated record of reality aligned with the Party’s narrative. That filtered record of information becomes the raw material for LLMs.

The training data fed into LLMs in China does not contain any criticism of the government, fair reportage of controversial topics, or accurate information about Chinese history. Events such as the the Uyghur detention camps exist inside the Firewall only as the state chose to describe them.

Now add model collapse on top of this. Chinese AI companies such as Baidu, Alibaba, ByteDance and dozens of others aggressively deploy AI-generated content across their platforms. This material becomes training data for the next generation of Chinese AI models. With independent reporting locked out, model collapse expedites inside the Great Firewall with no escape valve. The practical consequences of this divergence are already visible and will accelerate.

Chinese LLMs struggle with tasks that require new observation, original synthesis or human complexity that the training data was designed to suppress. If asked about repression in Chinese history or controversial current events such as the Uyghur detentions, these LLMs either do not answer or produce a response indistinguishable from a Party press release. A Chinese trade official relying on domestic AI to model the economic impact of Western sanctions is working from a system incapable of providing an honest account of how those sanctions functioned or failed in comparable historical cases.

The West has a milder version of this problem.

Western AI models are trained on increasingly synthetic content, but human reporters regularly push new information into the ecosystem. Free and open societies have structural advantages to retain the capacity to reason about what is happening in the world rather than what previous AI systems described. When asked about Tiananmen Square, Western accounts typically focus on the 1989 protests and the crackdown. By contrast, Chinese models either refuse to answer or return state-aligned language. This information gap becomes part of the training data for the next generation.

To maintain a competitive AI advantage over China, Washington should treat human-generated data as a strategic asset and invest in journalism, open web archives, and synthetic-content labeling. Preserving the integrity of American training data is a defense imperative, not a tech problem.

Chinese leaders deploying AI products to make decisions about economics, geopolitics, and public health will make those decisions based on systems trained on what China’s information control apparatus wants people to believe. That is not an intelligence system. It is a mirror. And the tragedy of model collapse is that a mirror that has been looking at itself long enough no longer reflects anything.

Joe Buccino is a retired U.S. Army colonel and the author of “When Every Word Counts: How to Earn Trust, Command Attention, and Communicate Clearly in Any Situation.”

Why didn’t the president’s maximalist threats work? Indeed, his bombastic form of diplomacy appears to have undermined the prospects for peace between the United States and Iran. To understand why Trump has failed to change Iran’s behavior, it is necessary to examine his approach to diplomacy.

Trump relies on a version of the “madman theory” in many of his disputes. His approach resembles a distorted, MAGA version of Theodore Roosevelt’s famous maxim – that is, scream loudly and swing a big golf club.

In practice, it often amounts to boisterous threats without a clear or credible strategy behind them.

And despite the president’s rather novel use of the theory, it does have a sketchy if unsuccessful history.

While President Nixon’s political aide, H. R. Haldeman, popularized the term “madman theory,” it was developed more fully by economist and deterrence theorist Thomas Schelling and military analyst Daniel Ellsberg. The madman theory is a deterrent technique, to be used in limited circumstances: it signals to an adversary, “Do not take this action, or the consequences will be severe.”

To succeed, however, the adversary must believe the threat will be carried out. The more frequent or outlandish the threats, the more the madman’s credibility deteriorates. Success stories of the madman theory are few and far between. Richard Nixon signaled that he would use nuclear weapons against North Vietnam in 1969 to bring it and the Soviet Union to the negotiating table. It failed. Nikita Khrushchev’s nuclear blackmail were unconvincing for NATO forces to withdraw from West Berlin. Saddam Hussein cultivated ambiguity about weapons of mass destruction to deter Iran and the United States from invading. And that story did not end well for him.

Given its lackluster record, it is unclear why policymakers continue to rely on this approach.

Besides the madman theory being flawed, the U.S. lacks the will and capabilities to back up President Trump’s threats. Iran’s leadership is likely aware of the American people’s unwillingness to fight another ground war in the Middle East.

Trump’s threat to destroy Iran produced massive backlash from the American public, including his base. Such public disapproval of madman behavior undermines its credibility and effectiveness. What’s more, American munitions are in short supply and rapidly depleting.

Take Tomahawk cruise missiles. In just slightly over four weeks, the United States launched about 850 of these missiles against Iran out of the total 3,100 missiles in its inventory, and only produces around 90 missiles per year. These two facts already rendered Trump’s threats kaput.

Trump’s frequent use of bombastic rhetoric further erodes that credibility. He has issued sweeping threats across multiple contexts—from “fire and fury” toward North Korea to threatening to withdraw from NATO, as well as to “take” Greenland. Over time, this creates a “boy who cried wolf” dynamic, making it difficult to take his most worrisome threats seriously.

Compounding the problem is Trump’s misapplication of the madman theory itself.

Trump continues to tell Iran, “Do this, or I’ll blow up everyone.” This rhetoric reflects what Schelling described as “compellence”—an effort to force an adversary to change its behavior—rather than deterrence, which seeks to prevent an action in the first place. But compellence is typically more difficult to achieve, as it requires the target to abandon the status quo, of which humans are psychologically inclined to prefer. Deterrence, by contrast, reinforces it. This distinction helps explain why threats that might prevent an action often fail to reverse one already underway.

President Trump’s overuse and misapplication of the madman theory has placed the United States in a difficult position. The risk of deeper involvement in the Middle East is rising at a time when the margin for error in U.S. foreign policy is limited. Yet the current approach offers few clear pathways to either de-escalation or success.

The United States is stuck with an inept form of coercion in its war with Iran—one that generates heat but no leverage. Trump’s use of the madman theory has failed to produce security or stability. It has only revealed the madness of America’s current policy towards Iran.

Benjamin Giltner is a Policy Analyst in defense and foreign policy at the Cato Institute, where he works on issues related to U.S. military strategy and foreign policy, great-power competition, nuclear weapons and deterrence.